Reunion in Death (In Death 14)

"It's been a pleasure having you here." Roarke held out a hand. "And spending time with Delia's family. I hope you'll come back, and know you're welcome here whenever you do."

"We'll look forward to that." Phoebe's gaze rested on Eve, long enough, deep enough to bring on the jitters. "And you, Eve? Will we be welcome?"

"Sure. Um, door's always open."

Phoebe laughed, then swept forward to catch Eve's face in her hands and kiss both her cheeks. "Still don't quite know what to make of us, do you?"

"I don't know much about roots, but I recognize when somebody's got good ones. Peabody does."

Phoebe's humor changed to baffled delight. "Why, thank you. That's a lovely gift to take away with us. Be careful, as careful as you can manage," she added and stepped back. "We'll think of you often."

"That was well done," Roarke said when he and Eve were outside.

"I'm not a complete moron." She yanked open the driver's-side door of her vehicle, then caught herself. Calmed herself and studied him as he was studying her over the roof. "How about if I just call you the Civilian Roarke? You know, like a title."

"Perhaps if you punched it up just a bit. As in the Awesome and All-Powerful Civilian Roarke. Has a ring."

She reached over the roof to take his hand. "I'll think about it."

* * *

She ate, drank, slept, she breathed the operation. She could have drawn a detailed blueprint of the Grand Regency Hotel in her sleep. She'd spoken with all of Roarke's key people. Or grilled them like fish, as he'd put it during one of their several heated disagreements on operational procedure.

She had also run thorough and deep background checks on them, and though she'd been mollified and impressed by just how carefully Roarke chose his top security people, she didn't think it wise to mention it to him.

She slept poorly, often waking in the middle of the night with the sick feeling she'd neglected a key detail. The single detail that would lose Julianna.

She was moody, snappish, and continually pumped on caffeine.

She came close to the point where it was difficult for her to spend five minutes in a room with herself, but she kept right on pushing.

The night before the operation, she stood in her office, studying the image of the ballroom on-screen once again while the cat ribboned affectionately between her legs. Calculating the angles she'd already calculated, she arranged, re-arranged the proposed movements of the men who were assigned to the floor.

When the screen went blank, she thought she'd finally blown her eyes.

"That's enough." Roarke stepped up behind her. "You could build a bloody replica of the hotel with your bare hands by now."

"There's always a way to slide through a crack, and she's good at it. I want another pass at it."

"No. No," he repeated as he massaged her shoulders. "It's time we both put it aside until tomorrow. Take a pass at each other." He nuzzled her neck. "Happy anniversary."

"I didn't forget." She said it quickly, guiltily. "I just thought maybe we could... I don't know, save it for after tomorrow. Until after everything's clear." She cursed softly. "And when the hell is everything really clear, so that's stupid. But I didn't forget."

"That's good, as neither did I. Ah. Come along then, I've something to show you."

"I'm sort of surprised you're talking to me. I haven't been a bundle of joy to be around the last couple of days."

"Darling, you're such a master of understatement."

She stepped into the elevator with him. "Yeah, fine, but you haven't been Mr. Smooth yourself, pal."

"Undoubtedly true. I don't care for anyone questioning or countermanding my orders and arrangements any more than you. Let's have a truce, shall we?"

"I guess I could use one. Where are we going here?"

"Back," he said, and when the doors opened led her out.

The holo-room was a large clean space of mirrored black. When the elevator closed behind them, he drew her into its center. "Begin designated program, dual settings."