Memory in Death (In Death #22)(49)

The back of her neck sizzled at the dismissal. "Five minutes," she said between her teeth. "Private."

He shoved back from his station, swiveled around fast enough to make his long tail of blond hair swing. He gave a jerk of the shoulder to indicate she should follow him, then strode off on his shiny yellow airboots.

Color, from anger and from embarrassment, rode her cheeks as she wove through the clicks and clacks of EDD. The fact that no one paused long enough to hail her or send her a wave told her McNab hadn't kept their situation to himself.

Well, neither had she. So what?

He opened the door to a small break room where two detectives were arguing in the incomprehensible terms of e-geeks. McNab simply jerked a thumb toward the door. "Need five."

The detectives took their argument and a couple of cherry fizzies out the door. One paused long enough to glance back at Peabody with a look of sympathetic understanding.

Of course, Peabody thought, the look came from a female.

McNab got himself a lime fizzy, probably color-coordinating his outfit, Peabody thought nastily. She closed the door herself as he leaned back against the short counter.

"I've got something cooking, so make it fast," he told her.

"Oh, I'll make it fast. You're not the only one who's got something cooking. If you hadn't snuck out of the apartment this morning, we could've dealt with some of this before shift."

"I didn't sneak." He took a long drink, eyeing her over the neon tube. "Not my fault you sleep like a corpse. Plus, I didn't feel like slamming up against your attitude first thing in the morning."

"My attitude?" Her voice came out in a squeak that would have mortified her if she'd noticed it. "You're the one who said I was selfish. You're the one who said I didn't care."

"I know what I said. So if this is just a replay—"

Peabody planted her feet. For once she was happy to know she outweighed him. "You make a move to that door before I'm done, I'll flatten your bony ass."

Now temper flashed in his eyes. "Say what you've got to say, then. Odds are it'll be more than you've had to say to me for the past week."

"What're you talking about?"

"You've always got something to do." He slammed down his drink, and true to its name, lime-colored liquid fizzed over the lip. "Always got something going. Every time I try to talk to you, it's 'We'll get into it later.' You're going to dump a guy, you could have the decency to wait until after the holidays. Wouldn't f**king kill you."

"What? What? Dump you? Have you lost what little brainpower you had?"

"You've been avoiding me. Coming in late, heading out early, every damn day."

"I've been Christmas shopping, you moron." She threw her hands in the air as her voice pitched toward a shout. "I've been going to the gym. And I've been up at Mavis and Leonardo's because... I can't tell you why. And if I've been avoiding you, it's because all you want to talk about is going to Scotland."

"We've only got a couple of days left to—"

"I know, I know." She slapped her hands to her head and squeezed.

"I've got a line on some side work I can do, help pay for it. I just want to... You weren't going to dump me?"

"No, but I should. I should dump you right on your pointy head and save myself all this aggravation."

She dropped her hands, sighed. "Maybe I was avoiding you because I didn't want to talk about going to Scotland."

"You always said you wanted to go one day."

"I know what I said, but that's when I didn't think we'd ever go. Now you're pinning me to it, and I'm nervous. No, not nervous. Terrified."

"Of what?"

"Of meeting your family—all at once. Of being the one you bring home for Christmas, for God's sake."

"Jesus, Peabody, who the hell do you want me to bring home for Christmas?"

"Me, you idiot. But when you bring somebody home for Christmas, it's a big. It's a real big. They're all going to be looking at me and asking me questions, and I can't lose a stupid goddamn five pounds, because I'm nervous, so I eat. And I figured if we could just stay home I wouldn't have to worry about it until whenever."

He just stared at her in the baffled way men had stared at women across the ages. "You took me home for Thanksgiving."

"That's different. It is," she said before he could object. "You'd already met my parents, and we're Free-Agers. We feed anybody and everybody on Thanksgiving. I feel fat and clunky, and they're going to hate me."

"Dee." He only called her Dee when he was particularly tender, or especially exasperated. This, from his tone, seemed to be some of both. "It is a real big to take someone home for Christmas. You're the first I have."

"Oh, God. That just makes it worse. Or better. I don't know which." She swallowed, pressed a hand to her belly. "I think I feel sick."

"They're not going to hate you. They're going to love you because I do. I love you, She-Body." He gave her the smile, the one that made her think of little puppy dogs. "Please come home with me. I've been waiting a long time to show you off."