Memory in Death (24 page)

"Why do you do this?" She demanded with a wave at the gifts.

"It's a sickness."  I'll say.

"We're having Irish in our coffee."

"If that means whiskey, I'll pass. I don't know why you want to muck up perfectly good coffee that way."

"Just another sickness. I'll pour you some wine."

"I'll get it myself. Peabody tagged me on the way home. She's not only safe and sound in Scotland, she was half-piss-faced and insane with delight. She loves you, by the way, and me, and McNab's bony ass—and even his cousin Sheila." She gave Summerset a small smile. "She didn't mention you, but I'm sure it was an oversight."

She sat down, stretched out her legs. "That's one present that hit the mark, big time. You clear everything you needed to clear?"

"I did," Roarke told her. "You?"

"No, but screw it. I tried to get the lab and got a recording of 'Jingle Bell Rock.' Why don't songs like that ever die? Now it's stuck in my head."

The cat deserted Summerset to jump into her lap, complain loudly, and knead his claws into her thighs.

"He's trying you." Roarke gestured with his cup. "He wants the cookies, and got nowhere with me or Summerset in that area."

"Well, you can forget it, Fatso." She lifted him, went nose-to-nose. "But I've got something for you."

She dumped him, then went to the tree, pawed around, and came up with a gift bag.

She dug out a pair of feline-sized antlers, and a toy mouse.

"He's much too dignified to wear those, or bat about some ridiculous toy," Summerset protested.

Eve just snorted.

"Catnip." She held the mouse up by the tail in front of Galahad's face. "Yeah, that's right," she said as Galahad reared up on his hind legs and grabbed the mouse with his front claws. "Zeus for cats."

"And you, a duly designated officer of the law," Roarke said, "dealing."

"I've got my sources." While the cat rolled deliriously with his new toy, Eve stuck the antlers in place. "Okay, you look really stupid, so this is only for tonight. We humans have to get our kicks somewhere."

"Is he trying to eat it," Roarke wondered, "or make love to it?"

"I don't want to think that hard about it. But he's not thinking about cookies anymore."

She sat again, propped her feet on Roarke's lap. And when Roarke ran an absent hand up her calf, Summerset took it as his cue.

"I've prepared something simple for dinner, assuming you'd enjoy having it in here. I'm having mine with some friends in the city."

"You have friends?" nearly popped out of Eve's mouth, but Roarke squeezed her ankle in anticipation.

"Everything is in the kitchen unit."

"Enjoy your evening, then."

"I will, and you, too."

Another ankle squeeze had Eve wincing. "Um, yeah. Merry."

When they were alone, she shoved at Roarke's arm. "Take it easy, will you? I was going to say something."

"I know very well what you were going to say. We're having peace on our particular square of Earth until Boxing Day."

"Fine, I can do it if he can. Besides, I plan to get really drunk."

"Why don't I help you out with that?" He rose, and poured her more wine.

"What about you?"

"I'll have some, but I think one of us has to keep his wits. That cat is stoned," he commented, glancing down at the floor where Galahad rubbed himself lasciviously over the mouse.

"Well, seeing as he's fixed, he can't ever have sex. I just figured he should have a little thrill for the holiday. I'm counting on getting some thrills myself."

Roarke lifted a brow. "I can help you with that, too."

"Maybe I was talking about cookies."

He dropped onto the couch, full-length beside her. And fastened his mouth on hers.

"Not drunk yet," she murmured.

"Not done yet, either."

"You gotta close those doors if you're going to start fooling around. He may be going out, but the spirit of Summerset haunts these halls."

"I'm simply kissing my wife." He propped them both up, longways, so that they could watch the fire, sip wine. And neck.

"Nice." She took a breath, breathed him, and let every cell in her body relax. "I may not leave this room, hell, this couch, until after Christmas."

"We'll have to take turns getting provisions. Feeding ourselves and the fire."

"Okay. You first."

He laughed, brushed his lips over her hair. "You smell delicious." He sniffed down to her neck.

"You've put something on."

"I can take a minute now and then."

"And it's appreciated."

"Did you get in touch with your people in Ireland?"

