In Death 23 - Born in Death

these days, I remember where they are. Good night now, and thanks again.”
    Roarke waited, engine idling, until Tandy had keyed herself into the building. “Seems a nice woman. Stable and sensible.”
    “Not like Mavis. Except for the whale factor. Gotta be tough, being knocked up, on your own, and not even in your own country. She seems to be dealing. You know, Roarke, how come just because you’repals you have to go to coaching classes, witness births, and give baby showers?”
    “I don’t have the answer to that question.”
    She heaved out a breath. “Neither do I.”
     
    E ve was dreaming of fang-toothed, many-armed babies bouncing out of Mavis to tear around the room, sending the midwife into screaming retreat while Mavis cooed: Aren’t they mag? Aren’t they the ult?
    The signal of the bedside ’link had her popping out of the dream. She shuddered once.
    “Block video,” she ordered. “Lights on ten percent. Dallas.”
     
    Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. See the officers at 51 Jane Street, apartment 3B. Possible homicide.
     
    “Acknowledged. Contact Peabody, Detective Delia. I’m on my way.”
     
    Acknowledged. Dispatch out.
     
    Eve glanced over, saw Roarke’s laser blue eyes were open and on hers. “Sorry,” she said.
    “I’m not the one being pulled out of a warm bed at four in the morning.”
    “You’re right about that. People ought to have the courtesy to off each other at reasonable hours.”
    She rolled out of bed and into the bathroom for a lightning-quick shower. When she rolled back out, naked and warm from the drying tube, he was sipping a cup of coffee.
    “Why are you up?”
    “I’m awake,” he said simply. “And look what I’d’ve missed if I’d turned over and gone back to sleep.” He handed her the second cup of coffee he’d programmed.
    “Thanks.” She took it with her to the closet where she pulled out clothes. Had to be freaking freezing out there, she mused. And detoured to her dresser to yank out a V neck to go over the shirt, under the jacket.
    Twice they’d put off tentative plans to take a couple of days in the tropics. Mavis, plus baby, equalled a pregnant woman wigging out at the thought of part of her coaching team dancing off to sand and surf this close to delivery time.
    What could you do?
    “Babies don’t come out with teeth, do they?”
    “No. I don’t see how…” Roarke lowered his cup, gave her a baffled look. “Why do you put thoughts like that in my head?”
    “They’re in mine, pal, they’re in yours.”
    “See if I make you coffee again.”
    She dressed quickly. “Maybe this murder is the work of a criminal mastermind that will take me off planet. You’re nice to me, I could take you along.”
    “Don’t toy with me.”
    She laughed, strapped on her weapon. “See you when I see you.” She crossed to him, and because—hell, he was so damn pretty even at four in the morning—gave him a peck on both cheeks, then a long warm one mouth-to-mouth.
    “Stay safe, Lieutenant.”
    “Plan on it.”
    She jogged down the stairs, where her coat was draped over the newel post. She tossed it there habitually because it was handy—and because she knew it irritated Summerset, Roarke’s majordomo and the blight of her world.
    She swung it on, discovered a miracle had happened and her gloves were actually in the pocket. Because it was there, she tossed on the cashmere scarf. And still the cold was a shock to the system when she stepped outside.
    Hard to complain though, she decided, when you got yourself married to a man who thought to remote your vehicle to the front of the house with the heater already running.
    She strode through the cold, climbed into warm.
    She glanced in the rearview as she drove toward the gates. The house that Roarke built filled the mirror, stone and glass, juts and turrets—and the light glowing in their bedroom window.
    He’d have a second cup of coffee, she thought, while reviewing stock reports, early media bulletins, business news, on the bedroom screen. Probably make some overseas or off-planet transmissions. Starting the day before dawn wasn’t a biggie to Roarke, she knew.
    Lucky her again, to have ended up with a man who fell so easily into the crazed cop rhythm she often ran by.
    She drove through the gates that closed quietly behind her.
    This sector of prime and pricey real estate was quiet—the rich, privileged, or fortunate snuggled under the covers in their atmosphere-regulated homes,