Echoes in Death (In Death 44)

She let out a sigh. “Lights, ten percent.”

In the faint glow, she called for the time. Oh-five-twenty-one.

“Might as well get started.”

After giving Galahad a last cuddle, she rolled out of bed, headed straight for coffee.

As she lifted the mug, the cat eyed her. Steely, unblinking.

“You wouldn’t tell me if Roarke already fed you.”

Those bicolored eyes seem to harden, and never wavered.

“You, pal, would be a challenge in the box. I’ve got to respect that.”

She ordered him up some kibble, added a salmon chaser. And when he pounced on it, took the coffee with her to shower.

&nbs

p; No point in thinking about it, she told herself as she let the jets pummel and steam. She’d take the first steps, then the next until it was done. Case closed, move on.

When she came out again, Galahad—bowl empty—sat washing himself industriously.

She walked into the closet, stopped herself as she reached carelessly for the closest jacket at hand. She glanced back, reminded herself the cat couldn’t help her here. Besides, she wasn’t an idiot. Though she’d never buy that what she wore mattered in the day-to-day of cop work, today … Image, perception, presentation? It wouldn’t hurt to keep those things in mind regarding breaking Knightly.

Normally she avoided red for the job as it struck her as too female, too deliberately bold. But that might be exactly what the day called for.

She mulled over the section of red jackets, their various hues and tints, until she annoyed herself, so grabbed one at random.

Not bright so much as strong, she decided, and the fact it would hit just below her waist added another subtle point. Unbuttoned, it would show part of her weapon harness.

Because her mind wanted to swim when she scanned trousers, she grabbed a pair of straight-legged, simple pants out of the gray section.

She opted for a sweater rather than a shirt—easier movement, in case she got a chance to … or, rather, was required to physically restrain Knightly.

She dressed, grabbed boots the same shade as the pants as it seemed easiest, and considered the most aggravating portion of her day complete.

She stepped back into the room as Roarke walked in.

“Good morning. I’d hoped you’d sleep longer.”

“Long enough. What?” Her brow furrowed as he studied her. “Are you going to tell me there’s something wrong with this?” She waved her hands down her body.

“Quite the opposite, Lieutenant. I was just thinking you look strong, capable, and in charge.”

“Good. I am.”

He crossed to her, lifted her chin. “Then why do your eyes look sad?”

“Not sad, just working things out. What time did you get up to lord over the known universe?”

“A bit before five. I had a brief ’link conference.” He lifted her chin a little higher, kissed her. “Did you dream after all?”

“Not bad ones.” He saw too much of her, she thought, and evaded by shifting away to gather her things from a table. Restraints, ’link, comm, badge, loose credits.

“Is that all you have?”

“Of what?”