In Death 23 - Born in Death

that mouth of his. Even in her current state it was tempting to just lean in a little and take a good bite of it.
    And the body only added to the fantasy: tall, leanly muscled, and slickly presented in one of his perfectly tailored business suits.
    Roarke wasn’t just one of the richest men in the known universe, he also looked the part.
    And at the moment, because he was taking her arm and leading her out of that nightmare, he was her ultimate hero. She grabbed her coat on the fly.
    “We’re sprung?”
    “They wanted to see if a friend of theirs could join us.” He still had Eve’s hand, and was rapidly walking toward the exit. “I told them we’d get the car, bring it around to the front. Save them steps.”
    “You’re brilliant. Freaking white knight. If I ever recover from this trauma, I’ll screw your brains out.”
    “I hope, eventually, my brain cells regenerate enough to make that possible. My God, Eve. My God.”
    “Total tandem here. Did you see how it sort of slithered out when—”
    “Don’t.” He pulled her into the elevator, called for their level of the parking garage. “If you love me, don’t take me back there.” He leaned back against the wall. “I’ve always respected women. You know that.”
    She rubbed at an itch on the side of her nose. “You’ve nailed plenty of them. But yeah,” she added when he just gave her a bland stare. “You’ve got respect.”
    “That respect has now risen to admiration of biblical proportions. How do they do that?”
    “We’ve just seen how. In graphic detail. Did you see Mavis?” Eve shook her head as they walked out of the elevator. “Her eyes were all glittery. And it wasn’t fear. She can’t wait to do all that.”
    “Leonardo looked a bit green, actually.”
    “Yeah, well, he’s got that thing about blood. And there was blood—and other stuff. ”
    “That’s enough. There’ll be no talk of other stuff.”
    Because the late January weather was lousy, he’d driven one of his all-terrains. It was big and black and muscular. When he uncoded the locks, Eve leaned back against the passenger door before he could open it.
    “Look here, ace. We gotta face this, you and me.”
    “I don’t want to.”
    Now she laughed. She’d seen him face death with more aplomb. “What we did in there, that was just a preview. We’re going to be in the room with her when she pushes that thing out. We have to be there, counting to ten, telling her to breathe, or to go to her happy place. Whatever.”
    “We could be out of town, or the country. No, we could be called off planet. That would really be best. We’ll be called off planet to save the world from some criminal mastermind.”
    “Oh, if only. But you know and I know we’re going to be there. Pretty soon, probably, because that bomb inside her’s just ticking away.”
    He sighed, then leaned down to rest his brow to hers. “God pity us, Eve. God pity us.”
    “If God had any pity on us, He’d populate the world without the middle man. Middle woman. Let’s go drink. A lot.”
     
    T he restaurant was casual, a little noisy, and exactly what the midwife ordered. Mavis sipped some sort of exotic fruit punch that was nearly as sparkly as she was. Her riotous silver curls were tipped in the same sapphire as her lashes. Her eyes were a vivid, unearthly green tonight to match—Eve supposed—the tone of the sweater that fit over her breasts and belly like neon elastic. Numerous loops and squiggles hung from her ears and shot sparks of light as she moved her head. Her sapphire blue pants fit like a second skin.
    The love of Mavis’s life sat beside her. Leonardo was built like a redwood, and as he was a fashion designer neither he nor Mavis were ever at a loss for an eye-popping ensemble. He’d gone with a sweater as well, a crazed and intricate geometric pattern of colors against gold. Somehow—Eve could have said—it suited his strong form and burnished copper complexion.
    The friend they’d brought along was every bit as knocked-up as Mavis. Maybe even more so, if such things were possible. But in contrast to Mavis’s out-of-orbit style, Tandy Willowby wore a simple black V neck over a white tee. She was a tea-and-roses blonde, with pale blue eyes and a blunt-tipped nose.
    During the drive over, Mavis had chattered out introductions, explaining that Tandy was from London, and had only been in New York a few months.
    “I’m so glad I saw you tonight. Tandy wasn’t there for