In Death 02 - Glory in Death

have in mind?"
    Grinning, he rolled her back onto the bed. This time there was finesse, and there was tenderness.
    Eve wasn't surprised to find a pile of messages waiting. Sunday had stopped being a day of rest decades before. Her message disc beeped along, recounting transmissions from Nadine Furst, the arrogant weasel Morse, another from Yvonne Metcalf's parents that had her rubbing her temples, and a short message from Mirina Angelini.
    "You can't take on their grief, Eve," Roarke said from behind her.
    "What?"
    "The Metcalfs. I can see it in your face."
    "I'm all they've got to hold onto." She initialed the messages to document her receipt. "They have to know someone's looking after her."
    "I'd like to say something."
    Eve rolled her eyes, prepared for him to lecture her about rest, objectivity, or professional distance. "Spit it out then so I can get to work."
    "I've dealt with a lot of cops in my time. Evaded them, bribed them, outmaneuvered them, or simply outran them."
    Amused, she nudged a hip onto the corner of her desk. "I'm not sure you should be telling me that. Your record's suspiciously clean."
    "Of course it is." On impulse he kissed the tip of her nose. "I paid for it."
    She winced. "Really, Roarke, what I don't know can't hurt you."
    "The point is," he continued blandly, "I've dealt with a lot of cops over the years. You're the best."
    Caught completely off guard, she blinked. "Well."
    "You'll stand, Eve, for the dead and the grieving. I'm staggered by you. "
    "Cut it out." Miserably embarrassed, she shifted. "I mean it."
    "You can use that when you call Morse back and run up against his irritating whine."
    "I'm not calling him back."
    "You initialed the transmissions."
    "I zapped his first." She smiled. "Oops."
    With a laugh he picked her up off the desk. "I like your style."
    She indulged herself by combing her fingers through his hair before she tried to wriggle free. "Right now you're cramping it. So back off while I see what Mirina Angelini wants." Brushing him off, she engaged the number, waited.
    It was Mirina herself who answered, her pale, tense face on-screen. "Yes, oh, Lieutenant Dallas. Thank you for getting back to me so quickly. I was afraid I wouldn't hear from you until tomorrow."
    "What can I do for you, Ms. Angelini?"
    "I need to speak with you as soon as possible. I don't want to go through the commander, Lieutenant. He's done enough for me and my family."
    "Is this regarding the investigation?"
    "Yes, at least, I suppose it is."
    Eve signaled to Roarke to leave the office. He merely leaned against the wall. She snarled at him, then looked back at the screen. "I'll be happy to meet with you at your convenience."
    "That's just it, Lieutenant, it's going to have to be at my convenience. My doctors don't want me to travel again just now. I need you to come to me."
    "You want me to come to Rome? Ms. Angelini, even if the department would clear the trip, I need something concrete to justify the time and expense."
    "I'll take you," Roarke said easily.
    "Keep quiet."
    "Who else is there? Is someone else there?" Mirina's voice trembled.
    "Roarke is with me," Eve said between her teeth. "Ms. Angelini -- "
    "Oh, that's fine. I've been trying to reach him. Could you come together? I realize this is an imposition, Lieutenant. I hesitate to pull strings, but I will, if necessary. The commander will clear it."
    "I'm sure he will," Eve muttered. "I'll leave as soon as he does. I'll be in touch." She broke transmission. "The spoiled rich irritate the hell out of me."
    "Grief and worry don't have economic boundaries," Roarke said.
    "Oh shut up." She huffed, kicked bad-temperedly at the desk.
    "You'll like Rome, darling," Roarke said and smiled.
    Eve did like Rome. At least she thought she did from the brief blur she caught of it on the zooming trip from the airport to Angelini's flat overlooking the Spanish Steps: fountains and traffic and ruins too ancient to be believed.
    From the rear of the private limo, Eve watched the fashionable pedestrians with a kind of baffled awe. Sweeping robes were in this season, apparently. Clingy, sheer, voluminous, in colors from the palest white to the deepest bronze. Jeweled belts hung from waists, coordinating with crusted gems on flat-soled shoes and little jeweled bags carried by men and women alike. Everyone looked like royalty.
    Roarke hadn't known she could gawk. It pleased him enormously to see that she could forget her mission long enough to stare and