In Death 06 - Vengeance in Death

added charm. And though it was mid-November, flowers bloomed in abundance.
    The hotel was a grand stone structure with arched windows and a castlelike air. She had only a glimpse of the lobby with its towering ceiling, regal furnishings, rich dark walls before they were whisked up to their suite.
    Men like Roarke weren't expected to fuss with such pesky details as check-in. All was ready for their arrival. Huge urns of fresh flowers, massive bowls of fruit, and a generous decanter of fine Irish whiskey awaited them.
    And the tall windows gleamed with the last red lights of the setting sun.
    "I thought you'd prefer facing the street, so you could watch the city go by."
    "I do." She was already at the windows, hands tucked in her back pockets. "It's pretty, like... I don't know an animated painting. Did you see the glide-carts? Every one of them was shiny, the umbrellas stiff and bright. Even the gutters look like someone just swept them clean."
    "They still give tidy village awards in Ireland."
    She laughed at that, amused and touched. "Tidy village?"
    "It's a matter of pride, and a quality of life most are reluctant to give up. In the countryside you'll still see stone fences and fields green enough to startle the eye. Cottages and cabins with thatched roofs. Peat fires and flowers in the yard. The Irish grip their traditions in a firm hand."
    "Why did you leave here?"
    "Because my traditions were less attractive and more easily let go." He drew a bright yellow daisy from an arrangement and handed it to her. "I want a shower, then I'll show you."
    She turned back to the window, twirling the daisy absently by its stem. And she wondered how much more she would see of the man she'd married before the night was over.
    There were parts of Dublin that weren't so cheerful, where the alleys carried that universal smell of garbage gone over and thin cats slunk in shadows. Here she saw the underbelly of any city, men walking quickly, shoulders hunched, eyes shifting right and left. She heard harsh laughter with desperate undertones and the wail of a hungry baby.
    She saw a group of boys, the oldest of them no more than ten. They walked casually, but Eve caught the cool. calculating gleam in their eyes. If she'd had her weapon, her hand would have been on it.
    The street was their turf, and they knew it.
    One bumped lightly into Roarke as they passed. "Beg pardon," he began, then cursed ripely when Roarke grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.
    "Mind the hands, boyo. I don't care for any but my own in my pockets."
    "Turn me loose." He swung, comically missed in a roundhouse as Roarke held him at arm's length. "Bloody bastard, I never pinched nothing."
    "Only because you've thick hands. Christ, I was better than you when I was six." He gave the boy a quick shake, more in exasperation of his clumsiness than in annoyance with the act itself. "A drunk tourist from the west counties would have felt that grope. And you were obvious as well." He looked down into the boy's furious face and shook his head. "You'd do better as the pass-off man than the pincher."
    "That's great, Roarke, why don't you give him a few lessons on thievery while you're at it."
    At Eve's words the boy's eyes flickered and narrowed. He stopped struggling. "They tell tales of a Roarke who used to work these streets. Lived in the shanties and made himself a right fortune off quick fingers and nerves."
    "You've got the nerves, but you don't have the fingers."
    "They work well enough on most." Relaxed now, the boy flashed Roarke a quick and charming grin. "And if they don't I can outrun any cop on two legs."
    Roarke leaned down, lowered his voice. "This is my wife, you bonehead, and she's a cop."
    "Jay-sus."
    "Exactly." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a handful of coins. "I'd keep these for myself if I were you. Your associates scattered like rats. They didn't stand with you and don't deserve a share."
    "I won't be after dividing it." The coins disappeared into his pocket. "It's been a pleasure making your acquaintance." He slid his gaze to Eve, nodded with surprisingly dignity. "Missus," he murmured, then ran like a rabbit into the dark.
    "How much did you give him?" Eve asked.
    "Enough to tickle his humor and not disturb his pride." He slid his arm around her waist and began to walk again.
    "Remind you of someone?"
    "No indeed," Roarke said with a cheer he hadn't expected to feel. "I'd never have been caught so handily."
    "I don't see that it's anything to