Memory in Death (In Death #22)(42)

"Hold on." She put the 'link on wait mode. "You saw the digs they were in. You got anything comparable to that, something that has a vacancy for a few days?"

"There's always something."

"Thanks." She changed modes. "Listen, Bobby, I can have a place for you tomorrow. I need you to hang on there tonight, and I'll have a new location for you in the morning."

"That's nice of you. It's a lot of bother. I'm not thinking so clear right now."

"You can hang on for tonight, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah." He passed his hand over his eyes. "I don't know what exactly we should do."

"Just stay there. My partner and I will come by in the morning. About eight. We need to do a follow-up, and afterward you can relocate."

"Okay. That's good. Okay. Can you tell me if you know anything about... if you know anything more?"

"We'll talk in the morning, Bobby."

"Yeah." His breath came out in a sigh. "In the morning. Thanks. Sorry."

"No problem."

When she disconnected, Roarke moved over behind her chair, laid his hands on her shoulders. "You have pity enough," he said quietly.

* * *

She thought she would dream, thought the nightmares would chase her in sleep, hunt her down. But they stayed shadows, never took form. Twice she woke, her body tight and tensed for the fight that didn't come. In the morning, tired and edgy, she tried to combat the fatigue with a blistering shower, with strong coffee.

In the end, she picked up her shield, shouldered on her weapon.

She'd do the job, she told herself. If there was an empty place inside her, she'd just fill it with work.

Roarke walked in, already suited up for the day. Those staggering blue eyes alert, aware. Once all she'd had was the work, and those empty places.

Now she had him.

"I thought hell had frozen over during the night." She took a slug out of her second mug of coffee. "Since you weren't sitting here scanning the financials when I got up."

"Did that in my office, so hell's still a fiery pit, if that's a comfort." He tossed her a memo cube. "Took care of this from there as well. Mid-level, Big Apple Hotel. It should suit them."

"Thanks." She pushed it into her pocket as he cocked his head and studied her.

"You don't look rested."

"If I were a girl, a comment like that would piss me off. I think."

Now he smiled, moved in to touch his lips to hers. "Lucky for both of us, then." And he laid his cheek to hers, rubbed. "Nearly Christmas."

"I know, seeing as the room smells like a forest from the big-ass tree you had hauled in here."

He smiled at it over her shoulder. "You had a fine time hanging the baubles on the boughs, didn't you?"

"Yeah, that was good. I had a better time banging your brains out under them."

"That did put a nice finish on things." He eased back, smoothed his thumbs under her eyes. "I don't like seeing shadows there."

"You bought the territory, Ace. They go with it."

"I want a date with you, Lieutenant, seeing as our Sunday plans were aborted."

"I thought dates went out with the I do's. Isn't that in the marriage rule book?"

"You didn't read the fine print. Christmas Eve, barring emergencies. You and me, in the parlor. We'll open our gifts, drink a great deal of Christmas cheer, and take turns banging each other's brains out."

"Will there be cookies?"

"Without a doubt."

"I'm there. Gotta go." She pushed the coffee into his hand. "Peabody's meeting me at the crime scene." Then she grabbed his hair, gave it a yank, and gave him a hard, noisy kiss. "See you."

He was better than hot showers and real coffee for getting the system up and running, she decided. And she had one more thing left to top it off.

She jogged down the stairs, grabbed her coat from the newel post, and sent Summerset a wide, toothy smile as she swirled it on. "Figured out just what to get you for Christmas. A brand-new shiny stick for you to shove up your ass. The one you've had up there the past couple decades must be showing some wear."

She strode out to her car with the smile still on her face. She had to admit, despite a shitty night's sleep, she wasn't feeling half bad.

* * *

Peabody was stomping up and down in front of the hotel when Eve pulled up. The way she was eating up sidewalk told Eve she was either trying to walk off a few calories, cold—which didn't seem possible as she had some sort of long muffler deal wrapped about six times around her neck—or seriously pissed.

It only took one look at her partner's face to opt for door number three.

"What is that?" Eve demanded.

"What is what?"

"That thing that's strangling you. Should I call pest control?"

"It's a scarf. My grandmother wove it, sent it to me, and told me to open it now. So I did."

Eve pursed her lips, studied the length of zigzagging reds and greens. "Festive."

"It's warm, and it's pretty, and it's the fricking season, isn't it?"

"Last I checked. You want me to call that exterminator after all, for the bug crawling around in your ass, or are you getting a thrill out of it?"