“Not much action in the area for a murder cop.”
“Sadly for Sean, no. He likes to follow your cases, searching out tidbits on his computer. This last? The hologames murder gave him endless thrills.”
“Oh.” She glanced over to where Roarke stood with Sinead, her arm around his waist. And thought of the blade slicing into his side.
“We’ve a parental lock on, so he can’t get the juicier details.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good thing.”
“How bad was he hurt, my cousin? The media didn’t have much on that—which is, I suppose, how he wanted it.”
His blood, warm, sliding through her shaking fingers. “Bad enough.”
Seamus nodded, lips pursed as he studied Roarke. “He’s not at all his father’s son, is he then?”
“Not where it counts.”
Irish picnics, Eve discovered, went on for hours, as did the Irish summer day, and included music, dancing, and general carryings-on till well after the stars winked on.
“We’ve kept you up late.” Sinead walked them upstairs, this time wrapping an arm around Eve’s waist.
Eve never knew exactly what to do when people looped their arms around her—unless it was combat, or Roarke.
“After all your travels, too. Barely giving you time to unpack, and none at all to settle in.”
“It was a nice party.”
“It was, it was, yes. And now my Seamus talked Roarke into going out in the field in the morning.” She gave Eve a little squeeze. At the signal, Eve glanced back at Roarke.
“Seriously. In the field, like farm field?” Eve said.
“I’ll enjoy it. I’ve never driven a tractor.”
“I hope you say the same when we’re dragging you out of bed at half-six.”
“He hardly sleeps anyway,” Eve commented. “He’s like a droid.”
Sinead laughed, opened the door to their bedroom. “Well, I hope you’ll be comfortable for the time you have.” She looked around the room with its simple furniture, its soft colors, and white lace at the windows under the slant of the ceiling.
Flowers, a charm of colors and shapes, stood in a squat pot on the dresser.
“If you need a thing, anything at all, I’m just down the hall.”
“We’ll be fine.” Roarke turned to her, kissed her cheek. “More than.”
“I’ll see you at breakfast then. Sleep well.”
She slipped out, shut the door.
“Why,” Eve asked, “do you want to drive a tractor?”
“I have no idea, but it seems like the thing to do.” Idly, he pulled off his shoes. “I’ll get out of it if you don’t want to be left on your own in the morning.”
“It’s no problem for me. I plan on sleeping off a year’s worth of beer anyway.”
He came to her smiling, brushed a hand over her hair. “A lot of people for you to deal with at one time.”
“They’re okay. At least after you figure out what they’re talking about. What they talk about, a lot, is you.”
“I’m the new element.” He kissed her forehead. “We’re the new element, as they’re fairly fascinated by my cop.” He drew her in so they stood holding each other in the center of the pretty farmhouse bedroom with the night breeze wafting through the window to stir the fragrance of the flowers through the air. “It’s a different life entirely here. A world away.”
“The last murder was about a dozen years ago.”
He drew back, shook his head. Just laughed. “Trust you.”
“I didn’t bring it up. Do you hear that?”
“What?”
“Nothing. See, it’s really quiet, and it’s really dark,” she added with a glance at the window. “Dead quiet, dead dark. So you’d think there’d be more murders.”
“Looking for a busman’s holiday?”
“I know what that means even though it doesn’t make any sense. And no. I’m good with the quiet. Mostly.” She ran a hand up his side, laid it on the wound. “Okay?”
“Well enough. In fact . . .” He leaned down, took her mouth with his, and let his own hand roam.
“Okay, hold it. That’s just weird.”
“It feels very natural to me.”
“Your aunt’s just—what is it—down the hall. You know damn well this place isn’t soundproofed.”
“You’ll just have to be quiet.” He gave her ribs a deliberate tickle that made her jump and yelp. “Or not.”
“Didn’t I bang you already today, twice this morning?”
“Darling Eve, you’re a pathetic romantic.” He backed her toward the bed she’d already noted was less than half the size of the one at home.
“At least turn on the screen or something. For cover noise.”
He brushed his lips over her cheek, his hand over the taut muscles of her ass. “There’s no screen in here.”
“No screen?” She nudged him away, scanned the walls. “Seriously? What kind of place is this?”
“The sort where people use bedrooms for sex and sleep, which is exactly what I have in mind.” To prove it, he tumbled her onto the bed.
It squeaked.
“What is that? Did you hear that? Is there a farm animal in here?”
“I’m fairly certain they keep those outside. It’s the bed.” He tugged her shirt over her head.
Testing, she lifted her hips, let them fall. “Oh, for God’s sake. We can’t do this on a talking bed. Everybody in the house will know what’s going on in here.”
Enjoying himself, he nuzzled at her throat. “I believe they already suspect we have sex.”
“Maybe, but that’s different than having the bed yell out, ‘Whoopee!’”
Was it any wonder he adored her? he thought.
Watching her face, he trailed a finger over her breast. “We’ll have quiet, dignified sex.”
“If sex is dignified it’s not being done right.”
“There’s a point.” He smiled down at her, cupping her breasts now, laying his lips lightly on hers. “Look at you,” he murmured, “all mine for two more lovely weeks.”
