In Death 07 - Holiday in Death

get a handle on where he'd go. Peabody, you'll meet me at the salon at nine hundred, in uniform."
    "Yes, sir."
    "The best we can do is get some sleep, for what's left of the night."
    "Dallas, I can hang with this for another hour. If I could bunk right here, I could get an early roll on it in the morning."
    "All right, McNab. Let's pack it in for now."
    "I'm for that." Feeney rose. "I'll give you a lift home, Peabody."
    "Don't play with my toys, McNab," Eve added as she walked out. "I get really cranky."
    "You need a sleep inducement tonight." Roarke took her arm as they started toward the bedroom.
    "Don't start on me."
    "You don't need dreams tonight. You need to turn it off for a few hours, if not for yourself, for the sake of that woman we watched being brutalized."
    "I can do my job." She began to strip the minute she was inside, peeling off her clothes in a rush. She needed a shower, viciously hot water to scrub the stench off her skin.
    She left her clothes heaped on the floor, strode directly into the bath, and ordered water at blistering.
    He just waited her out. She would, he knew, need to fight it first. Even to fight him and his offer of comfort. That prickly, resistant shell was only one of the aspects of her that fascinated him.
    And he knew, as if he'd been inside her head, inside her heart, what she had gone through viewing that disc.
    So when she came out, bundled in a robe, her eyes too dark, her cheeks too pale, he simply opened his arms and took her in.
    "Oh God, God!" She clung, her fingers digging into his back. "I could smell him on me. I could smell him."
    It tore him to pieces to see her break, to feel her shudders and the quake of her heart against his. "He can't ever touch you again."
    "He touches me." She buried her face in his shoulder, filled herself with the scent of him. "Every time he comes into my head he touches me. I can't stop it from happening."
    "I can." He picked her up, and sat on the bed to cradle her. "Don't think any more tonight, Eve. Just hold onto me."
    "I can do my job."
    "I know." But at what cost? he wondered and rocked her like a child.
    "I don't want drugs. Just you. You're enough."
    "Then go to sleep. Let go." He turned his head to kiss her hair. "And sleep."
    "Don't go away." She burrowed into him and sighed once, long and deep. "I need you. Too much."
    "Not too much. It can't be too much."
    She'd put a memory into their box, he thought. Now he put a wish there. One night, or the few hours left in it, she would sleep in peace.
    So he held her until she slipped away into dreamless slumber.
    And was holding her still when she woke.
    They were wrapped around each other, her head nestled into the curve of his shoulder. Sometime during the night he'd undressed and slipped them both into bed.
    She lay still a moment, studying his face. It seemed impossibly beautiful in the soft light. Strong lines, long thick lashes, that dreamy poet's mouth. She had an itch to stroke his hair, the silky sweep of it, but her arms were pinned.
    She kissed him instead, lightly, as much to thank him as to rouse him enough to allow her to wiggle free. But his hold merely tightened.
    "Mmm. Another minute."
    Her brows lifted. His voice was thick, slurry, and his eyes stayed closed. "You're tired."
    "God, yes."
    She pursed her lips. "You're never tired."
    "I am now. Quiet down."
    It made her chuckle, that edge of sleepy crossness in his tone. "Stay in bed awhile."
    "Damn right."
    "I have to get up." She pried an arm free and did stroke his hair. "Go back to sleep."
    "I would if you'd shut up."
    She laughed, then slithered free. "Roarke?"
    "Oh Christ!" He rolled in defense and buried his face in the pillow. "What?"
    "I love you."
    He turned his head, heavy eyes slitting open with a lazy gleam that had her juices flowing. That, she thought, was the magic of him. That he could make her yearn for sex after what she'd seen, what she'd experienced.
    "Well then, come back here. I can probably manage to stay awake long enough."
    "Later."
    His response was a grunt as he pushed his face back into the pillow.
    Deciding not to take it the wrong way, she dressed, ordered up coffee, strapped on her weapon. He hadn't stirred a muscle when she left the room.
    She decided to check in with McNab first and found him sprawled out flat in her sleep chair with Galahad draped over his head like fat earmuffs. Both of them snored.
    At her approach, the cat slitted one eye open, gave her a bored look, then offered her