“Thanks.” Weaver tipped her head to Marty’s shoulder. “I’m just going to sit here a minute until I’m sure my legs will carry me. Then I’d like the walk.” She tipped her face to Marty’s. “All right?”
“Sounds pretty good right now.”
Roarke came out of the kitchen with a large to-go bag.
“What’s that?” Eve demanded.
“Quite a bit of food, I believe. They’re boxing up your cannolis, Peabody.”
“Yum. Thanks.”
Roarke turned to Eve, and with discretion, he covered the recorder she wore. “About that so much sex.”
“It’s still on the agenda. Peabody, finish up here. I’m going in to deal with the official transfer. Then go home. You’re clear.”
“Sing hallelujah.”
“A question,” Roarke said as Eve switched off her recorder. He took her arm and led her outside. “You disabled your primary weapon. What about your secondary?”
“Rigged so it wouldn’t go above medium stun. You can’t kill anybody, even with direct jugular contact, on medium. It seemed safer, in case we got infected.”
“I agree. You know I had a weapon.”
“Yeah, I know.” She sent him a sidelong glance as they reached the car. “Rigged to medium stun?”
“It seemed safer.” He caught her face in his hands, and despite her quick wince in case any cops watched, kissed her, long, tender, deep. “I want to keep you, till the end of days.”
“I can live with that. And I’m damn glad this day is about to end.”
She got in the car, flexed her aching toes. And while he drove, adjusted both her weapons to official ranges.
It was safer that way.