Chapter Three #2
“But I worked alone, primarily. After I made lieutenant, and Feeney went to captain EDD, that’s what suited me.
For a while. Then right before we met, right before I caught the DeBlass case, I couldn’t save that little girl, that baby.
I was just that much too late to save her, and the crack widened. ”
The cat shifted with a grunt, then padded to curl against Eve’s back. “DeBlass, very sensitive, Code Five, and Whitney pulled Feeney in to work it with me. Then I met you, major pain in my ass.”
“And you an ache in my heart from the first.”
Even as she snorted, she smiled. “Then there’s this pudgy, weird-eyed cat, and I wanted him. Never had a pet, never thought of getting one, but I wanted him.”
“He’s saved your life. Twice.”
“Yeah, he has. You and me, we’ve saved each other so I could let what needed to push through the crack push through. And I could close it again.”
She laid a hand over his heart. “Sometimes you’re still a pain in my ass, but I love you anyway.”
Holding her, he kissed her lightly. “We’ll keep juggling, together and separately. Sleep now, darling Eve.”
In the dark, held close, she slept.
When she woke in the morning, they were there. Roarke sat on the sitting area sofa, the cat a gray lump in his lap. Stock bullshit scrolled on the wall screen as Roarke, in today’s gunmetal-gray power suit, did whatever masters of the business world did on their PPCs.
And the scent of coffee, strong, black, and beautiful, wafted to her.
Maybe it was foolish that it was all such a comfort to her. The man, the suit, the cat, the screen, and, oh yeah, the coffee. But somehow the simple, the ordinary routine of it kept her centered.
Kept the cracks at bay, she supposed, so she could keep on juggling.
“It rained earlier,” he told her, though he hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction. “But you’ll have a bright day to pursue justice.”
“You keep tossing umbrellas in my ride, so rain’s fine, too.”
“You’ll want your ass-kicker sunshades today, I’d wager.”
“Where are they?”
“In your ride.”
Not foolish to find it comforting, she decided. Smart.
She got up, went straight to the AutoChef for coffee. “Squeeze any more blood out since the ungodly hour when you got up?”
Now he smiled at her. “Unnecessary. So far.”
“How about lucre? That’s what they call it, right? Lucre? It’s kind of a frosty word. Squeeze out any lucre this morning?”
“Give a little, get a little.”
“As long as we can afford coffee, I’m good.”
She gulped some down before heading in to shower.
Comfort there, too, hot water pulsing out of jets for however long she wanted. When her childhood memories were of chilly trickles, slivers of soap, towels like cardboard.
She indulged in the steam and spray as her brain woke up.
Morgue first. Check with the lab, see if the killer’s blood had mixed with the victim’s.
Wouldn’t that be handy?
After stepping into the drying tube, she raked her fingers through her hair a few times as the swirl of warm air blew out the damp.
When she’d finished, she studied the robe that hung for her. Like the umbrellas in her ride, he made sure she had a robe. Somehow rotating them, day by day, season by season. This one was the color of the fat, juicy blackberries that sometimes accompanied breakfast.
She wondered where he got them—both the robes and the berries. Then realized as they moved to autumn, oatmeal would soon accompany the berries.
The man couldn’t help himself.
She stepped out.
The cat, banished from the domed plates that waited, sat, pretending indifference, in front of the low-simmering fire.
“He’s breakfasted quite well,” Roarke said as he poured Eve more coffee.
When Roarke lifted the warming domes, she saw they would, too.
“Frittatas. You had the new acquisition on your mind.”
“I did. And since the very thorough background check on the server I told you about is now complete, I intend to offer her the management position.”
“It’ll change her life.” She sat, picked up the coffee. “That’s power, too, the power to change a life.”
“In turn, she’ll help change a failing business into a success. She’ll have that power.”
The frittata came with spinach—he found ways to sneak that into her—and cheese; he’d added hash browns, bacon, and those fat berries on the side.
Hard to bitch about some spinach with all the rest. Which made him a smart guy.
“What are you going to call it? The restaurant.”
“Still to be determined. Something to suit what I see as casual with a bit of flair. The building itself, we’ll start on the empty units. Christ knows there are plenty of them.”
“This is pretty tasty,” she said on another bite. “What’s Spanish for tasty?”
Since he didn’t know, he looked it up. “Sabroso. Hmm, interesting. That might do. And you, you’ll start your day with Morris.”
“Yeah.” She showered more salt on her hash browns. “I don’t think the killer used weapons other than his hands and feet, but if he did, Morris will tell me.”
“And if you’re right, what does that tell you?”
As she ate some bacon, she saw Galahad’s nose twitch. “It goes back to personal, and it leans me heavily toward they knew each other. Chu crossed someone he shouldn’t have crossed. Someone physically strong and furious.”
“It would be hard to hide that sort of rage.”
“Counting on that.”
“So again, I say take care. Someone that full of rage and fury wouldn’t stop at taking on a cop. Strong, and smart, and dangerous.”
“Got that. Might’ve been boosted on Zeus—feels like a chemical boost to me. It’ll make you crazy, and not stronger so much as it blocks out pain. You can’t beat someone like Chu was beaten and not feel it.
“The cat’s annoyed that I’m eating bacon and he’s not.”
“He started his day with tuna.”
“He knows he’s got it good.” She took a last bite. “I’ve gotta get dressed.”
She braced herself to face her closet and what felt like acres of clothes.
She opted for what she knew by now Roarke called indigo for trousers, a leather jacket that would hit her mid-hip. Grabbed a sort of blue sweater that was warm enough for fall, light enough not to weigh her down.
She deemed that enough color and pulled out sturdy boots, a thick belt, both in that blue that wasn’t black, black that wasn’t blue.
She pulled on the trousers, the sweater, and the belt, then carried the jacket and boots into the bedroom.
She caught Roarke’s smile, said, “What?”
“I wondered if you’d ever wear that sweater on the job. The violet goes well with the rest.”
“Violet?” Mildly appalled, she looked down at it. “This is violet?”
“Don’t let that worry you.”
“I’m calling it blue.” She picked up her weapon harness. “Ish.”
“All right then.”
She filled her pockets with her badge, communicator, ’link, the rest, then sat to pull on the boots.
“I should tell you there was nothing off in the younger son’s finances.”
“I’m leaning toward none of them knowing about the Cayman account, the very strong probability of blackmail or bribery.”
“It’ll come out when you’re done.”