Memory in Death (In Death #22)(24)

It seemed Roarke had taken her at her word about supervising the ballroom decorations.

What had he been thinking?

Someone was always asking her what she thought, what she wanted, if she'd prefer this to that, or the other thing.

One of the crew had actually rushed from the room in tears the third time Eve said she didn't care.

Okay, she'd said she didn't give a gold-plated crap, but it meant the same thing.

Now she had a stress headache circling the top of her skull just waiting to clamp down on her brain and destroy it.

She wanted to lie down. More, she wanted her communicator to beep and have Dispatch inform her there was a triple homicide that needed her immediate attention.

"Had about enough?" Roarke whispered in her ear.

Such was her state that she jumped like a rabbit. "I'm fine. I'm good." And she broke, spinning to him, gripping his shirt. "Where have you been?"

"Why, blathering with the caterer, of course. The truffles are spectacular."

A steely light came into her eyes. "The chocolate kind?"

"No, actually, the sort the pigs snuffle out for us." He ran an absent hand over her tousled hair while he scanned the room. "But we have the chocolate kind as well. Go, make your escape." He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I'll take over here."

She nearly bolted. Every instinct had her out the door, running for I her sanity. But it wasn't only pride, it was marriage that held her in 1 place. "What am I, stupid? I've run ops bigger than this when lives are on the line. Just back off. Hey, you!"

Roarke watched as she strode across the floor, cop in every swagger.

"I said you!" She shoved between Garland Guy and Platform Guy before blood was spilled. "Button it," she ordered as each began to I complain. "You, with the shiny stuff, put it where it belongs."

"But I—"

"You had a plan, the plan was approved. Stick with the plan and don't bother me, or I'll personally stuff all that shiny stuff up your butt. And you." She jabbed a finger in the other man's chest. "Stay out of his way, or I'll save some shiny stuff for you. Okay, you, tall blond girl with the flowers..."

"Poinsettias," the tall blonde clarified with New Jersey so thick in her voice Eve could have driven on it across the river. "There were supposed to be five hundred, but there're only four hundred and ninety-six, and—"

"Deal. Finish building your... what the hell is this?"

"It's a poinsettia tree, but—"

"Of course, it is. If you need four more, go get four more from the poinsettia factory. Otherwise work with what you've got. And you, over there with the lights."

Roarke rocked back and forth on his heels and watched her rip through the various crews. Some of them looked a little shaky when she'd finished, but the pace of work increased considerably.

"There." She walked back to him, folded her arms. "Handled. Any problems?"

"Other than being strangely aroused, not a one. I think you've put the fear of God into them and should reward yourself with a little break." He draped an arm over her shoulders. "Come on. We'll find you a truffle."

"The chocolate kind."

"Naturally."

* * *

Hours later, or so it seemed to her, she stepped out of the bathroom. She'd done the best she could with the lip dye and the eye gunk. On the bed, waiting for her, was what looked like a long panel of dull gold. She figured it became a dress of some kind once it was on a body.

At least it wasn't fussy, she decided as she fingered the material. There were shoes of the same tone, if you could call a couple of skinny straps with an even skinnier heel shoes. She glanced at the dresser and saw he'd thought of the rest. A black case was open, and the diamonds— nothing sparkled like that but diamonds, she assumed, though they looked to be the color of champagne—formed a circle against the velvet. Another held the dangle of earrings, and still another a thick bracelet.

She picked up the panel of gold fabric, studied it, and concluded it was one of those deals you just wiggled into. Once that was done, she carried the shoes, which weren't going on her feet until zero hour, and fumbled her way through the accessories at the dresser.

The bracelet was too big, she noted. She'd probably lose it, then someone would pawn it and have enough money to buy a nice little island country in the South Pacific.

"You're wearing it wrong," Roarke told her from the doorway. "Here." He stepped in, walked to her, elegant in formal black. He slid the glittering triple band to just above her elbow. "A bit of a warrior touch, suits you."

He stepped back. "You look like a flame. A long golden flame on a cold night."

When he gazed at her like that, things started melting inside her, so she turned away, studied herself in the mirror. The dress was a column, sleek and fluid from just over her br**sts to her ankles.

"Is this dress going to stay up?"

"Until the guests leave, at any rate." He leaned over to brush his lips over her bare shoulder. Then he wrapped his arms around her waist so they studied the image they made in the glass.

"Our second Christmas together," he said. "We've stored up a few things in the memory box Mavis and Leonardo gave us last year."