"I did, yes. It appeared to be a madhouse of baking and babies, which suits them very well. They wish you a happy Christmas."

"You're okay, not being over there?"

"I'm exactly where I want to be." He turned her face up to his, met her lips. "Exactly. And you need more wine."

"Already got a buzz going."

"Likely because you didn't have lunch."

"Oh, yeah, I knew I forgot something." She took the wine he poured. "After I get plowed, and make love to every square inch of you, I'll eat a ton."

Since he was up, he went over, closed the parlor doors.

From the sofa, Eve grinned. "Come over here, and start unwrapping me."

Amused, aroused, he sat at her feet. "Why don't I start down here?" he suggested, and slipped off her shoes. Then he pressed his thumbs to her arch, made her purr.

"Good spot." She closed her eyes, drank a little more wine. "Tell you what, later, you can get plowed and I'll do you."

"Someone has the Christmas spirit." He kissed a bracelet around her ankles.

"You can't avoid it, it's winging around out there left and right." Lovely little sensations shimmered up her legs. "You can dodge, but eventually it beans you."

She opened one eye when he unhooked her trousers. "Quick work."

"Want slow?"

"Hell, no." She grinned, reared up and grabbed him, spilling wine on both of them. "Uh-oh."

"Now look what you've done. We'll have to get out of these clothes. Hands up," he said, and tugged her sweater over her head. "Here." He handed her back her wine, put both her hands on the bowl of the glass. "Mind that now."

"Prolly had enough."

"I haven't."

He stripped her, then himself. He took the glass from her, upending it so drops scattered over her breasts, her torso.

She looked down, looked up. "Uh-oh," she said again and laughed.

He licked wine and flesh, letting the combination go to his head while she moved and moaned under him. She arched up, a trembling bridge, when his hands roamed over her.

Then she locked around him, arms, legs. And rolled hard. She plopped on top of him, giggling. "Ouch."

"Easy for you to say." She'd stolen his breath in more ways than one. To pay her back he rolled her

over. With lips and fingers he tickled her into shrieks, aroused her into gasps.

She was riding on foolishness and passion, a giddy combination with the wine flowing through her.

When he was inside her, still laughing breathlessly, she chained her arms around his neck.

"Merry Christmas," she managed. "Oh, God." She came on a gasping laugh, then dragged him with her.

"Merry Christmas," he said and shot her over, one last time.

She lay, all but cross-eyed, staring up at the tree. "Jesus, talk about putting a bow on it."

Later, at his insistence, she opened her first gift. So she'd be comfortable, he'd said. It was hard to be otherwise in the long cashmere robe of forest green.

They ate by the fire, washing down Summerset's simple lobster with champagne. When he asked about the case, she shook her head. She wouldn't bring it into this. She was—they were—entitled to one night where blood and death stayed locked outside their world. A world where they sat like children, cross-legged under a tree, ripping at colored paper.

"The Universe According to Roarke?" He read the label on a cased disc.

"Feeney helped me put it together. Okay, Feeney mostly put it together, but I came up with the concept. It'll go for holo or comp."

She reached up for another cookie. She was making herself half-sick with sugar, but what was Christmas for? "Personalized game, and what you do is start out at the bottom. Pretty much wits only. Then you can earn money, arms, land. Build stuff, fight wars. You can pull in other people—we're all in there.

And take on famous foes and stuff. You can cheat, steal, barter, and bloody. But there are a lot of traps, so you can end up broke, destitute, in a cage or tortured by your enemies. Or you can end up ruling the known universe. The graphics are very chilly."

"You're in here?"

"Yeah."

"How can I lose?"

"It's tough. Feeney's had it up and running for a couple weeks and said he couldn't get by level twelve. It's pissing him off. Anyway, I figured since you don't get to steal in real life anymore, you'd get a kick out of virtual."

"The best present is having a woman who knows me." He leaned over to kiss her, tasted wine and sugar cookies. "Thanks. Your turn."

"I've already opened a million." Which, she thought, ran the gamut from the sparkly to the silly, the sumptuous to the sexy.

"Nearly done. This one."

She tugged the ribbon from the box he gave her, and though he winced, draped it around his neck.

