Shadows in Death (In Death #51) - J.D. Robb Page 0,93
what I can find out.”
“So will I. I’ve got to go, get back to it.” But she stood another moment. “This is a good place, isn’t it? It feels like a good place.”
“Rochelle wasn’t the only one getting teary when she showed me around. So did Quilla, and she’s a tough little nut. It’s a good place, Dallas, and lives have already started to change in it.”
“Okay. Good. I’ve got to go. I’ll let you know when you can break the Cobbe connection.”
“I’ll be ready. Oh, and Dallas?” Nadine added as Eve walked away. “Lovely scarf.”
“What?” Looking down at herself, Eve cursed, whipped it off. “It’s Peabody’s.”
“Looks good on you.”
Eve stuffed it in her pocket, kept walking. She had to be grateful she’d remembered to ditch the stupid hat.
She walked down and out, remembering the clean and bright, the smells of good food cooking, the light in Quilla’s eyes when she’d shaken hands.
And aimed for home with her mood considerably higher.
Even as she kept alert for tails, she thought of the Marriage Rules.
“Text Roarke,” she ordered her in-dash. “Heading home.”
It felt good to say it, felt good to know the traffic she fought to get there would—most likely—be the worst she faced until morning.
“Accept text,” she said when her in-dash signaled an incoming.
She heard Roarke’s voice, another mood lifter. As am I. Turning toward the gates now.
“Respond: Open a bottle, pal. We’re due.”
His answer came seconds later. Consider it done.
Nice, she thought. Sometimes it was just nice to be married. Maybe especially nice with all the crap coming down on them right now to know they had each other.
The next signal came from her comm, and forced her to make a single wish.
Whatever it was didn’t mean she’d have to turn the car around again.
She answered on her wrist unit. “Dallas.”
“Santiago, with Carmichael and good news.”
“I could use some.”
“Yeah, we heard about the second murder. But we’ve ID’d his rental vehicle.”
“How sure?”
“One hundred percent. I’m looking at the paperwork—including a copy of the driver’s license he used to rent a ’61 black Tuscan Regal all-terrain, fully loaded—right down to the license plate, Loo. He used the name Liam O’Patrick, with an Interstellar credit account under the same name. Both cleared the car rental agent’s security scan. The agent who worked with him’s gone for the day, but we have his address, and we’re headed there next to talk to him.”
“Get an APB out on the vehicle—use the license number with the caveat he may have switched it out. Orders: Track vehicle, but do not stop, do not approach.”
“Carmichael’s doing that now.”
“Good work, Santiago. Both of you, good work. Get copies of any security feed they’ve got on him, send me everything. Let me know what the rental guy says.”
“You got it.”
Cop work, she thought, just good, solid, tenacious cop work. That’s how it’s done. And since there were more rules than marriage, she dictated a text to update Abernathy.
And finally turned through the gates.
18
When she walked inside, Summerset waited alone. Which meant Galahad had gone upstairs with Roarke. Since she wanted to be there herself, she dispensed with the greeting insult—there was always next time—and went straight to the point.
“Anything I should know?”
“There’s lemon meringue pie for dessert.”
“Not the best news I’ve had today, but it ranks.” She tossed the topper over the newel post. “No weird attempts at communication, no attempted deliveries?”
“No. He won’t come at Roarke here.”
“No, but he might try for you.”
Summerset smiled as she started up the steps. She had to admit it was the sort of smile that could set your hair on end.
“He’d be considerably disappointed.”
“Watch your bony six anyway. You can always yank the stick out of your ass for an extra weapon.”
And score! Who said she couldn’t come up with an on-the-spot insult?
Considerably satisfied, she went straight to her office.
He’d opened a bottle, stood in the process of pouring a second glass of red that practically glowed in the crystal.
The cat stopped rubbing against Roarke’s legs to trot over and rub against hers.
Then froze, sniffed. He cast one baleful look up at her out of his bicolored eyes before strutting away with his tail straight up in the air.
She knew the feline equivalent of the middle finger when she saw it.
Roarke angled his head as he looked down at the cat now sitting at his feet aiming lethal stares at Eve.
“And what’s all this?”
“There was a cat. It sat on my lap while we interviewed the cat lady. He’s pissed.”