Page 111 of Festive in Death

“Right. Your side, my side,” she repeated, and dived in.

She put them out of her mind, concentrated on the movement, on cutting through the water, pushing off, cutting through again. Her body loosened; her brain cleared.

Twenty-five laps later, she felt human—wanted more coffee. She let herself sink down, rise up.

And saw Peabody and McNab, still there, floating side by side. To her surprise, she saw Roarke, sitting at one of the little tables, drinking coffee.

She sank again, pushed off again, swam underwater to the far end. She got out, dripping, reached for his coffee first, then a towel.

“Good morning,” Roarke said.

“It’s a better one now. I guess you’ve been dealing with the after-party breakdown.”

“Actually I had some other business. Summerset’s on that. How about some breakfast? I could do with some. I waited for you.”

“Sure, yeah.” When he merely arched his eyebrows at her, she turned around. “Breakfast, fifteen minutes, my office.”

Peabody flopped over, treading water. “That’d be sweet. It’s okay?”

“I just said so. Fifteen,” she repeated, and headed into the lush plants. “I used up my limited supply of gracious last night.”

“I don’t think Peabody or McNab require it. You’ll want some time to work with her. There’s no point in anyone going hungry while you do, is there?”

“I guess not. They were, you know—starting in on it when I came down. Her tits were half out of the suit.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

“You would be. Pervert.”

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.

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