“Now you’re just trying to soften me up.” And softened, she reached out to comb her fingers through his hair.
All hers, she thought in turn.
“It’s good, being here.” She took his shirt by the hem, drew it over his head. Once again laid her palm on the healing wound. “Getting here, we’ll forget all about that. But being here, it’s good.”
“It’s been an interesting journey altogether.”
“I wouldn’t have missed a single mile.” She framed his face now, lifted until their lips met. “Even the rocky ones.”
When he lowered to her, she drew him in, and sighed.
Eyes closed, she ran her hands over the good, strong muscles of his back, let the shape and scent of him seep into those places inside her that always waited. Always opened, always welcomed.
She turned her head, found his lips again. Longer, deeper into a drift as easy and sweet as the night air.
The bed gave another rusty squeak, made her laugh. Then another as she shifted to him. “We should try the floor.”
“Next time,” he suggested, and made her laugh again. Made her sigh again. Made all those waiting, welcoming places warm.
And when they curled together, sated and sleepy, she nuzzled in and said, “Whoopee.”
She woke in the gray, shot straight up in bed.
“What was that? Did you hear that?” Naked, she leaped out of bed to grab the clutch piece she’d left on the little bedside table.
“There! There it is again! What language is that?”
From the bed, Roarke shifted. “I believe it’s known as rooster.”
With the weapon at her side, she stared at him, slack-jawed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Not a bit. It’s morning, more or less, and that’s a cock signaling the dawn.”
“A cock?”
“I’d say. I don’t think Sinead and her man want yo
u to stun their rooster, but I have to say, Lieutenant, you make a fascinating picture.”
She heaved out a breath, set her weapon down. “Jesus Christ, we may as well be on another planet.” She slid back into bed. “And if your cock gets any ideas about signaling the day, remember I’ve got a weapon.”
“As charming an idea as that is, I think that’s my wake-up call. Though I’d rather be riding my wife instead of a tractor, they’re expecting me.”
“Have fun.” Eve rolled over and put the pillow over her head.
Screaming cocks, she thought, squeezing her eyes tight. And, good God, was that a cow? Actually mooing? Just how close were those bastards to the house?
She lifted the pillow an inch, squinted to assure herself her weapon was at hand.
How the hell was a person supposed to sleep with all that mooing and cockadoodledooing, and only God knew what else was going on out there? It was just plain creepy, that’s what it was. What were they saying to each other? And why?
Wasn’t the window open? Maybe she should get up and . . .
The next thing she knew she awoke to yellow sunlight.
She’d slept after all, even if she’d had an unsettling farm animal dream where they were all decked out in military fatigues.
Her first thought was coffee before she remembered where she was and barely muttered a curse. They drank tea over here, and she didn’t know how the hell she was supposed to deal with the day she had ahead of her without a hit.
She dragged herself up, looked blearily around. And spotted the robe at the foot of the bed, and the memo cube sitting on it. She reached for the cube, flicked it on.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. In case you’re still half asleep, the shower’s straight down the hall to the left. Sinead says to come down for breakfast whenever you’re up and about. Apparently I’m to meet you about noon. Sinead will take you wherever we’re supposed to be. Take care of my cop.
“No bad guys, remember?”
She put on her robe, and after a moment’s deliberation, stuffed her weapon in its pocket. Better on her, she decided, than left in the room.
And mourning coffee, she walked down to wake herself up in the shower.
2
THE BED WAS MADE AND THE ROOM TIDIED when she finished her shower. Did they have droids? she wondered, and decided she’d been smart to take her weapon with her.
If they had droids, why not an AutoChef in the bedroom—one with coffee on the menu? Or a screen so she could scan the international crime news to see what was happening at home.
Adapt, she ordered herself as she dressed while some species of bird went cuckoo—literally—over and over again outside the window. This wasn’t New York, or even a close facsimile. And surely she was racking up good wife points every minute.
She raked her fingers through her damp hair—no drying tube in the facilities—and considered herself as ready for the day as she was going to get.
Halfway down the steps she heard more singing, a pretty and bright human voice lilting away about love. And on the turn for the kitchen, she swore she caught the siren’s scent of coffee.
Hope shimmered even as she told herself it was likely just sense memory. But the scent snagged her and drew her like a fishhook the rest of the way.
“Oh, thank God.” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until Sinead turned from the stove and smiled at her.
“Good morning to you. I hope you slept well.”
“Great, thanks. Is that really coffee?”
“It is, yes. Roarke had it sent, special, the sort you like particularly. I remembered you’ve a fondness for it.”
“It’s more a desperate need.”
“I need a strong cup of tea in the morning before I’m human.” Sinead handed Eve a thick brown mug. She wore trim oatmeal-colored pants and a bright blue shirt with the sleeves cuffed at the elbows. Some sort of hinged pin scooped her hair back from her face and fastened it at the back of her head.
“Have a seat, get the gears moving.”
“Thanks. Really.”
“The men are off looking at machinery, so you can have a peaceful breakfast. Roarke said you’d go for a full Irish.”
