Page 94 of Fury In Death

As she dressed, she figured if she’d gone off a few shades on any particular piece, Roarke would let her know.

Whether she wanted to hear it or not.

But he simply nodded as she came out, jacket in hand.

“Respectful for the memorial, then businesslike and formidable for the rest.”

She strapped on her weapon over the vest. Began to fill her pockets.

She supposed he’d call his million-dollar suit charcoal, and the shirt something like ash. The tie? Maybe charcoal and ash along with a touch of deep blue, all in tiny diamond shapes.

He’d added the petunia pin she’d given him to his lapel.

“You’ve got that old button in your pocket, don’t you?”

“Well, of course.” He slid it out to prove it.

“How come I don’t have a sloppy, sentimental good luck thing?”

“What would it be?”

“I don’t know. You don’t ever lose anything. Wait. I know. Give me one of those leather ties you use for your hair in serious work mode.”

“Really? I’ve just the one on me right now.”

“You’ve got more. You have more of everything.”

Enjoying her, he rose, and taking it out of his pocket, gave it to her. “You’ll note I didn’t lose it.”

“I wouldn’t have lost the button if you’d given it back to me when you found it.”

“The remarkably ill-fitting and unattractive suit it fell off of is long gone.”

“You’d think a sloppy, sentimental Irishman would keep what I was wearing the first time he saw me.”

“I’m not sloppy and sentimental enough for that poor excuse of a suit.”

She stuck the tie in her pocket. “I’ll probably lose this, then you’ll have to give me another one.”

“Christ, I adore you.” He pulled her in, kissed her. “Take care of my cop.”

“Don’t I always?”

“No.”

She laughed, kissed him. “Take care of my sloppy, sentimental Irishman. And oh, have fun getting the syrup off the cat.”

He turned, and she headed out as she heard him say, “Well, bugger it! That’s a right bloody mess you’ve made.”

And, she thought, the richest man in the universe would, in his gorgeous suit, clean it up, and the cat with it.

She stuck a hand in her pocket as she jogged down the stairs, felt the leather tie.

Yeah, she’d probably lose it, maybe even before end of shift. But she’d try not to.

She got in the car, lighter than she’d have believed she’d feel after the nightmare. Since the sun shined, she took the sunshades out of her pocket. After all, he’d put them on her dresser so she wouldn’t forget.

She slipped them on, and started the journey to the morgue.