by J. D. Robb
“There were others.” Her face stark, Beata stared at the old building with its glittering windows. “I heard—”
“We’ll talk again,” Eve said.
Beata pressed her fingers to her eyes, nodded, then dropped them. “I’m sorry. I never asked your name.”
“I’m Dallas.” Through and through, she thought, in and out and all the way. “Lieutenant Eve Dallas.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Dallas.” Beata held out a hand. “For every day of the rest of my life.”
“Make good use of them.” Eve shook her hand, then sent her back to Mira.
Eve took a breath, then tuned in to the lights, the noise, the movement. Her world, she thought, and walked back to Roarke.
“Things to wrap up,” she told him. “Reports to file, killers to question.”
“You look pretty pleased about it.”
“All in all, I am. But tomorrow? Why don’t we stay home, watch old vids and eat junk food, maybe drink a whole bunch of wine and have half-drunk sex?”
“A master plan. I’m in.”
“Excellent. I have to go back down there. You could wait here or go on home.”
“Lieutenant.” He took her hand again. “I’m with you.”
“Well, you’re handy,” she said, grinned again.
She walked back toward the building with him to do the job. She felt tired, violently hungry, and completely herself.
