Shadows in Death (In Death #51) - J.D. Robb Page 0,12
fast, swirling heat of the drying tube.
Live-in staff, she understood from personal experience (Summer-set!), knew a hell of a lot about what went on inside a household.
She hopped out of the drying tube, grabbed the robe on the back of the door.
She needed to dig into any intelligence on Cobbe, and might need her commander’s assistance with that. And she wanted a consult with Mira, wanted the top profiler and shrink’s take on both Cobbe and Tween.
Truth? she admitted. She’d take help wherever she could get it to shut Cobbe down, to lock him away.
When she walked back into the bedroom, Roarke, already in one of his king-of-the-business-world suits, stood tying one of his fancy ties in some fancy knot.
“We’re in for fine weather today,” he told her while Galahad inhaled his morning kibble.
She’d intended to keep things practical and pragmatic, but instead went with her heart instead of her head. Crossing to him, she took his face in her hands. “I’m going to get him.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
“Good.”
She went to her own closet, grabbed a pair of trousers at random. She shimmied into them and a support tank, thought of good weather so grabbed a short-sleeved shirt and a jacket.
As she pulled on the shirt, Roarke stepped to the opening of her closet. “Are you doing that deliberately to distract me?”
“What?” She reached for a belt.
“Pairing that jacket with those pants—and put that belt back.”
“Why? The pants are black, the jacket’s black, the belt’s black.”
He took the jacket, hung it up again. “The pants are indigo.”
She rolled her eyes behind his back as he picked another jacket.
“And roll your eyes all you like,” he said without turning around. “If you’re going to wear indigo—which is a deep navy, not black—with the accent of gray-influenced celadon—”
“What the hell is celadon? It sounds contagious.”
“It’s green—in this case a gray-green. As is this jacket.” He pulled one out. “With its indigo buttons. Take off that shirt.”
“I don’t have time for closet sex, pal.”
He pulled it over her head himself, then pulled her in, just held her. “Wish we did.”
She held him in turn. “Me, too.”
“But since closet sex is off the agenda, let’s use the closet for its more traditional purpose.” Drawing away, he chose another shirt. “White to add crispness.”
“I had on a white shirt.”
With the demeanor of a patient teacher instructing a baffled student, he held up the first shirt. “This is cream. This?” He held up the second shirt. “Is white. And this belt?” He tossed her the white shirt, selected a belt. “Is indigo, as are your trousers. It’s a pity you’d balk at celadon boots for a workday, as they’d complement that outfit perfectly. But …” He moved over to the wall of shelves that held the ridiculous, to her mind, number of boots she’d acquired.
“This will finish off the look and fall within your version of appropriate.”
She took them. “Indigo?”
“There you have it.”
He gave her a kiss that met the equivalent of a pat on the head, then left her to dress.
She hadn’t done it on purpose, Eve thought as she put on the white shirt, the indigo belt. But fiddling with her clothes had lightened his mood a little.
She put on the boots—a new addition from the closet fairy—grabbed the jacket.
He stood at the AC again, ordering breakfast. She had to hope a fine day meant no oatmeal. Taking up her weapon harness, she shrugged into it. And thinking of international assassins, got out her clutch piece and ankle holster.
Since he’d already set the pot of coffee on the table of the sitting area, she poured for both of them.
He brought two plates under warmers to the table—and the cat eyed them greedily while he washed.
No oatmeal, Eve thought with an inner cheer. Some nice fat berries, some sort of omelet, and best of all, bacon.
“You’d have thought out some of your strategy for the day in the shower. Tell me.”
Eve cut into the omelet. Green stuff inside. She should’ve known. “Morgue first. I want to consult with both Whitney and Mira—Whitney can help with the alphabets, and Mira with a clear-sighted view of both Cobbe and Tween.”
“Alphabets?”
“FBI, CIA, NCA, CSB, blah blah blah. Like I told you last night after I made the notification, her family’s coming to New York. Unless they push for otherwise, I want to talk to them in my house.”
The green stuff turned out to be asparagus and … “Peas?”