Connections in Death (In Death #48)(13)

“You saved mine.”

“No, honey, you—”

“You’re a freaking wonder, Ro. I’m real proud.”

“So am I, of you.” She cupped his face. “So am I.”

“Get going. Get your fancy on, and tell Crack I said to take you dancing. Maybe you come by tomorrow lunchtime. I’ll cook you up something special.”

“I’m going to do all of that.” She grabbed her coat, stuck her arms in. “This is going to make a big difference for us, Lyle. Such a difference. You tell Gram to plan a big family dinner for your next night off. We’re going to celebrate till we drop.

“Crap, I’m going to be late.” She snagged a scarf and her purse on the run. “I love you, Lyle.”

“Back at you squared, Ro.”

*

She bubbled like a fountain all through dinner. Crack couldn’t stop grinning at her as she told him about the meeting, the tour, the offer, the contract. Her plans—already so many plans.

It was one of the things he loved about her. She planned ahead. She had a skill for being in the moment, focused on that moment and the person, but she also knew how to plan ahead.

She knew how to see what was, and what could be.

“Who knew when I met Roarke on Saturday night I’d end up working for him? I think Nicci did. You know my supervisor, Wilson. I think she had a feeling. Anyway, she said she did. I felt I had to tell her I’d accepted the offer, and was just waiting for the contract on Roarke’s end. She was happy for me, Wilson.”

“Sure she was. She ain’t no fool.”

“I’m going to miss working with that team. But oh, I’m going to have a new team, and with the tools we’ll have, the financing, the educators, it’s going to—” She broke off, laughing. “You need to stop me because I can’t stop myself.”

“Not in this lifetime. My Dr. Ro, head of the head shrinkers.” He put his big hand over hers. How ’bout I get a tour of the place.”

“Yes, you have to see it. It’s so well-planned, so inclusive. It has such heart. Wilson, you remember that awful thing about all those girls, the remains they found when they started the work there.”

“I remember.”

“They’ve got a roof garden, so the students can plant and grow things, so they can have places to go sit outside. They’ve put a memorial to those poor girls up there. It’s sad, but it’s also uplifting. Their lives mattered, and they’re remembered. It’s beautiful, Wilson.”

“I told you before we went to Nadine’s how they’re about the best people I know. Don’t know how I’d’ve gotten through after that crazy bastard killed my sister, my baby.”

Now Rochelle brought that big hand to her cheek, cradled it. “That skinny white girl held on to me when I fell to pieces. She got justice for my baby. And the two of them, they planted that tree for her in the park. Kindest thing anybody ever did for me.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, picked up his beer to steady himself. “Now I know they’re smart enough to hire up the best. ’Cause that’s what you are. I love you, Ro.”

“Wilson.” He made everything inside her feel light and right. “I love you, too. It’s so strange, isn’t it? We met at such a sad moment, and here we are, making something so good together. I feel my life’s taking such a turn. Lyle finding himself again, you, now this. I can look back, remember, even feel how hard, scary, rocky things were. And now all this. I feel blessed, Wilson.”

“You earned every blessing.”

She smiled, leaned toward him. “How about we skip dessert?”

“You? My sweet-tooth lady?”

“Walt’s at the dorm for sure. Lyle’s staying at Martin’s. We have the apartment to ourselves. All night.”

“I’ll get the check.”

*

She giggled her way up the steps, grabbed him outside the apartment door for a steamy kiss. There was so much of him, all hard and cut and strong. He made her feel delicate when she was anything but.

She fumbled with her keys for the police-grade locks she’d paid to have installed. And reminded herself they’d be able to afford a better place, a better neighborhood, very soon.

Crack took the keys, unlocked the door. He swung her through with every intention of completing the circle until her back was against the closed door, and he could get good and started.

They both saw Lyle slumped in the chair in the tiny living space, vomit on his shirt, his eyes glazed and fixed, and the pressure syringe empty in his lap.

“No!” She started to leap forward, but Crack wrapped around her, held her firm against that closed door.

“You can’t touch him, Ro. You can’t touch anything.”

“You let me go! Lyle. Oh my God, Lyle. Let me go, goddamn it.”

She fought him, a strong, desperate woman. She cursed him, beat at him, but he held her back. Held her when she went limp. Held her as he lowered with her to the floor.

“No, no, no. Lyle. Please, please. Maybe he’s—”

“Baby, my baby, he’s gone. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Ro.”

“He wouldn’t. He wasn’t using, I swear it. He wouldn’t do this. He’d never do this.”