Calculated in Death (In Death #36)(67)

Thinking of her, he glanced over. Ah well, he thought, she was done. She didn’t know it yet, but he knew the signs. Her body had begun its droop, her eyes were going a little glassy. Left to her own devices she’d have worked until her head just dropped down on her desk.

When he checked the time, he noted it was nearly half-one. No wonder.

Even as he watched her sliding, the cat butted its head against his shin.

“All right, I see, don’t I? It’s off to bed for all of us.”

Considering her injuries, she needed that bed, a reasonable night’s sleep in it. So he programmed what he could of his work in progress to auto, copied and saved the rest before he rose to go to her.

“I’m calling time.”

“Huh? I’m . . . just taking a harder look at Ingersol.” She scratched her fingers in her hair as if to wake up her brain. “Nothing works with Newton in this, with him crossing into Ingersol’s client base. I mean, it would be pretty clever, but that’s predisposing you’d get caught and have the patsy waiting.”

“And people like these rarely if ever believe they’ll be caught.”

“They just don’t. So, anyway. You said once to look at insurance. Ingersol’s got heavy coverage, mostly on art. Way over the listed value.”

“Which could mean he fudged the value initially so as not to raise flags on where he got the money to buy it. Or he’ll make a claim and skin the insurance company.”

“I didn’t see any claims here, but—”

“You can look more tomorrow. We need some sleep.”

“It’s not that late,” she began, then looked at the time. “Oh. I guess it is.”

“Tomorrow.” He drew her to her feet, felt her body tense. “You’re feeling that fall you took.”

“A little stiff, that’s all.” But she didn’t argue when he leaned down, manually saved her work.

“I’ve a couple of lines to tug,” he told her as he led her out of the room. “And I’ll have a better grip on them tomorrow.”

“What lines?”

“Some tucked-away accounts—two legal, one questionable. Some transactions that bear a closer look. I expect the auditor in his pocket, if indeed he’s in the pocket, would have tidied it all up. And so I expect I’ll find more that hasn’t yet been cleaned. He’s listed travel expenses, business expenses, and the locations weigh heavily toward places that have large gambling draws and generous tax codes.”

“It’s a way to launder money.”

“A time-honored method for a reason,” Roarke said as they entered the bedroom.

While she readied for bed, he brought out a med-pad. “You’ll sleep better for it,” he said before she could object. “And for the blocker you’ll take. A good night’s sleep will put you back in tune to catch the bad guys. Let’s see the back door.”

She rolled her eyes, but she turned so he could study her ass.

“You’re still carrying Africa, but it’s eroding at the edges.”

“Great. We’re destroying the Dark Continent.”

He laughed, gently applied the pack to her shoulder, then gave Africa a soft pat. “Hopefully its land mass will have further eroded by morning.”

“With or without Africa, I’m going to push Parzarri in the morning.” She slid into bed. “Those accounts you found, that’s something to push on. Oh, Larrina Chambers isn’t what you’d call a mistress,” she added, relaxing as Roarke lay beside her. “She’s got plenty of her own. They’re connected, I’m damn sure, but it’s not a being kept kind of deal. I don’t know if I’ll be able to work her. I have to think about it.”

As her voice had already thickened, he began to rub her back, lightly, lightly, to lull her under. “The wife’s gotta know. You can’t hook up like that for what looks like about six or seven years without the wife figuring it out. Unless she’s another idiot.

“I’m not an idiot.”

Smiling, Roarke continued to stroke. “I’ll keep that in mind when I decide to have a long-term affair.”

“Yeah, you do that. They’ll never find your body,” she murmured, then dropped into sleep.

His smiled warmed, and feeling well loved, he dropped off with her.

• • •

She woke to see Roarke in his usual spot, already dressed and with the numbers and codes scrolling on screen as he worked on a tablet.

She sat up carefully. Stiff, a little sore as predicted, but no twinges or grinding. Good sign.

“How is it?” he asked her.

“Pretty okay.” Her shoulder didn’t grind, but it did groan a little when she rolled it. A hot shower, she decided, would take care of it.

He circled his finger as he had the night before, and as she had the night before, she rolled her eyes and turned. “More like South America now,” he decided. “An improvement.”

But he didn’t like the sickly yellow bruising across her chest.

“When I find that f**ker, he’s going to have a continent on his ass.”

“Go for Asia,” Roarke suggested. “It’s bigger.”

“An Asian ass-kicking. I can do that.”