Holiday in Death (In Death #7)(71)

“Ah, I’d say you’re back, Lieutenant.”

“Damn right. I ought to knock your balls up to your ears, smart guy.”

“Well, at least we both got one last use of them first.” He grinned and risked serious damage. Then he reached up and feathered his fingers over her cheek. And distracted her just enough to allow him to counter the move. He flipped her over and pinned her down.

“Now, you listen.” The grin was gone. “Whatever it takes is what I’ll do. Whenever it’s needed is when I’ll do it. You don’t have to like it, but you’ll damn well live with it.”

He pushed off, shifting to the balls of his feet when he saw her eyes narrow with purpose. Then he let out a sigh and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Bloody hell. I love you.”

She’d been poised to spring. Those two sentences, said with equal parts frustration and weariness, arrowed straight to her heart. He stood there, his hair tousled from sleep and sex and struggle, his eyes deeply blue and filled with annoyance and love.

Everything inside her shifted, then settled into the pattern she supposed it was fated for. “I know. I’m sorry. You were right.” She tunneled her fingers through her hair, distracted enough not to see the flicker of surprise on his face. “I don’t like your methods, but you were right. I was pushing too hard before I was a hundred percent. You’ve been telling me to recharge for days, and I didn’t want to hear it.”

“Why?”

“I was scared.” It was hard to admit it, even to a man she knew she could tell every secret.

“Scared?” He crossed to her, sat down, and took her hand in his. “Of what?”

“That I wouldn’t be able to go back, not all the way back. That I wouldn’t be strong enough, or sharp enough to be back on the job. And if I couldn’t…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’ve got to be a cop. I have to do the job. If I can’t — I’ve lost myself.”

“You could have talked to me about this.”

“I wouldn’t even talk to myself about it.” She rubbed her fingers over her eyes, irritated that there were tears brewing behind them. “Since I went back, I’ve been mostly doing paperwork, court dates. This is my first homicide since I got off disability leave. If I can’t handle it…”

“You are handling it.”

“Whitney ordered me home last night — either that or he was taking me off the case. I get here and you threaten to pour drugs down my throat.”

“Well.” He gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze. “That was lousy timing. But I believe, in both cases, it was a matter of wanting you to rest, rather than a criticism of your abilities.”

He took her chin in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the center dent. “Eve, there are times when you are astonishingly unaware of self. You push yourself to the wall on every case. The only difference with this is that you were physically shaky to begin with. You’re the same cop you were when I met you last winter. And occasionally that’s a frightening thought.”

“Yeah, I’m counting on that.” She studied their joined hands. “But I’m not the same person I was last winter.” With her fingers linked with his, she lifted her head, looked into his eyes. “I don’t want to be. I like who I am now. Who we are now.”

“Good.” He leaned over to kiss her. “Because we’re stuck.”

She fisted a hand in his hair to deepen the kiss. “It’s turned out to be a pretty good deal. But…” She nibbled lightly at his bottom lip then bit it sharply enough to make him yelp in surprise and pain. “If you ever again let Summerset put his hands on me when I’m out…” She rose, breathed deeply, and decided she felt incredible. “I’ll shave you bald in your sleep. I’m starving,” she said abruptly. “Want breakfast?”

He considered her for a moment, then ran a considering hand over his long black hair. He was, fortunately, a very light sleeper. “Yeah. I could eat.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Armed with the results of the probability scan on Rudy, Eve paced Dr. Mira’s outer office. She needed the weight of Mira’s profile on him to yank him back into Interview and, hopefully, into a cell.

Time was passing. With or without the tag, she expected him to move on to number five that night.

“Does she know I’m out here?” Eve demanded of Mira’s assistant.

Well used to impatient cops, the woman didn’t bother to glance up from her own work. “She’s in a session. She’ll be with you as soon as possible.”

Pumped by refreshed energy, Eve paced to the far wall and eyed with suspicion a dreamy watercolor of some seacoast town. She paced back and scowled at the mini AutoChef. She knew it wouldn’t be stocked with coffee. Mira preferred her patients and associates to sip soothers or tea.

The minute Mira’s door opened, Eve whirled and pounced. “Dr. Mira — ” She broke off when she spotted Nadine Furst.

The reporter flushed, then straightened her shoulders and met Eve’s annoyed glare dead on.

“If you start going around me to pump my profiler for data, you’re going to find yourself without a departmental source, and up on charges, pal.”

“I’m here on personal business,” Nadine said stiffly.