Conspiracy in Death by J. D. Robb Page B
Authors: J. D. Robb
Tags: Fiction, detective, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Mystery Fiction, Police, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Fiction - Mystery, Police Procedural, Mystery & Detective - Police Procedural, Large Type Books, New York, New York (State), New York (N.Y.), Policewomen, Police - New York (State) - New York, Eve (Fictitious character), Dallas, Dallas; Eve (Fictitious Character)
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her hips high, thrusting deep, deeper, drove them both over.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lazily, Roarke nuzzled Eve's throat. He loved the dark, rich taste that good, healthy sex brought to her skin. "Feel better now?"
She managed something between a grunt and a moan and made his lips curve. In a slow roll, smooth with practice, he reversed their positions, stroked her back, and waited.
Her ears were still ringing, her body so limp she didn't think she could fight off a toddler with a water laser. The hands gliding up and down her back were lulling her gently toward sleep. She was teetering on the edge of it when Galahad, deciding all was clear, padded back into the room to leap cheerfully on her naked ass.
"Jesus!" Her jerk of protest caused him to dig for balance with his sharp little claws. She yelped, swatted, bounced, then crawled off Roarke to safety. When she twisted to check for blood, she caught Roarke's grin and saw the cat now purring maniacally under his long, clever fingers.
There was nothing to do but scowl at both of them. "I guess the two of you think that was funny."
"We each like to welcome you home in our own way." Even as her lip curled, he was sitting up, taking her face in his hands. Within that frame, her cheeks were flushed, her mouth sulky, her eyes sleepy. "You look very attractively... used, Lieutenant." His mouth cruised over hers, nibbled, and nearly made her forget she was annoyed with him. "Why don't we have a shower, then, over dinner, you can tell me what's upset you."
"I'm not hungry." She muttered it. Now that the temper had flashed, she wanted to brood.
"I am." He simply pulled her off the bed with him.
He let her sulk, let himself speculate, until they were down in the kitchen. Knowing Eve, he decided whatever had put her blood on boil was job-related. She would tell him, he thought as he chose stuffed shells for both of them from the menu of the AutoChef. Sharing her burdens wasn't a natural act for her, but she would tell him.
He poured wine, then sat across from her at the cozy eating area tucked under the window. "Did you identify your sidewalk sleeper?"
"Yeah." She ran a fingertip up the stem of the wineglass, then shrugged. "He was one of those post-Urban War dropouts. It's unlikely anyone will be able to say why he traded an ordinary life for a miserable one."
"Maybe his ordinary one was miserable enough."
"Yeah, maybe." She shrugged it off. Had to. "We'll release his body to his daughter when we're done with it."
"It makes you sad," Roarke murmured and had her gaze lifting to his.
"It can't get inside you."
"It makes you sad," he repeated. "And the way you channel that is to find who killed him."
"That's my job." She picked up her fork, stabbed one of the shells on her plate without interest. "If more people would do their jobs instead of screwing with people doing theirs, we'd be a hell of a lot better off."
Ah, he thought. "So, who screwed with you, Lieutenant?"
She started to shrug again, wanted to act as if it didn't matter a damn. But it came bubbling up her throat and out before she could stop it. "Fucking stiff scooper. Hated me on sight, who knows why."
"And assuming a stiff scooper is what its colorful name indicates, does he have a name?"
"She. Half-ass Bowers from the one-six-two filed a complaint against me after I gave her a wrist slap for sloppy work. Over ten years on the force, I've never had an official complaint on my record. Goddamn it." She snatched up her wine, gulped.
It wasn't the temper that had him laying a hand over hers but the sheer unhappiness crowded with it in her eyes. "Is it serious?"
"It's bullshit," she tossed back, "but it's there."
Roarke turned her hand, palm up, to his, squeezed once. "Tell me about it."
It spewed out of her with considerably less restraint than the formal oral report she'd given Whitney. But as she snapped the words out, she began to eat without realizing it.
"So," he said when she'd run down. "Basically, you
CHAPTER FOUR
Lazily, Roarke nuzzled Eve's throat. He loved the dark, rich taste that good, healthy sex brought to her skin. "Feel better now?"
She managed something between a grunt and a moan and made his lips curve. In a slow roll, smooth with practice, he reversed their positions, stroked her back, and waited.
Her ears were still ringing, her body so limp she didn't think she could fight off a toddler with a water laser. The hands gliding up and down her back were lulling her gently toward sleep. She was teetering on the edge of it when Galahad, deciding all was clear, padded back into the room to leap cheerfully on her naked ass.
"Jesus!" Her jerk of protest caused him to dig for balance with his sharp little claws. She yelped, swatted, bounced, then crawled off Roarke to safety. When she twisted to check for blood, she caught Roarke's grin and saw the cat now purring maniacally under his long, clever fingers.
There was nothing to do but scowl at both of them. "I guess the two of you think that was funny."
"We each like to welcome you home in our own way." Even as her lip curled, he was sitting up, taking her face in his hands. Within that frame, her cheeks were flushed, her mouth sulky, her eyes sleepy. "You look very attractively... used, Lieutenant." His mouth cruised over hers, nibbled, and nearly made her forget she was annoyed with him. "Why don't we have a shower, then, over dinner, you can tell me what's upset you."
"I'm not hungry." She muttered it. Now that the temper had flashed, she wanted to brood.
"I am." He simply pulled her off the bed with him.
He let her sulk, let himself speculate, until they were down in the kitchen. Knowing Eve, he decided whatever had put her blood on boil was job-related. She would tell him, he thought as he chose stuffed shells for both of them from the menu of the AutoChef. Sharing her burdens wasn't a natural act for her, but she would tell him.
He poured wine, then sat across from her at the cozy eating area tucked under the window. "Did you identify your sidewalk sleeper?"
"Yeah." She ran a fingertip up the stem of the wineglass, then shrugged. "He was one of those post-Urban War dropouts. It's unlikely anyone will be able to say why he traded an ordinary life for a miserable one."
"Maybe his ordinary one was miserable enough."
"Yeah, maybe." She shrugged it off. Had to. "We'll release his body to his daughter when we're done with it."
"It makes you sad," Roarke murmured and had her gaze lifting to his.
"It can't get inside you."
"It makes you sad," he repeated. "And the way you channel that is to find who killed him."
"That's my job." She picked up her fork, stabbed one of the shells on her plate without interest. "If more people would do their jobs instead of screwing with people doing theirs, we'd be a hell of a lot better off."
Ah, he thought. "So, who screwed with you, Lieutenant?"
She started to shrug again, wanted to act as if it didn't matter a damn. But it came bubbling up her throat and out before she could stop it. "Fucking stiff scooper. Hated me on sight, who knows why."
"And assuming a stiff scooper is what its colorful name indicates, does he have a name?"
"She. Half-ass Bowers from the one-six-two filed a complaint against me after I gave her a wrist slap for sloppy work. Over ten years on the force, I've never had an official complaint on my record. Goddamn it." She snatched up her wine, gulped.
It wasn't the temper that had him laying a hand over hers but the sheer unhappiness crowded with it in her eyes. "Is it serious?"
"It's bullshit," she tossed back, "but it's there."
Roarke turned her hand, palm up, to his, squeezed once. "Tell me about it."
It spewed out of her with considerably less restraint than the formal oral report she'd given Whitney. But as she snapped the words out, she began to eat without realizing it.
"So," he said when she'd run down. "Basically, you
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