In Death 08 - Conspiracy in Death

over, tipped up her face, scanned the bruises. "It's beating you up. Literally."
    "Louise did a pretty decent job on me. She's not as annoying as most doctors."
    "You need a change of scene," he decided. "A distraction so you can come back to this with your mind clear on Monday. Let's go."
    "Go? Where?" She gestured to the window. "In case you haven't noticed, we're getting dumped on."
    "So why not take advantage of it?" He tugged her to her feet. "Let's build a snowman."
    He surprised her, constantly, but this time, she simply gaped. "You want to build a snowman?"
    "Why not? I'd thought we'd fly out, spend the weekend in Mexico, but..." Still holding her hand, he looked out the window and smiled. "How often do we have an opportunity like this?"
    "I don't know how to build a snowman."
    "Neither do I. Let's see what we come up with."
    She did a lot of muttering, came up with alternate suggestions that included mindless sex in a warm bed, but in the end, she found herself bundled from head to foot in extreme climate gear and stepping out into the teeth of the blizzard.
    "Christ, Roarke, this is crazy. You can't see five feet."
    "Fabulous, isn't it?" Grinning, he linked his gloved hand with hers and pulled her down the snow-heaped steps.
    "We'll be buried alive."
    He simply reached down, took a handful, fisted it. "Packs pretty well," he observed. "I never saw much snow as a boy. Dublin's for rain. We need a good base."
    Bending down, he began to mound snow.
    Eve watched for a moment, amazed at how intent her sophisticated husband, sleek in his black gear, scooped and packed snow.
    "Is this an 'I was a deprived child' thing?"
    He glanced up, one brow lifting. "Weren't we?"
    She picked up a handful of snow, absently patted it onto the mound. "We've pretty well made up for it," she murmured, then frowned. "You're making it too tall. It should be wider."
    He straightened, smiled, then framed her face with snow-covered hands, kissing her when she squealed. "Pitch in or back off."
    She wiped the snow off her face, sniffed. "I'm going to build my own and he'll kick your snowman's butt."
    "I've always admired your competitive streak."
    "Yeah, well, be prepared to be amazed."
    She moved off a bit and began to dig in.
    She didn't consider herself artistic, so went with her strengths: muscle, determination, and endurance.
    The form she worked on might have been slightly lopsided, but it was big. And when she glanced over at Roarke, she noted with glee that hers had his by a good foot.
    The cold stung her cheeks, her muscles warmed with exercise, and without realizing it, she relaxed. Instead of unnerving her, the sheer silence soothed. It was like being in the center of a dream, one without sound, without color. One that lulled the mind and gave the body rest.
    By the time she got to the head, she was packing and shaping with abandon. "I'm nearly done here, pal, and my guy is built like an arena ball tackle. Your pitiful attempt is doomed."
    "We'll see about that." He stepped back, studied his snow sculpture with narrowed eyes, then smiled. "Yes, this works for me."
    She tossed a look over her shoulder and snorted. "Better bulk him up before my guy chews him up and spits him out."
    "No, I think this is the right shape." He waited while Eve patted her snowman's bulging pecs, then trudged through the snow toward him.
    Her eyes went to slits. "Yours has tits."
    "Yes, rather gorgeous ones."
    Stunned, Eve clamped her hands on her hips and stared. The figure was sleek and curvy, with enormous snow breasts that had been shaped into wicked points.
    Roarke stroked one snowy breast lightly. "She'll lead your pumped-up slab of beef there around by the nose."
    Eve could only shake her head. "Pervert. Those boobs are way out of proportion."
    "A boy needs his dreams, darling." He took the snowball in the center of the shoulder blades and turned with a wolfish smile. "I was hoping you'd do that. Now that you've shed first blood..." He kept his eyes on her as he scooped up snow, balled it.
    She dodged left, quickly made another ball, and let it fly with the grace and speed of a major-league infielder. He caught that one on the heart, nodded an acknowledgment of her aim and speed, and went for her.
    Snow flew, hard bullets, heavy cannonballs, a barrage of fire. She watched a missile explode in his face and, grinning fiercely, followed up with a trio of body blows.
    He gave as good as he got, even causing her to yelp once when she took a hard hit