Kindred In Death

Today’s botch, he thought, had shaken her confidence, had her second-guessing. “Put it aside for a bit. You’ll overthink it.” He came in with two glasses of wine-very large.

“The contingency op was always the better scenario. I wanted to take him today, shut him down, but…” Her mouth dropped open when Roarke shed his shirt. “Holy shit. I didn’t know you got hit.”

“Mmm.” He glanced at the mirror, and the symphony of bruises along his ribs. “My second favorite face avoided any violent contact, but a good deal of the rest of me feels like it’s been ten rounds with the champ, and the worse for it. It was a bloody madhouse in there.”

“We’re lucky nobody had to make use of the facilities.” She stripped off her own shirt, and Roarke traced his fingertips over her bruises.

“Ouch.”

“That’s exactly right.” After peeling off the rest of her clothes, she sank into the hot water. “Oh God. Thank you, Jesus.”

“When we’re done with this, we’ll play doctor.” He stepped in, cursed. “Bloody hell, Eve, it’s hot enough to flay the skin.”

She opened one eye to peer up at him. “It’ll feel good when you’re all the way in. Jets on. Oh, mama!”

He had to laugh as he slid in the wide tub beside her. Maybe losing a few layers of skin-especially the bruised and battered layers-wasn’t such a bad idea. In any case, sharing a tub of hot (next to bloody boiling) churning water with his wife at the end of the day made up for quite a bit.

He picked up his wine, took a long sip. “I might feel next to human once I finish this.”

“Come on, tough guy. Dublin street rat. You’ve had your ribs pounded before.”

“Older now, aren’t I?” He closed his eyes, let the hot water beat and froth over the aches.

“But not softer.” To prove it, she trailed her hand down his chest, found him, stroked him. “Nope, not softer.”

His lips curved. “So, you’re wanting to stir up more than some hot water.”

“Figure I owe you.” She shifted positions until she straddled him, watched amusement and lust light in his eyes. “How many times do you figure I’ve gotten you bruised or bloody since we met?”

“I stopped counting long ago.” His hands stroked down her back as she opened, took him in. “Ah, there now. Better than the wine for making me forget my troubles.”

She took the wine from him, sipping even as she rose and fell, rose and fell. “It’s all for medicinal purposes.”

“I’m an excellent patient.”

She brought the glass to his lips, tipped before setting it aside, before laying her lips to his. “It’s good,” she murmured against his mouth. “It’s good.”

Slow and fluid, with the water swirling and lapping, the steam from the heat rising, they moved together. Here, with as much comfort as passion, she laid her head on his shoulder, let her body rock them both to pleasure.

The crest, a long, liquid shimmer, brought a quiet sigh.

“It’s good to be home,” she told him.

“Always.”

“Now that we’re feeling human, let’s just stay in here and wallow.”

He wrapped his arms around her, closed his eyes again, and wallowed.

Easy sex and a long soak soothed the aches. Still, he wouldn’t let her dress until he’d run a wand over the bruises to help them heal, and gotten another cold wrap for her face.

“Give me the wand,” she ordered. “Your bruises are worse than mine.”

He gave her the wand, but turned her so she could see herself in the mirror.

“Oh crap.” She poked at her purpling eye. “Crap. Even with the wand and the cold pack, that’s not going to be gone by Saturday.”

“It won’t be your first wedding with a shiner. You had one for ours. Trina will cover the worst of it.”

“Don’t remind me. Damn it, do I have to call Louise, say anything about tomorrow?”

“Summerset’s taken care of it. It’s all managed.”

“There was a rehearsal thing.”

Roarke kissed her lightly. “Managed.”

“Well, hell, now he has something else to sniff at me about. I want to check in with Baxter and Trueheart, just make sure everything’s in place at the Mimotos.”

“Do that if it helps you relax. I have a couple things to check on myself. Then I want a meal.”

They retreated to opposite ends of the bedroom with pocket ’links. When he’d finished, Eve was sitting down, frowning into space.

“Problem?”

“No, they’re in, the house is secured. They’ll take shifts through the night, just in case. Baxter said Mrs. Mimoto, and her husband, are okay about it. More than okay. They want to do it. They’re revved to do it.”

“You spoke with them both yourself just a few hours ago.”

“I know, and they agreed. They’re solid. It’s just I expected some nerves, more questions from them, a need for more assurances. Instead, they cooked di

Appreciation lit Roarke’s face. “What did they have?”

“Roast chicken-a real clucker-mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans. The real deal, too. It must’ve cost them. And they had lemon meringue pie for dessert. They did all that for a couple of cops. Baxter’s in love with her, by the way. She’s going to open the door of her house tomorrow to a man she knows wants to kill her, intends to rape her, brutalize her, and kill her. And she baked a pie for a couple of cops.”

“It’s more surprising for you to be treated with courtesy and kindness.”

“They made up a guest room so the one off shift can catch some sleep. Yeah, it’s more surprising. He wants to snuff that out. He wants to end the kind of person who would do that, would think of those things. And that doesn’t surprise me. I was sitting here asking myself if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“It makes you a good cop, and the fact that you’d ask yourself the question makes you a better one.” He leaned down to kiss her bruised eye. “Why don’t we see if there’s any roast chicken to be had around here?”

Deke and Charity Mimoto lived in a pleasant single-family home in White Plains. The old, established neighborhood had weathered the years well, and benefited from the updates and influxes of wealthy young suburbanites. Big, leafy trees and pretty gardens dotted a landscape where the lawns were trimmed, the sidewalks even, and the paint was fresh.

“We’ve been here fifty-three years,” Charity told Eve. “We wanted to put down roots when we started our family, and in a neighborhood where kids had yards to play in. My Deke’s handy, so he’s done a lot of fixing up over the years. A man who can fix a leaky toilet’s as good as a billionaire from where I sit. Is your man handy around the house?” she asked, wagging a finger at Eve’s wedding ring.

She decided it was probably the first time, and the last, she’d actively wonder if Roarke had ever fixed a toilet. “In his way.”

“Deke built the sunroom with his own two hands, and finished off the downstairs so we have a nice, big family room. I’ve lost track of the times he remodeled the kitchen, or one of the baths. We like to keep up.”

“It’s a very nice house, Mrs. Mimoto.” But Eve was more interested in the layout than new countertops.

“A good place to raise children, and a good place when the grands came along, and the greats. We haven’t said anything about all this to the family. Usually most of us know what’s going on with the rest of us, so this isn’t our way.”

“I appreciate your cooperation, Mrs. Mimoto. Our concerns are to keep you safe, and to apprehend this man. We’re going to do both today, then get out of your way.”

“Oh now, you haven’t been in our way.” Charity made waving gestures with her hands. “We enjoyed having David and Troy,” she added, obviously pleased to be on a first-name basis with Baxter and Trueheart. “Such nice young men. Have a muffin,” she invited, holding out a cloth-lined bowl to Eve. “I baked them fresh this morning.”