He grabbed her as they stepped out of the elevator, scrambled her brains with the kiss. “If only you’d said thirty rather than fifteen minutes, I’d show you a bit of perversion.”
She laughed, but wiggled free. “I didn’t figure they’d be out of bed. I only bothered with a suit because I remembered there’d be people here, doing stuff, and better to be cautious. If I’d gotten up ten minutes later, they’d have been naked and humping like whales.”
“Do whales hump?”
“It sounds right.”
“Oddly enough. I’ll see about breakfast while you get dressed.”
“I’ll be quick.”
“Be that. And later? After whatever work both of us have to deal with today, I’d like a date.”
“A date for what?”
“A date for lounging with you. A vid, some popcorn, a fire crackling and absolutely nothing to do but lie there.”
The image made her smile. “That sounds like a perfect date.”
Absolutely perfect, she decided as she dressed in black jeans, a dove-gray sweater, soft, flat boots. She dug out the teardrop diamond pendant, slipped it on under her sweater. She started to reach for her weapon and harness—habit—remembered she’d secured it in her desk drawer.
She shoved her badge, her ’link, other daily paraphernalia in her pockets.
What else did people need to carry? she wondered as she headed out toward her office. Work stuff, maybe—so a file bag or a briefcase. But nobody could ever convince her one of those planet-sized purses was necessary for survival.
She caught the scent of food, of coffee, and followed her nose to her office where the table she and Roarke often shared had been extended to hold settings and chairs for four.
She watched Roarke come out of the little kitchen carrying a large, covered tray.
“You have droids to do that. I know you do.”
“Indeed we do, but it’s fun to fuss a bit yourself for friends and family here and there. I went with full Irish, all around, as a Scot would recognize the similar tradition.”
“They eat enough for five people at breakfast, too?” Eve asked as she went to her desk, got her weapon.
“It’s a fine meal that hits all the notes.” He walked to her, slung an arm around her shoulders, studied the board as she did. “Have you a plan of action then?”
“Sort of. Working on it. I?
??m thinking, poke at the wife, get her to give away a little more on the husband. Copley’s hands are dirty, and I think they’re bloody. She’s not stupid. I didn’t get stupid from her. If I play it right, she’ll wonder, and she may tell me something I can hook on to. Or the sister. Not stupid, either, but soft. I can probably find a spot or two on her to push. If she worries about the sister, I might get something out of her.”
“I’ve a feeling that family won’t be having a happy Christmas.”
“Not if things go right on my end.”
Peabody and McNab came in, both wearing lounging pants, loose tops.
“Where’d you get those clothes?” Eve asked.
“Summerset had them for us. Soft.” Peabody rubbed her own sleeve. “It’d be weird to eat breakfast in party clothes. Weirder to talk about the case wearing them.”
“Then we’ll eat, and we’ll talk.” Eve stepped back to the table, lifted the cover from the big platter.
“Wow! Look at all that. Smell all that.” Peabody sniffed the air, sighed.
“It’s tattie scones.” McNab’s face lit like a child’s. “You have tattie scones. Remember, Peabody? We had some when we went to Scotland, to spend the holidays with my family there. My granny made them.”
“Potato scones? Oh yeah. Deadly and delicious. Good thing I danced like a maniac for hours.”