“Ah . . .”
“What we’ll call a civilized portion,” Sinead said with a quick grin. “Not the heaps the men manage to consume.”
“I’m really fine with coffee. You don’t have to bother.”
“I’d like to bother. It pleases me. Meats already done so I’ve got it warming. It won’t take but a minute or two to cook up the rest. It’s nice to have company in the kitchen,” she added as she turned back to the stove.
Odd, Eve thought, very odd to sit down and actually watch somebody cook. She imagined Summerset, Roarke’s majordomo, did a lot of it as he stocked the AutoChefs.
But hanging out in the kitchen, especially with Summerset, was on her list of top-ten nightmares.
“I hear the cock woke you up.”
Eve choked on her coffee. “What?”
“Not that kind of cock.” Sinead sent a sparkling look over her shoulder. “Though if that’s true as well, good for you. I meant the rooster.”
“Oh, right. Yeah. It does that every morning?”
“Fair or foul, though I’m too used to it to hear him go off most days.” She broke eggs into the skillet. “It would be like traffic noises to you, I suppose. Just part of the world you live in.”
She glanced back again as food sizzled. “I’m so glad you’re staying another night, and we’ve got such a fine, bright day shining on your gift to Roarke. I thought I’d take you over there a bit early, so you could have a look before Seamus brings him.”
“The pictures you sent gave me the gist, but it’d be good to see it first-hand. I appreciate all you did there, Sinead.”
“It means the world to me and mine. It’s more than a grand anniversary gift, Eve. Much, much more.”
She took a plate out of the oven, added the eggs, fried potatoes, a small half tomato. “And here’s brown bread fresh this morning,” she said, putting the plate and a crock of butter in front of Eve, then taking a cloth off a half round of bread.
“Smells great.”
With a smile, Sinead topped off Eve’s coffee, then brought a mug of tea to the table. Waited while Eve sampled.
“Tastes even better, and I’ve gotten spoiled when it comes to breakfast.”
“That’s grand then. I like feeding people, tending to them. I like thinking I’ve a talent for it.”
“I’d say you do.”
“We should all be lucky enough to do what we like, and what we’ve a talent for. Your work gives you that.”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t imagine doing what you do any more than I think you can imagine my life here. Yet here we are, sitting together at the kitchen table sharing the morning. Fate’s an odd thing, and in this case a generous one. I have to thank you for coming this way, spending these precious days of your holiday with us.”
“I’m eating a really good breakfast and drinking terrific coffee. It’s not exactly a sacrifice.”
Sinead reached across the table, touched Eve’s hand briefly. “You have power over a powerful man. His love for you gives you the power, though I suspect there are times the two of you fight like cats.”
“More than a few.”
“He’s here now, likely driving a tractor around a field instead of lounging on some brilliant terrace in some exotic place, and drinking champagne for breakfast because you wanted it for him. Because you know he needs this connection, and needs just as much for you to share it with him.”
“You gave him something he didn’t know he wanted or needed. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be sitting together at the kitchen table sharing the morning.”
“I miss my sister every day.”
She looked away for a moment. “Twins,” she murmured. “It’s a bond more intimate than I can explain. Now, with Roarke, I have a part of her I never thought to clai
m, and I stand as his mother now. He has my heart, as I know he has yours. I want us to be friends, you and I. I want to think that you’ll come back now and then, or we’ll come to you. That this connection will only grow stronger, truer—and that what there is between you and me won’t only be because of the man we both love.”
Eve said nothing for a moment as she tried to order her thoughts. “A lot of people would have blamed him.”
“He was a baby.”
Eve shook her head. “In my world people blame, hurt, maim, kill for all kinds of illogical reasons. His father murdered your sister. Patrick Roarke used her, abused her, betrayed her, and finally killed her—took her from you. And some would twist that into looking at Roarke as the only thing left from that loss, even the reason for the loss. When he learned what had happened, when he found out about his mother after a lifetime of believing a lie, he came to you. You didn’t turn him away, you didn’t blame him or punish him. You brought him into your home, and you gave him comfort when he needed it.
“I don’t make friends easily. I’m not very good at it. But for that reason alone you’d be mine, so between us I guess we’ve got the elements for friendship.”
“He’s lucky to have you.”
Eve shoveled in more eggs. “Damn right.”
Sinead held her mug in both hands as she laughed. “She’d have liked you. Siobhan.”
“Really?”
“She would, yes. She liked the bright and the bold.” Shifting, Sinead leaned forward. “Now tell me, while it’s just us two, all the nasty details of this last murder you solved. The sorts they don’t talk about in the media.”
Shortly before noon, Eve stood in the little park, hands on hips, studying the equipment. She didn’t know dick-all about kids’ playgrounds, but this looked like a pretty good one. Surrounding the stuff they’d swing on, climb on, tunnel through, and whatever the hell kids did, ran pretty rivers of flowers, young, green trees.
A cherry tree, a young version of the one Sinead had planted at her farm in memory of her sister, stood graceful and sweet near a little pavilion. Benches sat here and there where she imagined parents could take a load off while kids ran wild.