“The work starts next week. Master Wu will train you. If and when you’re unable to connect in person, we’ve devised a holographic program.”
“Master Wu will work with me. The Master Wu?” She’d met the martial arts legend briefly on a case, had admired him for years. “You bought me Master fucking Wu?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Holy shit, holy shit!” She jumped up, literally danced around the room, stopping to jab at an imaginary opponent, destroying them with a vicious side-kick. “Master Wu!”
She leaped onto Roarke, bowling him back, kissing him hard when he laughed, and while the cat ran over to see what the hell was going on.
“This is the best. This is the most amazing gift ever in the history of gifts. You know I’m going to be able to seriously kick your ass now.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Master Wu.” She shoved up, pulled him up with her. “You’re putting in a dojo.”
“We are. It’ll be fun, won’t it, for both of us? I’ll show you the design, the plans. Ah now,” he murmured when the insane joy in her eyes clouded with tears.
“You,” she said, and wrapped around him. “You know me, and you love me anyway. I’ll never get over it.”
“And you. My cop put stash pockets in my magic coat. I couldn’t have dreamed you better.”
She sniffled, eased back, pulled another gift from under the tree. “This one. This one needs to come next.”
“I could sit here, with you, under these happy lights, and need nothing else in the world. But since it’s here,” he added, making her laugh as he opened the gift.
She’d framed a photo of them at the preview of The Icove Agenda. Not one of the glitzy red-carpet shots, but one taken after she’d squared off with a killer—after he’d bloodied the bastard’s face.
They stood smiling at each other, his torn knuckles on her bruised cheek.
“It’s us, that’s what you said when you saw this.” He looked up at her. “So it is, and it’s going straight onto my desk. Open this.”
Relieved the emotional jag had passed, she ripped in. And found the exact same photo. Different frame, but the same photo. Nothing could have struck her more.
“Look at us. We know each other.”
“And love each other anyway.”
“All glammed up, and your knuckles bleeding, my eye already going purple. To think of all that bullshit prepping for the cameras. The Trina treatment. Clothes, hair, face—and I end up with a black eye anyway.”
“You got your man. And it was a hell of an after party.”
“Bagging Frye was the best part, but, yeah, it was. If parties didn’t take so much time and work, they’d . . . Wait. Wait.”
“For what?”
“She helped with the party prep. That’s what Tella told me today. Catiana was over there, helped out, got ready for the party there. Catiana.”
Roarke dangled a ribbon for Galahad to bat at. “I suspect it’s Christmas that’ll have to wait.”
“I need to . . . No, it can wait.” She started to reach for another gift, but he took her hand.
“We know each other.”
She turned her hand under his, gripped tight. “Thank God. You can wear your new coat.”
So she ran those twists and turns as he drove, wondered if she indeed smoothed some of them out. It made a convoluted, nasty kind of sense. And considering those involved, it played right through to crescendo.
She didn’t bother to have Copley brought up, but went down to the bowels of Central, logged in, badged through and walked up to where Copley paced his cell.