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“My cop,” he said affectionately. “What cheerful thoughts she has on this festive occasion.”

“I like it.”

“Murder-suicide? Sorry, darling, I’ll have to disappoint you. Maybe next year.”

“No, Christmas. I didn’t used to. When I was a kid—after Richard Troy,” she qualified. “He’d go out, get plowed, and probably laid. That was a gift, come to think about it. Anyway, after it was always weird if I was in a foster house, and just fucking depressing in a group home, so it wasn’t high on my list of holidays.”

“It wasn’t roasted goose and plum pudding in my memories either. I’d usually go over to a mate’s or a few of us would go out, bang around.”

“Hunting more wallets.”

He sent her a cheerful look. “You have to celebrate somehow, after all.”

“Yeah, you do. I used to take the extra shifts, so cops with families could get the break. And after Mavis and I hooked up, we’d do something.” She studied a shiny silver reindeer. “Why are they reindeer? What kind of a name is that?”

“They need the reins for Santa to navigate the sleigh.”

She slanted him a look. “Right. Anyway, with me and Mavis and Christmas, it usually involved a lot of alcohol.”

“We can serve that tradition.” He topped off her glass.

“She dragged me out ice-skating once.” She brought the memory back, laughed and—what the hell—drank more champagne. “We were both pretty trashed by that time or she’d never have talked me into it.”

“I’d pay good money to see that.”

“She zipped around pretty good. God, she had this pink coat with purple flowers all over it, and she’d done her hair in Christmas red and green.”

“That hasn’t changed. I’ve wondered how Mavis came to have that ugly gray coat you borrowed.” He drew out of his pocket the button he always carried, the one that had fallen off the unfortunate coat the first time they’d met.

“Holdover from her grifting days. A blend-and-be-dull deal, she called it.”

“That explains that.” He slid the button away again. “And how were you on the ice, Lieutenant?”

“It’s just balance and motion. I stayed on my feet. She would have, but she kept trying to do those fancy spins, and she’d face-plant or fall on her ass. She had bruises everywhere, but I still had to drag her off the damn ice after an hour or something. Ice is freaking cold.”

“I’ve heard that. We should try it sometime.”

“Ice-skating?” She gave him a look of genuine shock. “You? Me?”

“Which makes we. Brian and I and some others liberated some skates one winter. We must’ve been fourteen or fifteen, around that. We had a go at playing ice hockey, Dublin rules, which means none at all. And yes, my God, the bruises were majestic.”

“Hockey maybe.” She considered it as she hung another ornament. “At least that has a purpose. Otherwise you’re just strapping some blades to your feet and circling around on frozen water. I mean, what’s the point?”

“Relaxation, exercise, fun?”

“I guess we had fun, but we were drunk. Or nearly drunk. I think I remember we finished getting all the way drunk back at my place. Her place now, hers and Leonardo and Bella’s. That’s kind of weird when you think about it.”

“Life changes.” He paused to tap his glass to hers. “Or we change it.”

“I guess.” She realized she was just a little bit drunk now, and that was just fine.

“Here we are decorating the tree. They’ve probably got one over at their place, which used to be my place. She used to bring over this skinny little fake tree, every damn year, and nag me until I put it up. She always took it back because she was smart enough to know I’d dump it if she left it with me. But I guess she was right. It added something.”

Roarke draped his arm around her shoulders. “We should have them over, some preholiday drinks. Just the four of us. Well, five, with the baby.”

“That’d be good.” Leaning against him, she studied the lights, the shine, the symbol. “That’s good, too. We’re as good as the elves. We’re having a party, aren’t we? I mean, one of those bashes where a half a million of our closest friends come over to eat fancy food, drink enough to make them dance like lunatics?”

“We are. It’s on your calendar, the one you never pay the slightest bit of attention to.”

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