Strangers In Death

“Well, we sure as Christ loosened up.”

“Then I saw you knifing through the water. All wet and ripply and…you.” She tilted her head back to look at him. “I saw you, and that’s all it took. Sometimes I can’t breathe, I love you so much.”

“Eve.” Emotion deepened his eyes as he kissed her, very sweetly, then he just rested his brow against hers.

“I keep thinking, well, this’ll settle down. It’s bound to level off and settle down. But it doesn’t. Even when things are just going smooth and we’re just…living, I can look at you, and I’ve got no breath left.”

“Every minute with you, I’m alive. I never knew before there were pieces of me unborn, just waiting for you. I’m alive with you, Eve.”

She sighed, touched his cheek. “We’d better get out of here. We’re getting mush all over the pool.”

It was back to murder as she pulled on the comfort of her old NYPSD sweatshirt and a pair of worn-out (just the way she liked them) jeans. While they dressed, she relayed to Roarke the conversation she’d had with Mira.

“You’re worried now she’ll find a way to dispose of this subordinate-as you’re thinking of her, or him.”

“Gotta have a plan for it. I think she thinks this individual wouldn’t dare betray her, but she’ll have a plan. She’s got Brigit Plowder, who doesn’t strike me as a moron, completely wrapped. Pretty much ditto on Tribble’s wife. But Plowder…”

“Are you looking at her? At Brigit Plowder?”

“I look at everyone, but no, she doesn’t strike me as a subordinate or…what’s the word? What is it? Supplicant. Yeah, that’s what our Ava likes. She likes having her supplicants. She bought herself plenty of them with Anders’s money.”

She caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirror, paused, took a closer look. He’d put on basically the same thing she had-jeans and in his case a dark blue sweater. But…

“How come you always look better than me?”

He glanced in the mirror as well, and smiling stepped behind her to wrap his arm around her from the back. “I can’t agree with that. Eye of the beholder.”

“You’re still tuning from water games.” She shook her head, studying them, he thought, as she might suspects in a lineup. “It’s just not right. Anyway, back off, ace, we’ve got a load of work ahead of us and-crap, I forgot. I need to tag Charles. I need to do a follow-up there.”

To amuse himself, and a

“Hey.”

“Hey, back. It’ll be a working meal again, and would that make me your subordinate or your supplicant?”

“Ha-ha. You’re nobody’s subordinate, and you wouldn’t know how to supplicate. Is that a word?”

“I’ll look it up. Working meal, and you’re thinking…burgers.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What, have you gone all psychic on me?”

“Logic, and an intimate-as I’ve recently proven-knowledge of my wife. You missed lunch, discounting a limo cruller, and you’ve expended a great deal of energy in the pool, with various activities. You’re hungry, which leads you to red meat. A steak won’t do as you won’t want the trouble of cutting anything up. So it’s a burger you want.”

“What am I having for dessert?”

He cocked a brow at her reflection. “Well, there you have me.”

“Yeah, I got you.” She turned, bit his lip. “I brought home pie.”

“Really? What sort of pie?”

She only smiled, pulled out, and picked up her ’link to tag Charles.

Nervous, distracted, Charles paused outside the brownstone in the West Village and checked the display on his signaling ’link. “It’s Dallas,” he told Louise.

Worried, uncertain, she watched him frown at the display. “Aren’t you going to answer?”

“Ah…no. No, I’ll get back to her.”

“It’ll be about the Anders case. Charles, if there’s something about it that you haven’t told her, something you’re holding back because of loyalty or discretion-”

“There isn’t.” He slid the ’link back in his pocket. “Let’s go in.”

“Actually, Charles, I’m not really in the mood to socialize, especially with new people.” She glanced toward the house. “I really think you and I need to talk.”

The nerves already buzzing in his belly kicked up to a dull roar. “We will.”

“Things haven’t been-”

“Don’t.” He took both her hands. “Just don’t. Let’s go inside first. I really need to take you inside.”

“All right.” Inside her belly, something sank. “All right.”

He led her through the iron gate, down the walk cutting through a small and lovely front garden, then up the short flight of stairs to the main level of the three-story home. But when he took out keys, she stared.

“What-”

“One minute. Just one minute.” He keyed a code on the security pad, unlocked the door.

Baffled, she stepped inside.

Floors gleamed, old, rich wood providing a lovely base for the foyer, for the sturdy stairs with their glossy rail, and on to a spacious room where a fire simmered in a hearth of lapis blue.

“It’s empty.”

“Yes, for now.”

Her footsteps echoed on the wood as she wandered into what she assumed was the living area, as she turned to look at the trio of tall windows with their carved trim.

“It’s a lovely space.”

“There’s a lot more,” he told her. “Let me show you through.”

“Why?” She turned back to him. “Why are we in a beautiful and empty house in the West Village with you offering to show me through?”

“I bought it.” He hadn’t meant to tell her exactly that way, but she was standing there, framed by those windows, looking at him with such serious, such somber gray eyes.

“You…you bought this house?”

“Yes. Two weeks ago.”

“Two…I see.” She smiled. “Well, congratulations. I didn’t realize you were even thinking of relocating, much less buying a home. No wonder you’ve been so distracted lately. So, show me the rest. These floors, Charles, they’re just gorgeous. Are they all the way through? And all this space!”

She started to hurry by, but he caught her arm. “You’re upset.”

“No, no, just surprised. It’s such a big step. Enormous.”

“I’ve taken a couple more. I didn’t tell you.”

“No, you didn’t tell me.” Though her eyes stayed on his face, she eased back from him. “You haven’t told me much of anything for weeks. So, let me be grown up and civilized about this, will you? Let me try. Is there a dining room? I bet there’s a wonderful dining room, perfect for di

“I’ve retired.”

Though she’d pulled away to move on, that stopped her again. “What?”

“I turned in my license, the end of last week.”

“Last week? I don’t understand this, don’t understand you. You’ve turned in your license, bought a house. What is this, Charles?”

“I wanted-needed to have it, to have everything in place before I told you. I applied for, and have been granted a license in psychology, specializing in sex therapy. Dr. Mira helped me there, and agreed that it was a good lateral move.”

Louise stared at him with something like grief in her eyes. “You spoke with Mira, but not with me. Asked for her help, but not for mine.”

“I wanted to be sure I could pull it off, Louise. She agreed to help me with the applications, the testing, the screening process. And well, talking to her throughout all this helped me be sure it was something I really wanted to do, really could do.”

“As talking to me wouldn’t have helped?”

“No. Yes. She’s neutral, objective. And while she was helping me through it, I was dealing with buying this place. The lower level here is a good space for the office and therapy rooms. And there’s…I’m not doing this right.”

He stopped, pushed at his hair again. For a man who’d made his living, and a damn good one, he thought, on being smooth, he was bumbling this like a first-nighter. “I haven’t been able to figure out how to do this. Every time I tried to work it out, I hit a wall. Louise-”