“That’s next.” She left him to it, started her own work.
High-end location, high-end services. Everything aboveboard on this one, she mused. Everything clean and shiny.
New?
She thought of the cranes all over the city, the new buildings popping up like glossy weeds. Custom-build maybe. He could have the amenities installed as it was constructed, designed with his needs in mind rather than rehabbing, tearing out, patching up.
She started to get up again, give Roarke that angle. And remembered Hong Kong. Maybe he was faster, but she could handle the task.
“Computer, run search on buildings constructed in Dallas within the last two years. Central location, residential accommodations.”
She closed her eyes, went through her list of requirements.
He was there, she thought. Right now, sitting in his new digs, stewing over the change of plans. But putting things in order, oh yeah, putting everything in place. And telling himself he liked it better this way. This added more challenge, more fun, would make the kill more meaningful.
But wishing, really wishing, he could start his latest collection.
Can’t let that happen, she told herself. Can’t have another pair of eyes in my head.
When she felt herself drifting, she straightened in her chair. And when the computer announced the results—what the hell was with this city that it couldn’t make it work with the buildings it already had?—she got up for more coffee.
Roarke found her hunched over the machine. He could all but see the fatigue sitting on her shoulders like stones.
“Finished with Hong Kong?”
“For the moment.”
“I’m working this angle that he bought or leased something recently constructed. He could have the work done during the build, customize the design. The problem is they build too damn much down here, but I’m filing it down.”
“Good thought.” He’d had the same thought himself, and was doing an ancillary search. But didn’t see the point in mentioning it. “Come with me.”
“You got something.”
“It’s running, and will continue to run—as yours will,” he said, leaning over and keying in a command, “without both of us sitting here until blood tears out of our eyes.”
“I need to cross-reference the—”
“Which the machine will do.” He simply lifted her to her feet.
“Look I’m not ready to sleep yet.”
“All right. There are other ways to rest, relax, and take a break.”
“Yeah.” She smirked. “You’d think that.”
“Sex, sex, and more sex. And you wonder why I married you.”
“You’ll just have to put that program on hold,” she said, but he pulled her through the bedroom, bypassing the bed, and into the bathroom.
He’d filled the enormous tub sunk into the floor. She could smell the fragrance of the water, something slightly floral and earthy. Soothing. He’d lit candles so the light shimmered soft, and again soothing.
“A warm bath,” he began. “Or as I know you, hot. Some quiet, and a VR program designed to relax and restore.”
As she’d taken off her jacket and weapon harness in the office, he simply lifted her shirt over her head. “Sit and we’ll deal with the boots.”
“I can undress myself.”
“There you are, denying me my small pleasures.”
So she sat on the padded stool, let him undress her. When she stepped down, then sank into the pale blue perfumed water, her sigh was long and deep.
“Okay, it’s good.”
“Jets on low,” he ordered, and now she moaned as the water pulsed against her aching muscles.
“Okay, even better.”
“Let’s shoot for best. Try the VR.”
She didn’t want virtual reality, and though it made her feel weak and stupid, she didn’t want to be alone. What she wanted was standing there watching her with far too much concern.
“You could stand to rest, relax, and take a break.”
“God, couldn’t I.”
“It’s a really big tub. You could practically do laps.”
“Then I’ll join you. One minute.”
When he left she eased back, looked up. The ceiling wasn’t mirrored—thank Jesus—but some sort of reflective material that caught the candlelight and sparked into little stars.
Nice touch.
He came back with two glasses of wine, which she eyed suspiciously.
“Only wine. My word on it.” He set the glasses on the lip to undress.
If he’d tranq’d it, he wouldn’t lie about it. So she picked one up, tried a small sip.
“Beer and a ball game.”
“What’s that?”
“Beer and a ball game,” she repeated. “That’s how cops wind down from the hard. Not with pool-sized jet tubs and wine.”
“It’s terrible how I make you indulge me.”
“Tell me,” she murmured, watching him.
God, his body was so beautiful. Long, lean, carved with muscle. Disciplined, athletic, primal under the exquisitely tailored business suits.
All hers now. Only hers.
The wince and muffled oath he gave when he stepped into the water got a laugh out of her.
“It’s not that hot.”
“If I had a lobster, we’d boil it and eat it.”
“You set the temp.”
“So I did, and now, with no lobster in sight, we’re boiling my balls.”
He’d set it for her, she thought, so she could soak in the heat and the scent, turn off her mind with some relaxation program. She thought of what she’d overheard him saying to Mira, how he’d looked.
He needed this as much as she did.
“You’ve probably got more than Hong Kong to deal with.”
Eyes closed, he sipped wine. “The advantage of holding the reins is you can choose when to put them down for a bit.”
“Maybe you should try the VR.”
He opened his eyes. “Actual reality suits me fine here and now.”
As they faced each other across the bubbling water, she rubbed her foot along his leg. “One way or another, we’ll be going home within a couple days.”
“Couldn’t be soon enough.”
“Oh, so right there with you. I guess we have to go find cowboy boots for Peabody. She’d get a charge, and Feeney said she was doing good.”
“I’m sorry, perhaps the wine’s going to my head. Are you saying I’m going shopping with my wife?”
“Don’t get used to it, pal.”
“How about a ten-gallon hat for Feeney?”
The image of Feeney in a cowboy hat released a laugh that nearly had her choking on her wine. “You did that on purpose.”
“Spurs and chaps for McNab. Glow-in-the-dark.”
She laughed again, sank to her chin. “And I don’t even know what chaps are.”
But the laugh, he noted with pleasure, put a sparkle in her eyes.
“We’ll take bolo ties back for the bullpen,” he continued.
“Oh, Jesus, the horror.”
“One of those little skirts with the fringe for Mavis.”
“She probably already has a dozen.”
Virtual reality, her ass, she decided as he tossed out more foolish suggestions—some of which he probably intended to follow up on. Soaking here in quietly churning water, candle stars sparking overhead, talking about nothing important, nothing tragic. That was restorative.
When she’d finished the wine, when the water began to cool, they stepped out. Before she could reach for a towel he wrapped one, warm and soft, around her.
“Why don’t we watch some screen for a while?”
She turned, opening the towel, wrapping him in with her. “We could do that. Is that the next step of spaghetti and meatballs?”
“That was the plan.”
She looked up at him; everything inside him yearned. “But apparently I missed a step,” he murmured, then laid his lips on hers.
“You never miss a step.”
So he deepened the kiss, let himself fall into the moment with her damp body pressed so eagerly to his, with the dreamy scent of the water clinging to her skin.