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“But you jumped right on it when it did. He wasn’t even cold.”

“It’s not my choice.” Enraged, he took her other arm, shook her once. “I’m not supposed to be here tonight. I’m not supposed to have told you any of this.”

“Then why did you?”

“The bureau will find a way to kick you off the case, or if it suits better, to put you right in Ricker’s path. Either way, you’re going to walk around with a target on your back. You matter to me.”

He jerked her against him, and she was too shocked to block the move. “Hey.”

“You matter. You always have.”

She slapped both hands on his chest, felt the rapid pump of his heart. The heat. “Jesus, Webster. Are you crazy?”

“I’d prefer that you take your hands off my wife before I break them,” Roarke said from the doorway. “But either way works for me.”

chapter eleven

The voice was rigidly pleasant and didn’t fool Eve for an instant. She knew the sound of savagery when she heard it, however elegantly it was cloaked. Just as she recognized it in the frigid blue of Roarke’s eyes.

She felt the punch of fear, like a blow to her solar plexus. As a result, her voice was sharp and clipped as she broke Webster’s hold and stepped deliberately between him and her husband.

“Roarke. Webster and I are in the middle of a meeting, and a professional disagreement.”

“I don’t think so. Go find something to do, Eve. Elsewhere.”

Insult worked hard to kick fear aside but didn’t manage the job. She felt her muscles begin to tremble and had an image of capping off the evening by arresting her husband for murder.

“Get a grip.” She did her best to plant her boots. “You’ve mistaken the situation here.”

“No, he hasn’t. Not on my end.” Webster moved away from Eve. “And I don’t hide behind women. You want to do this here?” he said with a nod toward Roarke. “Or outside?”

Roarke smiled, much Eve thought, like a wolf might before a kill. “Here and now.”

They leapt at each other. Charged, she would think later when her brain engaged again, like a couple of rams in rutting season. For a moment, she was too stunned to do more than goggle.

She watched Webster fly, come heavily down on a table, which crashed under the weight. Galahad sprang up, hissing, and took a vicious swipe at his shoulder.

He was up quickly, she’d give him that, bleeding. Fists flew with the ugly sound of bone against bone. A lamp shattered.

She was shouting, she could hear herself calling out in a voice that seemed oddly unlike her own. At wit’s end, she drew her weapon, hastily checked to insure it was on lowest stun, then fired a stream between them.

Webster’s head whipped around in shock, but Roarke didn’t so much as flinch. And his fist, already swinging, smashed into Webster’s face.

Another table went, splintering into toothpicks. And this time Webster stayed down. Or would have if Roarke hadn’t leaned over and hauled him up by the collar.

“Roarke.” Her hand steady, Eve kept her weapon trained. “That’s enough. Let him go or I’ll stun you. I swear I will.”

His eyes met hers, hot now, hot enough to burn. He released Webster so the half-conscious man crumpled in a heap. Even as Roarke started toward Eve, Summerset slid into the room.

“I’ll just show your guest out.”

“Do that,” Roarke said without taking his eyes from Eve’s. “And close the door. Stun me, will you?” He murmured it, silkily, when he was a foot away.

She backed up, all but hearing her nerves fray. “If you don’t calm down, yes. I’m going to go see how bad he’s hurt.”

“You’re not, no. That you’re not. Stun me then,” he invited, and she heard the alleyways of Dublin in his voice. “Do it.”

She heard the doors close, the locks click. Fear had her by the throat, infuriating her even as she took another step in retreat. “There was nothing going on here. It’s insulting for you to think there was.”


Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery