Abandoned in Death (In Death, #54)(64)

“We’ll find him. We’ll stop him. I just don’t know if we will in time to save those two women on the board.”

She worked, and touched base with Peabody, with Reineke. When Roarke found a house on his list with a permit for rehabbing a laundry area, adding a bathroom, she passed it to Reineke and Jenkinson.

“We’d never get a search warrant—way too thin,” she told Roarke, “but we can see how the occupant reacts when asked if a couple of cops can take a look at their basement.”

“At this time of night, said occupant may be less than hospitable.”

She frowned at her wrist unit. “It’s not that late. It’s not even really twenty-three hundred.”

“It’s ten past that.”

“See, not even barely there. And I told them this is the last one tonight. They can hit the others tomorrow. They got to a solid third of the list tonight.”

She rose, walked to the board one more time. “If none of those properties pan out, we’ll have to widen the area. I’m not wrong about the damn house. Okay, okay, what if he has the place, but he didn’t put it in his name? Maybe the mother’s name, or a family name, a place name. A combo.”

“I’ll agree to set up a new search, put it on auto, if you agree to shut it down for the night.”

“I’ll shut it down as soon as Reineke and Jenkinson check back in.”

“Deal.”

At midnight, because a deal was a damn deal, she slid into bed. “I can’t believe I’m obsessing about toilets.”

“It’s a necessity.” Roarke wrapped an arm around her. “As the man Jenkinson and Reineke talked with who had one installed in the basement he’s turned into a media room understands. I wonder if we should add a media room.”

“I like stretching out on the sofa and watching vids in here.”

“As do I. Which is why I’ve gone back and forth on the idea. Now turn off that relentless cop’s brain and sleep.”

In a minute. Or two. “If he comes out to hunt tonight, and the patrols spot him—”

Roarke rolled over on top of her. “I see what needs to be done.”

“Sex isn’t the solution to everything.”

“But it does solve a multitude of problems. Now quiet down,” he said, and closed his mouth over hers.

He went the dreamy route—she knew his ways.

And they worked.

She heard the thump of the cat jumping off the bed, imagined him stalking away in annoyance. Then forgot him as the dreamy spread through her.

Soft and slow, lazy and sweet, Roarke relaxed her muscle by muscle. He found the places, all the places that needed to melt, the places that wanted to ache.

He slid her nightshirt up, inch by inch, over her head and away.

And she was away, with him, body against body, pulse against pulse, mouth against mouth.

He felt her yield, not just to him, but to the moment. The way that relentless cop gave way to the woman who loved. And like her, he yielded to her, to the moment. To the stroke of her hands on his skin, the warmth of her mouth answering his.

When he slipped inside her, she was warm and wet, and when she moved under him, he lifted his head to watch her watching him.

He whispered to her in Irish, heard her sigh in response. She laid her hand on his cheek, so he turned his head to press his lips to her palm as they moved together.

Slow and easy, easy and slow, no hurry, no time, no worry. Even as the need built, as the aches spread, as pulses beat, they clung to the moment, to each other.

And they held tight even when the moment blurred, and beyond it.

So she slept, and, when he knew she did, he joined her.

She dreamed, something in the dark, searching in the dark, following voices crying for help. Whenever she got close, they faded. When she called out to them, they sounded from a different direction.

No matter where she looked, she couldn’t find them.

She woke with a start, her communicator beeping.

“Crap!” Dragging herself out of the dream, she grabbed for the communicator. “Block video,” she ordered as Roarke called for lights on at ten percent.

“Dallas.”

Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. See the officers at twenty-one Leonard. Possible Homicide.

Already up and bolting to the closet for clothes, Eve snapped, “Is the DB female?”

Affirmative.

“Copy that.” She dragged on trousers. “Dallas out.”

She grabbed for a shirt. “Damn it, damn it, damn it. It’s going to be Hobe. He’s had her the longest. What the fuck time is it?”

“Half-four.”

After shoving her feet into boots, she snagged a belt, a jacket. When she came out of the closet with them, a fully dressed Roarke handed her coffee.

“How do you do that?” She gulped down coffee before reaching for her weapon harness.

“I’ll go with you. I’ll drive.”

“I don’t need you to—”

“I’ll go with you,” he repeated. “And I’ll drive, then find my way back.”

He’d have to, she thought, as the black tee and jeans didn’t meet his emperor-of-the-business-world standards.

“And you’ll be tagging up Peabody and alerting Morris.”