In Death 24 - Innocent in Death

I’m clear and you can manage it,” she began as she grabbed clothes, “maybe we could bop by Mavis and Leonardo’s. I can tag her later, see if they’re up for it.”
    “Suits me.” He switched to the morning news before going to the AutoChef. “A teddy bear, was it?”
    “Peabody said. Or something in that realm.”
    “I think we both might leave that one up to Caro. No doubt she’ll know just the thing.
    Just let either her or me know if I should come down to Central or meet you at their place.”
    She was strapping on her weapon harness when he turned. “It’s a pity you couldn’t have appeared on Nadine’s show like that. The shirtsleeves, the weapon at your side. Sexy and dangerous.”
    Eve only snorted, then sat to put on her boots.
    He crossed over to set down their plates, and after one steely warning look at Galahad, pulled Eve to her feet. “Sexy,” he repeated, “dangerous. And mine.”
    “Better back off, ace. I’m armed.”
    “Just the way I like you. What do you say we do the obvious and clich?d for Valentine’s Day? A romantic dinner for two, a great deal of champagne, dancing, and incredible amounts of inventive sex.”
    “I might be available for that.”When the hell was Valentine’s Day again?
    He laughed, reading her perfectly. “The fourteenth, my sentimental fool. Which would be the day after tomorrow. If work interferes, we’ll just have a very late dinner for two, and so forth.”
    “You’re on.” And because it just felt right, she laid her head on his shoulder.
     
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    She missed the first sentence or two the chirpy on-air reporter said. Even when Roarke’s name was announced-and her own-she might have let it slip.
    But he stiffened against her so she focused on the screen. The air inside her body simply evaporated, and left her hollow.
    He stood with Magdelana, stood close, looking down at her. Just the barest hint of a smile on his face. A face Magdelana held intimately in her hands.
    “…identified by our sources as European socialite Magdelana Percell, recently divorced from Georges Fayette, a wealthy French entrepreneur. It appears Ms. Percell has an eye for wealthy men as she was seen lunching with Roarke only days ago at the exclusive Sisters Three restaurant here in New York. According to our sources, the pair enjoyed seasonal salads and a great deal of intimate conversation. We wonder if Lieutenant Eve Dallas, one of New York’s top cops, and Roarke’s wife of the last year and a half, is investigating.”
    “Fuck me,” Roarke muttered. “What bloody bullshit. I’m sorry they-”
    He stopped whatever he was going to say as she was pulling very slowly, very deliberately away from him. And he saw her face. It was sheet white, her eyes dark and shocked against the utter pallor.
    “Christ Jesus, Eve, you can’t-”
    “I have to go to work.” The words jumped so in her throat, in her head, she wasn’t sure they came out in the right order.
    “Bollocks to that. Toall of this. I did nothing, and you should know it-damn it, you should know without me saying it. I walked her out of the building. She came to see me, and I gave her less than ten minutes before I showed her the door. I felt small doing so, if you must know, but I’d rather hurt her feelings than cause you a moment of unhappiness.”
    She spoke as slowly and deliberately as she’d moved. “I need you to back off.”
    “Fuck that! Fuck it, Eve. Am I to be tried and condemned because some moron had a vid-cam at the right moment? A moment when a woman I once cared for said good-bye? Do you think I’d have embarrassed you, or myself come to that, in this way?”
    “You did, you did embarrass both of us this way. But that’s not important, that’s not the point.”
    “Damn if I’ll apologize for helping a woman into her car on a public street in the middle of the bleeding day.” He dragged his hand through his hair in a gesture she recognized, even now, as absolute frustration. “You’re too smart for this. You know there are people 162
    who love nothing more than to spread dirt about people like us. And you would accuse me-”
    “I haven’t accused you.”
    “Oh, aye, you have, of all manner of things.” Frustration turned on a dime to rage and insult. “And you do it without a word. I’d rather have the words as hard as they might be than that look on your face. It’s killing me. Let’s have this out then, once and for all, and be bloody well done with