Thankless in Death

Booking,” Peabody said as she helped Eve haul Reinhold to his feet.
    “Nah. We’re passing him off to a couple unlucky uniforms. We’re going to go have ourselves a nice turkey dinner.”
    “Yay!”
    Together, they dragged the limp, sobbing Reinhold out of the box, and into the rest of his life.

EPILOGUE
    THERE WAS SOME PAPERWORK TO DEAL WITH, SOME CONT acts to make—procedure was procedure—but Eve figured they pulled up at the house at a reasonable time.
    She hadn’t screwed up Thanksgiving.
    “Champagne,” Roarke decreed. “For both of you. Exceptional teamwork in Interview.”
    “Champagne?” Peabody did a seat dance before climbing out. “Oh boy, oh boy!”
    “It’s a good day,” Eve decided. And she could wait for the next to talk to Asshole Joe in the hospital.
    She stepped into the house, into a wall of voices, music, into the scents of applewood burning, candles flickering, flowers, and food.
    Into, she supposed, family.
    They’d spread around the living room, and had broken out musical instruments. Some of them danced—including, she saw with considerableshock, the huge Crack, the sex club owner—with his tattoos and feathers. The Irish white skin of the little girl he had on his hip glowed against his ebony.
    Mavis’s little Bella clung to McNab’s hands and stomped her feet in a mimic of the step-dancing going on.
    They called it a
ceili
, she remembered from her visit to the family farm in Clare. And she supposed they’d brought a little Irish to an American holiday.
    It fit just fine.
    Before she could evade—or even think to—one of them (uncle—no cousin) whizzed by, snatching her, swinging her into the whirl of it.
    She managed a “No, uh-uh,” but he just plucked her off her feet, spun her in circles.
    She laughed, then staggered a bit when he dropped her back down, and the music ended with riotous applause.
    The noise didn’t end. A million questions and comments burst out, and made her think of a media conference.
    “Easy now,” Sinead ordered. “You’re all smothering the lot of them. Ian tells us you got your man,” she added. “And all’s well with the world.”
    “For now.”
    “Now is good and fine enough. We’ve been entertaining ourselves as you see, until you were home again.”
    “Don’t let that stop you.” She took the glass of champagne Roarke handed her. “That was quick.”
    “It was already out and open.”
    Nadine walked over, gave Eve a hard, completely unexpected hug. “I love them,” she murmured in Eve’s ear. “I love them all, and want to marry them.”
    “How much have you had to drink?”
    “Just the right amount. God, they’re so much fun! You’re a lucky woman, Dallas.”
    “I’m feeling pretty lucky.”
    “I’m having the best time.” Easing back, Nadine plucked up her glass of champagne, lifted it in toast. “And I’m getting an exclusive with you and Roarke together, on
Now
.”
    “No, you’re not.”
    “Oh, but I am.” Fun and affection danced in Nadine’s crafty green eyes. “I’m going to get you drunk enough to agree before we have the pie.”
    “Good luck with that.”
    “I’m feeling pretty lucky, too. Oh, Morris is going to play the sax. I want to marry him when he plays the sax.”
    One of the uncles sang with the wrenching melody, and half the room shed tears. Eve thought they liked it.
    Mavis bounced up to give her a squeeze, then Charles. Everybody seemed to need to hug.
    “I got that name and contact for you,” Charles told her. “It turns out you didn’t need it.”
    “I’m glad I didn’t.”
    She started to step back. She really needed to take her weapon harness off, secure it upstairs. But she glanced down to see Sean and Nixie staring up at her.
    “What?”
    “You got the bad guy,” Sean stated.
    “Yeah, we got him.”
    “Did you zap him a good one first?”
    Violent little bugger, she thought. She liked that about him. “No. I just knocked him down. Twice.”
    “That’s something then.”
    “He killed people,” Nixie said.
    “That’s right.”
    “Now he won’t anymore.”
    “No, he won’t.”
    She nodded, smiled. “I have your surprise.”
    “Yeah? Hand it over.”
    She ran to Elizabeth, got a slim rectangle wrapped in gold paper.
    Gifts were always weird to her, so Eve ripped the paper off—like a bandage from a wound—to get it done fast. And looked down at a framed drawing of herself.
    She stood, eyes hard, weapon drawn, coat billowing. A little