“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.
CHAPTER TWO
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 claim, 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.