Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(18)

When he lay back with her, she was limp as melted wax and just as warm. He brushed his hand over her hair, over her cheek, made her smile.

“I think we’ll make it.”

“Didn’t we just?”

Still smiling, she jabbed a finger in his belly. “Not that—though that was really nice. I guess my brain keeps circling around the Miras. You weren’t there with them at the crime scene. It was . . . it’s the way they look at each other, and touch. A couple times I had to look away because it felt like I was intruding. They’ve been married for decades, but when you see them like that . . . like last night? You know why.”

She closed her eyes. “I want that. I never thought I did or could or would, but I want that. I want to be with you for decades and have you still look at me the way he looks at her.”

“You’re the love of my life. And always will be.”

“Maybe you could tell me that in like thirty years.”

“That’s a promise. And now, love of my life, go back to sleep.”

She frowned when he rolled out of bed. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s near to half five now.”

“Some people, who aren’t you, consider that the middle of the night.”

“It’s the middle of the day in Europe, and I’ve a holo conference very shortly.”

While he went to shower, she half dozed, but found her mind wouldn’t shut down again. She barely heard him come out, dress—the man moved like a shadow.

Which probably factored into his success as a thief back in the day.

Alone, she lay another few minutes, then gave it up.

“Lights twenty-five percent.”

When they came on, she nearly jolted. The cat was sprawled at the foot of the bed, giving her the beady eye.

“Christ, you’re as bad as Roarke, skulking around.”

She figured the early morning sex had annoyed the cat, but it had set her up just fine. She programmed coffee, started fueling her brain as she went into the shower.

Since she beat Roarke to the AutoChef, she programmed breakfast for both of them—nothing like waffles on a cold January morning to her mind—and left them under their warming domes while she dressed.

She sat down with coffee, her PPC, and got a jump on her workday.

“Now, here’s a lovely sight on a bitter winter’s day.”

She glanced over, decided he was a pretty good sight himself in his ruler-of-the-business-world suit. “Finished buying Europe already?”

“Not buying today—so far—just a bit of engineering and tech advancing through the R&D stage. And well advancing.”

He sat, poured coffee from the pot on the table, then uncovered the breakfast plates. “Waffles, is it?”

“It should almost always be. I’m having Peabody meet me at the Mira Institute at eight sharp. I want to get a sense of the place, what Edward Mira had going there. We should have time to grab an interview with a couple of his skirts before we have to head back. Trueheart’s getting his shield at oh-ten hundred.”

“I hate to miss that, particularly since you’ll be in uniform.” He watched her drown her waffles in butter and syrup.

So did Galahad, who began a stealthy inch-by-inch bellying forward until Roarke cocked an eyebrow at him. The cat rolled onto his back, batting busily at the air.

“I’ll be stripping off the uniform as soon as the ceremony’s over.”

“I really hate to miss that.”

“Ha ha. We’ll hit the rest of the skirts, then talk to his offspring. Maybe they’ll have more to say than his wife.”

“I assume you’ve already checked, and he hasn’t shown up. Alive or dead.”

“Not so far. I’ll check in again later with Missing Persons, and have Peabody keep up a running check with hospitals. Got a BOLO on him, and an alert.”

She stuffed in more waffles, and thought if every day started off with sex and waffles, people would maybe be less inclined to kill each other.

Or maybe not.

“If he shows up dead, I’ll get tagged,” she added. “Meanwhile, I’m having the locals check his other residences, just in case. I expect the lab to confirm the elephant this morning.”

“That’s not a phrase you hear often.”

“Heavy object used to whack Mr. Mira. Fancy elephant statue. I dreamed it came to life and started rampaging through that brownstone. It’s only about this big.” She stopped eating long enough to hold up her hands. “But still, elephant.”

“There are times I envy the creativity of your dream life.”

“I think I stunned it before it got out and tore up the neighborhood, but it’s vague, and it sort of rolled into another one.”

“The elephant rolled into another elephant?”

“No, the dream—well, sort of the elephant. I had it in Interview. You know like: You’re looking at attempted murder, Mr. Phant, but if you cooperate I can see about dealing that down to simple assault.”

He laughed hard enough to have Galahad making another try for waffles. Roarke just waved the cat away. “Is it a wonder I adore you? ‘Mr. Phant.’”

“Yeah, it seems funny now, but I was pretty serious. I think the damn elephant’s the only tangible thing I’ve got here, and it was nothing more than handy. It doesn’t apply.”