Holiday in Death (In Death #7)(103)

“No.” The distance was forming, Peabody noted. Inch by inch. “Dallas, I’m sorry. Last night.”

“This isn’t an appropriate time to discuss it.”

Peabody set her jaw, then opened and closed the blanket. “I’m not in uniform, so I’m not speaking as aide to superior officer. That means I can say what the hell I want. I didn’t like the things you said. I still don’t. But I’m glad it mattered enough that you said them. I’m not sorry I jumped you for it, but I am sorry I didn’t see it as a friend’s concern.”

Eve waited a beat. “Okay, but if you ever do hire twelve LCs to f**k you blind, I want details.”

Peabody sniffed, and managed a watery grin. “It’s just a little fantasy of mine. I don’t actually make enough to afford twelve at once. But I did have another little fantasy come true tonight. Roarke saw me naked.”

“Christ, Peabody.” On a shaky laugh, Eve pulled her close again. This time, she held on. “We’re okay.”

She looked so steady, Roarke thought as he watched her stride out of the building. So in charge and in control as she stood in the brisk wind in damp shirtsleeves and issued orders to the uniforms at the door.

There was blood on her hands. He doubted she knew it.

And the wave of love struck him like a fist as she shoved one of those smeared hands through her hair and started toward the car.

“Do you want to stay with her?”

Eve settled into the warmth of the car. “She’s okay. Good cop.”

“So are you.” He tipped her face up, and laid his lips on hers in a soft, sweet, stirring kiss.

She blinked her eyes open, and laid a hand over his. “What time is it?”

“Just about midnight.”

“Okay. Do that again.” She fit her mouth to his, settled in, sighed. “There’s a memory for the box — and a tradition. Merry Christmas.”

The End