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“We did.”
“Aw.” She exaggerated the sound as she grinned at him. She kissed him lightly, then nudged him away. “I’ve got to update my board, and do some runs. I have to keep looking for a connection between the vics, and between the vics and the company, even though I don’t think there are any. And I’ve got one that should be done on military ancestors who might’ve owned the bayonet.”
“Red meat.”
“Huh?”
“We’ll have steak. We could both use the boost.”
“You’re not tired anymore. I’m looking right in your eyes, and I’d see if you were. It’s annoying.”
“
I still want steak.”
“Now I want it, too. But first I want a shower. Wash off this day and a half.” She sniffed at him. “How come you smell so good?”
“Could be I’m simply blessed that way, or it could be the shower I had at the office. Go on then.” He gave her ass a friendly pat. “I’ll set up the meal.”
She felt better, after the shower, another hit of coffee, a change of clothes. And when she walked into her home office, she smelled grilled meat, and felt better yet.
And it reminded her of her early-morning conversation with Morris.
“Ah, I sort of said how we might have a thing, you know with that big-ass grill of yours, and people.”
Roarke lifted the bottle of wine he’d opened. “You want me to grill people?”
“Only some people. But that should be done privately. Just half a glass of that for me.”
He poured. “You’re after having a cookout.”
“I’m not really after it, but I saw Morris this morning, and he looked so damn sad, and I said something about it before I actually thought about it, then I forgot about it until I smelled the steak.”
He crossed to her, handed her the wineglass, then caught her chin in his hand, kissed her. “You’re a good friend.”
“I don’t know how the hell that happened.”
“Saturday evening?”
“I guess. Unless—”
“There’s always an unless, but as we’ll be entertaining cops or those associated with, it’s a given for all.”
“You’re okay with it?”
“Eve, I know this continues to astound and baffle you, but I actually like to socialize.”
“I know. If it wasn’t for that, you’d be perfect.” When he laughed, she walked over, lifted the cover of a plate. “God, that really does smell good. I’m getting that boost and I haven’t even eaten it yet.”
“Let’s see what happens when you do. How’s the arm?” he asked when they sat at the table by the window.
“It’s okay.” She rolled her shoulder, flexed. “Hardly feel it.”
“We should have a contest,” he decided, “to see if you can go, say, two weeks without an on-the-job injury.”
“I was just switching glides.” She cut into the steak. “Minding my own business. And what kind of idiot thinks they’re going to get away with stabbing their ex with a plastic knife in the middle of Cop Central?”
“One who’s only thinking of the satisfaction of the act, not the consequences.”
