Because his hands were shaking, he took the glass she brought him in both of them, managed a nod of thanks, and walked back to the parlor.
Water leaped over the rim of the glass and onto the back of his hand when he saw Clarissa on her hands and knees frantically wiping up blood.
There was no body beside her.
"What have you done? What are you doing?" Panicked, he set the glass down and ran to her.
"What has to be done. I'm being strong and doing what has to be done. Let me finish."
She was fighting him, shoving, weeping, and the smell of fresh blood was strong.
"Stop. Stop this. Where is he?"
"He's gone. He's gone, and no one has to know."
"What are you talking about?" Zeke pulled the bloody rag from her, tossed it back on the hearth. "For God's sake, Clarissa, what have you done?"
"I had the droid take him." Her eyes were wild, as with fever. "I had the droid take him out, put him in the car. He'll throw the body into the river. We'll clean up the blood. And we'll run away. We'll just go away and forget this ever happened."
"No, no, we won't."
"I won't let them put you in prison." She reached out, grabbed his shirt. "I won't let them lock you away for this. I couldn't bear it." She lowered her head to his chest, clung. "I couldn't stand it."
"It has to be faced." He gentled his hands on her arms. "If I don't face it, I couldn't live with myself." When she sagged against him, he took her back to the chair."
"You'll call the police," she said dully.
"Yes."
• • •
They'd finally made it to the bed. Peabody wasn't altogether sure how they'd managed to get from the elevator to his apartment to his bed without killing each other, but that's where they were. The sheets were hot and tangled, and even now when McNab rolled weakly off her, her body pumped heat like a furnace.
"I'm not done yet," he said in the dark with a voice that hitched.
Peabody snorted, then began to laugh like a loon. "Me, neither. What are we, crazy?"
"A couple of more times, we'll probably burn it all out of our systems."
"A couple of more times, we'll be dead."
He reached out to stroke her breast. He had long, bony fingers, and she was becoming very fond of them. "Game?"
"Looks like."
He rolled over, replaced his fingers with his tongue. "I love your tits."
"Gee, thanks."
"No, I mean…ummm." He began to suck, slowly now, bringing an odd liquid flutter to her belly. "I really love your tits."
"They're mine." She could have bitten her tongue, and was grateful for the dark that concealed the flush as he chuckled against her. "I mean, I didn't like buy them or anything."
"I know, Dee. Believe me, nothing improves on Mother Nature."
God, she wished he hadn't called her Dee. It made it all personal, and well, intimate, when it was—it had to be…otherwise. She started to tell him so, but his hand was sliding, not rushing this time, just lazily sliding down her rib cage.
"Man, you are so…female." He had an urge to kiss her, long and slow and deep. As he lifted his head, started to order lights so he could see her when he did, a 'link beeped.