Inside was a magnifying glass with a silver handle.

"It's old," he told her. "I thought, 'What's a detective without a magnifying glass?'"

"It's great." She held up her hand, studied it through the glass, then grinning, shifted closer to Roarke, peered at him through it. "Jeez. You're even prettier." Then she turned it on the snoring cat. "You're not. Thanks."

When he tapped a finger to his lips, she pretended to sigh before she leaned over to kiss him.

"Here, do this one, it sort of fits." She pushed a box at him while she played with the glass. "If I'd had one of these when I was a kid, I'd've driven people crazy."

"Rather the point of toys and tools." He glanced up, found himself being inspected again. He tossed a bow at her. "Here, see what you make of that."

He opened the box, gently took out the pocket watch inside. "Eve, this is wonderful."

"It's old, too. I know how you rev on old stuff. And I figured you could put it on a shelf somewhere with all the other old stuff. It was already engraved," she added when he opened it. "But I thought..."

" 'Time stops.'" He said it quietly, then just looked at her with those stunning blue eyes.

"I thought, yeah, it does." She reached for his hand. "It does."

He gathered her in, pressing his lips to her throat, her cheek, just holding on. "It's a treasure. So are you."

"This is good," she murmured. Not the things, she thought, and knew he understood. But the sharing of them. The being. "I love you. I'm really getting the hang of it."

He laughed, kissed her again, then drew away. "You've one more."

It had to be more jewelry, she noted from the size of the box. The man just loved draping her in sparkles. Her first thought when she opened the box was that they not only sparkled, they could blind you like the sun.

The earrings were diamond drops—three perfect round stones in graduated sizes that dripped from a cluster of more diamonds that formed the petals of a brilliant flower.

"Wowzer," she said. When he only smiled, it hit her. "Big Jack's diamonds, from the Forty-seventh Street heist. The ones we recovered."

"After they'd stayed hidden away nearly half a century."

"These were impounded."

"I didn't steal them." He laughed, held up his game disc. "Remember? Only virtually these days. I negotiated, and acquired them through completely legal means. They deserve the light. They deserve you. Without you, they might still be shut up in a child's toy. Without you, Lieutenant, Chad Dix wouldn't be celebrating Christmas right now."

"You had them made for me." That touched her, most of all. She picked up the magnifying glass. "Let's check them out," she said, and pretended to inspect the gems. "Nice job."

"You can think of them as medals."

"A lot jazzier than any medals the department hands out." She put them on, knowing it would please him. Seeing the way it did.

"They suit you."

"Glitters like these would work on anybody." But she wrapped her arms around him, snuggled in. "Knowing where they came from, why you had them made for me, that means a lot. I—"

She jerked back, eyes wide. "You bought them all, didn't you?"

He cocked his head. "Well, aren't you greedy."

"No, but you are. You bought them all. I know it."

He smoothed a finger down the dent in her chin. "I think we need more champagne. You're entirely too sober."

She started to speak again, then buttoned it. The man was entitled to spend his money as he liked. And he was right about one thing. Big Jack's diamonds deserved better than a departmental vault.

"There's one more under there," he noticed as he started to rise. "The one you brought in today."

"Oh. Right." Part of her had hoped he'd forget that one. "Yeah, well, it's nothing much. No big."

"I'm greedy, remember? Hand it over."

"Okay, sure." She stretched out for it, dumped it in his lap. "I'll get the champagne."

He grabbed her arm before she could get up. "Just hold on a minute, until I see what I have here."

He shoved aside tissue paper, drew it out, and said only, "Oh."

She struggled not to squirm. "You said you wanted a picture, you know, like from before."

"Oh," he repeated, and the expression on his face had color rising up her neck. "Look at you." His eyes moved from image to woman, so full of pleasure, of surprise, of love, her throat went tight.

"I just dug it out, and picked up a frame."

"When was it taken?"

"Right after I went into the Academy. This girl I hung with a little, she was always taking pictures.

I was trying to study, and she—"

"Your hair."

She shifted, a little uncomfortable. In the picture she was sitting at a desk, discs piled around her. She wore a dull gray Police Academy sweatshirt. Her hair was long, pulled back in a tail.