Born in Death (In Death #23)(52)

“Okay, okay. Jesus.” But if she was going to be dragged into decorations, she wasn’t being dragged alone. Eve marched to Roarke’s office. “We’re going to look at decorations and see what else needs to be done. I think.”

“Have fun.”

“Un-uh. We is you, too.”

“I don’t want to.” But he made the mistake of glancing up, and met the same glowering look on Eve’s face she’d seen on Peabody’s. “All right, then. But when this whole business is finally over, you and I are taking that postponed holiday, and doing naked handsprings on the sand.”

“Right with you, ace.”

11

IT WASN’T NUMBERS THAT DANCED IN HER dreams, but rainbows and strange winged babies. When the flying babies began to buzz like wasps and form into packs, Eve clawed her way out of sleep.

She sat up as if her shoulders were on springs and said, “Whoa.”

“Nightmare?” Roarke was already rising from the sofa in the sitting area.

“Flying babies. Evil flying babies with evil wings.”

He stepped onto the platform, sat on the side of the bed. “Darling Eve, we need a vacation.”

“There were balloons,” she said darkly. “And the wings cut through them like razors so they popped. And when they popped, more evil flying babies zoomed out.”

He trailed a finger along her thigh. “Maybe you could make an effort to dream about, oh, let’s say, sex.”

“Somebody had sex, didn’t they, to create the evil flying babies?” Suddenly she reached forward, grabbed fistsful of his sweater. Her eyes radiated desperation. “Don’t leave me alone with all these women today.”

“Sorry. I’m falling back on the penis clause. Which sounds vaguely obscene, when spoken aloud, but I’m using it in any case. No negotiation.”

“Bastard,” she said, but with more envy than heat as she released him to flop back.

“There, there.” He gave her an absent pat.

“Maybe it’ll snow. There could be a blizzard, and people won’t be able to come because it’s a blizzard—a big mother—that brings New York to its trembling knees.”

“Forecast is for a high of twenty-two degrees under clear skies.”

“I heard that. I heard it.” Rearing up again, she jabbed a finger at him. “Not the words, the tone. You think this is funny.”

“No. I know it is. And you’ll end up having a good time, first because Mavis will be so happy, and next because you’ll spend some nonprofessional time with a number of women you like.”

“But, Roarke, there have to be games.”

“You don’t play them.”

Her eyes went cop flat. “Why not?”

He couldn’t help it if he was amused. She managed to be panicked and suspicious at the same time. “You’re the hostess, and it would be wrong for you to participate in the games and win any of the prizes.”

“Is that true?”

“It should be, and that’s your stand on it.”

“Yeah, that’s my stand on it.” She perked up considerably. “Thanks.”

She revved herself up with a workout, a long swim, and a hot shower. Then she snuck into her office to run probabilities on different scenarios.

“You’re working again!”

She actually jolted upright, and felt a small twinge of guilt. “What are you,” she demanded of Peabody, “the work police?”

“You don’t need a cop, you need a keeper. Dallas, the caterer’s going to be here any minute.”

“Okay, fine, good. Somebody can tell me when they’re here.” Eve waved a hand. “I’m just checking some things that have to do with pesky details like double murders.”

But she shut down the machine when Peabody merely stood, gimlet-eyed, actually tapping her foot. “You’re not the work police.” It was said with some bitterness. “You’re the party gestapo.”

“Mavis just called. She didn’t try your ’link because she knew you’d be busy with the shower preparations. She’s on her way over because she can’t wait anymore.”

“Man. I turned my machine off, didn’t I? I’m leaving the office. See, walking out, shutting the door behind me.”

Peabody only smiled. Guilt was the best tool, she knew. She’d learned that one at her mother’s knee.

Eve’s first surprise was that the caterer didn’t want her to do anything. In fact, they wanted Eve and everyone else completely out of the way. Her second was that Summerset had already left the house, and wouldn’t be back until the following day.

“You won’t find any Y chromosomes on the premises this afternoon,” Roarke told her. “Except the cat.”

He stood with Eve in the second-level sitting room. It was larger than the downstairs parlor they used most often, and boasted double fireplaces with malachite surrounds. Sofas, chairs, and an abundance of pillows had been arranged in conversation areas, with a long table, covered now with a rainbow hue of cloths and candles, running along the back wall. Over it, rainbow streamers, pink and blue balloons, and some sort of arty flowered vine flowed out of a sparkling circle and formed a kind of canopy over what Peabody had designated as the gift table.