Page 39 of Calculated in Death

“Yeah, I do. She thought of her kids, her life, and she gave the bastards who killed her whatever they wanted. But she still knew whatever it was, or enough of whatever it was. Money, audits, portfolios, investments. It’s numbers. Somewhere they won’t add up. How the hell do I find the right ones, the wrong ones?”

Roarke stepped beside her, stroked a hand down her hair. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Oh yeah. I’ve got you.”

She opened her eyes, looked directly into the wild, wild blue of his.

“You’re muttering in your sleep.”

“I am? Was?”

“I’ve got you, you said, and so you do. I have your back.”

Still groggy she stroked his hair as he had hers in the dream. “I was sort of running the case in my sleep. It’s about money, big money, I think. The kind that gets invested and audited and tucked around in special accounts. So you were there, in the dream. At the crime scene.”

“And what did I have to say?”

“Just reminded me that I have an expert on big money in my pocket. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need one.”

“Always happy to serve.”

“McNab found a file I need to look at, or have you look at.”

She started to push up. He simply rolled on top of her.

“I want my fee in advance.”

“I warned somebody about bribery just today.”

“You can arrest me after.” He hit the release on the weapon harness she hadn’t taken off. “I’d prefer you unarmed at the moment. And undressed.”

“You always prefer me undressed.”

“Guilty as charged.” He laid his lips on hers. “There you are.”

It felt like days since she’d been home, in bed, with him. It felt like a gift to be back, to have her body respond, to allow her mind to turn away from the work, from blood and death and grief, and toward pleasure.

“For once you’re not wearing too many clothes.” She tugged the shirt up and off, then slid her hands down his back.

“I thought ahead.” He pulled her up to slip off the harness, peel off her jacket. “You didn’t.”

“I was just going to recharge.” She grinned as he dragged off her sweater. “Still am.” She wrapped around him, still wearing her tank, trousers, and the baby-fist diamond on a chain he’d given her.

Hooking her legs around his waist, she over-balanced him, reversed positions until she straddled him. “I think the power nap set me up.” She pulled off the tank, tossed it aside. “But I could use a hand.”

“I have two.” He closed them over her breasts.

“Yeah, you do.” She closed her eyes, let the sensations soak in.

She leaned down to him, sank into a kiss that was welcome and lust wrapped in promise.

Slim and strong, he thought. Shadows of fatigue dogging her eyes, but energy revving in her body. His Eve, his gift at the end of a long, hard day.

When he flipped her he heard the laugh in her throat, heard it go to a purr as he replaced his hands with his mouth. Her heart beat under his lips, its pace kicking up as his hands roamed over her. She boosted up her hips when he tugged at the trousers, and his lips trailed down—torso, belly. As he teased, glided, possessed, her breath caught and the fingers stroking his back dug in.

She coiled, released. Moaned soft as silk with pleasure.

He knew what to give, what to take. He always knew. With him, she could love, without fear, without doubts and know she was loved the same way. She reached for him, reached for that love, for the welcome, and once more looked into the wild, wild blue of his eyes.