In Death 24 - Innocent in Death

that came and went before our own, we’ll forever be in knots.”
    “Excuse me?” She pushed to her feet. “You beat the hell out of Webster right in this room.”
    “He had his hands on you, in ourhome. That’s bloody different.” The words lashed out, hot-tipped and razor sharp. “And never did I think you invited it, encouraged it, or would have tolerated it. You and I went round, Lieutenant, because you threatened to stun me.
    What in fucking hell do you want?”
    “I guess to know what in fucking hell she wants. Is she planning a job? Does she want you-”
    “If she is, it wasn’t mentioned to me. In fact, quite the opposite. And if she is, it would be no business of mine. Is that how you see me? So spineless that I’d slip back not only over the line, but into another woman’s bed?”
    “No.”
    “Whatever she might want, Eve, she’ll get no more from me than what I agreed to give.
    Some basic investment options. Should I have my admin write that up in the form of a contract for you?”
    Her throat burned, the headache was back, and she’d accomplished nothing but pissing him off while putting Magdelana squarely between them. “I hate this. I hate feeling this way, acting this way. I hate that we’re standing here arguing about her. Putting her in the center of it.”
    “Then stop.” He moved to her then. He laid his hands on her shoulders, ran them up and down her arms before drawing her against him. “If we’re to argue, at least let’s argue 101
    about something real. Not this. You’re not just the center of my world, Eve.” He kissed her brow, her temples, her lips. “You’re the whole of it.”
    She flung her arms around him, held hard. He’d answered, she told herself. Put at away, put it aside. “It’s your fault I love you like this.” For a moment, she pressed her face to his shoulder. “That I’m stupid with it.”
    “Of course it is.” He brushed a hand over her hair, laid his cheek against it. And felt his own insides relax again. “We’ll feel stupid together. Better now?”
    Better, she thought. But it wasn’t over. She was afraid enough of what might happen next that she told herself, again, to let it go. Just let it go. “Good enough.”
    Telling herself to change the tone, she eased back. “Burgess in New Jersey was very cooperative.”
    “I’m delighted to hear it.” He traced a fingertip down the slight dent in her chin. “Who is Burgess, and why is he being cooperative in New Jersey?”
    “She. She manages your plant there, and got your memo.”
    “My…ah. I sent one out to various holdings right after the first of the year. Came in handy today, did it?”
    “Cut through the crap. Just FYI, I don’t really mind cutting through the crap myself, but thanks. You process castor beans.”
    “I’m sure I do.”
    “Ricin, the poison that killed Foster, comes from the mash after the beans are processed into oil.”
    His eyes narrowed. “Is the plant connected?”
    “So far, I can’t find a connection between anyone on my suspect list and the plant.
    Would’ve been nice and tidy. I don’t have a motive either, or not a clear one. It’s possible Foster saw, at some time, one of the other teachers diddling someone inappropriate during school hours. Murder’s a pretty harsh reaction to being caught with your pants down.”
    “Perhaps Foster was blackmailing the diddler, or the diddlee.”
    “No evidence of it, and it veers out of his characteristic orbit. I haven’t found a single person he wasn’t on good terms with, including the infamous diddler. Waiting for lab reports, and I’m taking a look at every member of the faculty, support staff, and 102
    administration. Along with parents of students. I got no buzz on this one, nothing that feels hot.”
    “Why don’t I take a look at some of it. Fresh eyes, new view.”
    “Couldn’t hurt.”
    He’d forgotten to nag her to eat some dinner, she thought as he sat to look over her data.
    Slipped his mind, she decided. Probably for the best. She didn’t have much of an appetite.
    When she slept, she slept in patches, and the patches were full of dreams. The dreams were conversations, mixed and jumbled from her arguments with Roarke, her interviews, her interlude with Percell. With the voices tangling inside her head, she awoke exhausted.
    But he was there where he was in the mornings, drinking coffee in the sitting area of the bedroom, financials scrolling on the screen, the sound