Page 49 of Random in Death

“What I said.”

“How do you know he was a dooser, specifically?”

“One of the friends caught a glimpse of a guy—black baggies, black tee—strutting off the dance floor in the direction of the johns right after Jenna got jabbed.

“Can’t give it a hundred percent,” she said as she pushed out of the car into air that felt as if it floated like a slow-moving river.

Or maybe she floated in it.

“I’m giving it a solid ninety. The timing just locks. It’s still Sunday, right?”

“It is.”

“Why is it Sundays when you just laze around don’t last as long as Sundays when you don’t?”

“Hardly fair, is it?”

“Bites.”

He led his exhausted wife into the house where Summerset waited with the cat at his feet.

“I hope you enjoyed your time with friends after a difficult weekend.”

“We did. It was just the thing to lift a hard load for a bit of time.”

“I heard Jake’s statement earlier. Brief and compassionate while keeping the focus on the child. I sensed your touch at least around the edges, Lieutenant.”

“More Nadine’s,” she said, and kept going toward the stairs.

The bed was up there.

Then she thought: He’d lost a child. A daughter, brutalized and murdered.

And the cops did nothing. The cops did less than nothing.

She turned, met his eyes. “I’m going to get him. I’m going to put him away.”

“I have no doubt of it.”

As the cat raced up the steps ahead of them, Roarke scooped her up.

“I can walk. Jesus, I… Okay.” And giving in, she dropped her head on his shoulder.

It felt too good, too damn good to finally let her brain go fuzzy and her body limp.

“What do you say to a nap?”

“Affirmative.”

The cat had already claimed the bed when Roarke carried her in, set her on the side of it. He stopped her before she could just twist and flop over on her face.

“You won’t need your weapon.”

“You didn’t get any more sleep than I did,” she said as he unhooked her harness.

“So I’ll have a bit of a nap with you. Let’s have the boots.”

“Is it really still Sunday?”

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