In Death 07 - Holiday in Death

pockets.
    "Lieutenant."
    And nearly jumped out of her boots. She whirled around and stared at Summerset. "What? Damn it, I hate when you do that."
    He merely continued to eye her blandly. He knew she hated when he came up on her unawares. It was one of the reasons he so enjoyed doing it. "May I help you find a book -- though I didn't realize you read anything but reports and the occasional disc on aberrant behavior."
    "Look, pal, I've got a perfect right to be in here." Which didn't explain why being found in the library made her feel like a sneak. "And I don't need your help."
    All works by subject author, Yeats, William Butler, are included in library. Do you require locations and titles?
    "No, damn it. I knew it."
    "Yeats, Lieutenant?" Curious, Summerset moved into the room, closely followed by Galahad, who padded over to Eve, scissored between her legs, then deserted her to leap onto the window seat and stare out at the night as if he owned it.
    "So what?"
    He only raised his eyebrows. "Was there a play you were interested in, a collection, a particular poem?"
    "What are you, the library police?"
    "These books are quite valuable," he said coolly. "Many are first editions and quite rare. You'll find all of Yeats's work in the disc library as well. That method, I'm sure, would suit you better."
    "I don't want to read the damn thing. I just wanted to see if there was something he didn't have, which is stupid because he has every damn thing, so what the hell am I supposed to do?"
    "About what?"
    "Christmas, you moron." Incensed, she turned back to the computer. "Disengage."
    Summerset pursed his lips and followed the train of thought. "You wished to purchase a volume of Yeats for Roarke as a Christmas gift."
    "That was the idea, which turns out to suck."
    "Lieutenant," he said as she started to storm out.
    "What?"
    It annoyed him when she did or said something that touched him. But it couldn't be helped. And he owed her for risking, nearly losing, her life to save his. That simple fact, Summerset knew, made them both uncomfortable. Perhaps he could even the scales, by a small weight.
    "He does not own, as yet, a first edition copy of The Celtic Twilight"
    The mutinous glare faded, though some suspicion remained. "What is it?"
    "It's a prose collection."
    "By this Yeats guy?"
    "Yes."
    A part of her, a small, nasty part, wanted to shrug and walk away. But she jammed her hands in her pockets and stuck. "The search said he had everything."
    "He owns the book, but not in a first edition. Yeats is particularly important to Roarke. I imagine you know that. I have a connection to a rare book dealer in Dublin. I could contact him and see if it can be acquired."
    "Bought," Eve said firmly. "Not stolen." She smiled thinly when Summerset's spine snapped stiff. "I know something about your connections. We keep it legal."
    "I never intended otherwise. But it won't come cheap." It was his turn to smile, just as thinly. "And there will, no doubt, be a charge for securing the acquisition in time for Christmas, as you've waited until the eleventh hour."
    She didn't wince, but she wanted to. "If your connection can find it, I want it." Then because she couldn't figure a way around it, she shrugged. "Thanks."
    He nodded stiffly, and waited until she'd left the room before he grinned.
    This, Eve thought, was what being in love did to you. It made you have to cooperate with the biggest annoyance in your life. And, she thought sourly as she took the elevator to the bedroom, if the skinny son of a bitch actually pulled it off, she was going to owe him.
    It was mortifying.
    Then the elevator doors opened, and there was Roarke with a half smile on his lost angel face, his eyes impossibly blue with pleasure.
    What was a little mortification?
    "I didn't know you were home yet."
    "Yeah, I was... doing stuff." She cocked her head. She knew that look. "Why are you looking so smug?"
    He took her hand, drew her into the room. "What do you think?" he asked and gestured.
    Centered in the deeply recessed window on the far side of the raised platform that held their bed was a tree. Its boughs fanned out into the room and rose up and up until the tip all but speared the ceiling.
    She blinked at it. "It's big."
    "Obviously you haven't seen the one in the living area. It's twice this tall."
    Cautious, she moved closer. It had to be ten feet. If it toppled, she mused, while they were sleeping, it would drop like a stone on the bed and pin them like ants. "I