In Death 26 - Strangers in Death

your considerable wrath. Now why should you be tapped?”
    “What? Oh. I don’t know. Because people keep wanting money for stuff. Buy a damn Pepsi, they expect some coin. Bastards.”
    “How much shagging Pepsi do you drink?”
    “I don’t know. Plus there’s, you know, stuff that comes up. Weasels to pay off.”
    “Weaseling is departmentally covered in your budget.”
    Her lips curled. “Yeah, and by the time I get the kickback from that I’ll be retired and taking hula lessons in Maui. What is this, an inquisition?”
    “I don’t understand why—and yes, I’m saying it, so suck it up—my wife is walking around tapped. Make a bloody withdrawal from your account, or ask me for a bit of the ready.”
    “Ask you for…” Fortunately, the light turned red, forcing her to stop. It was marginally safer to swing around and glare at him while stopped. “I’ll be damned if I’ll ask you for money.”
    “You just asked me for ten to pay your street thug.”
    “That’s different.”
    “How?”
    “Because…It wasn’t for me, it was for him. I’ll put in a chit for it, pay you back.”
    “While we’re taking those hula lessons, possibly eating poi. Don’t be an idiot.”
    “Call me an idiot again, all you’ll be able to eat is poi, seeing as you’ll be missing most of your teeth.”
    “I didn’t call you an idiot, I told you not to be one,” he snapped back. “And if you don’t drive this bleeding car we’ll have a riot on our hands.”
    She supposed the explosions going on in her head had blocked out the blaring horns. She zipped through the light, steamed up the next few blocks, then swung back when she hit the next red. “I’ve been handling my own ready all my life and I don’t need a freaking allowance from my daddy. I do just fine.”
    “Obviously, since you’re walking about with empty pockets.”
    “I got the plastic, don’t I?”
    The look he gave her would have withered stone. “How things must’ve changed since I was running the streets. I never accepted the plastic.”
    He had her there. “So I didn’t get around to pulling out a little cash the last few days. So what? I don’t know why you’re so pissed about it.”
    “You don’t, no. Quite obviously, you don’t.”
    The fact that he didn’t add to that, said nothing at all as she fought and maneuvered her way uptown, told her he wasn’t just pissed, he was over the line into furious.
    She didn’t get it, didn’t get it, didn’t get it. How had they gone from perfectly fine to taking a few acceptable pokes at each other to furious?
    So now he sat there, ignoring her, working with his PPC again. Probably prying into her bank account to see what an idiot she was in his gazillionaire opinion. Snapping and slapping at her because she’d run a little short between paydays.
    So the fuck what?
    She picked at it, gnawed at it, brooded over it the rest of the way. When she stopped in front of the house, when they got out of opposite sides of the car, she stood with the car between them. “Look—”
    “No, you’re going to need to look, Eve. We’ll go inside so that you do.”
    Since he strode away, she had little choice but to follow. Don’t need this now, she thought. Don’t need some marital knot to unravel when I’ve got work. She always had work, a little voice reminded her, and did nothing but make her feel guilty.
    When he stepped inside, Roarke simply held up a finger. Eve watched, with surprise and envy, as Summerset slipped back out of the foyer without a word. With the path effortlessly cleared, she trudged up the steps after Roarke.
    She expected him to head to one of their offices or their bedroom. Instead he walked into one of the quiet and beautiful sitting rooms. A banquet of blooming plants charmed a trio of windows. A pair of curved settees in muted stripes faced each other across a slim, glossy table. After shrugging out of his coat, Roarke tossed it over one of the pretty fabric chairs.
    “I’ll have a drink with this.”
    It didn’t surprise her to see the wine fridge when he crossed over, opened a panel. When he’d drawn the cork, he took two glasses from another panel, poured.
    “Why don’t you sit?”
    “I feel like I’m about to get dressed down by an annoyed parent because I blew my spending money on candy. I don’t like it, Roarke.”
    “I’m not your father, and I don’t give a damn what you spend your money on. There, better?”
    “No.”
    “Well then, that’s a