Page 141 of Passions in Death
Her advantage wasn’t just that she knew it all, was as sure of it all as she’d been about any investigation in her career, but that Barney surely believed he’d gotten away with it.
She hoped by this time tomorrow, he’d learn differently.
As she swung through the gates, she felt her shoulders relax.
Just that easy, she realized. All it took was the sight of that castle-like house rising on that green ocean of lawn, the wild late summer blooms, the glint of window glass in the evening sun.
She’d update her board and her book, then maybe have that glass of wine with Roarke. Talk the whole thing over with him. Share a good meal, then maybe try to work some new angles, as the talking-things-over part often gave her that potential.
She parked, and didn’t let the knowledge she’d need to go through the gamut of Summerset spoil the homecoming.
He loomed, of course, with his greeting partner Galahad beside him in the foyer where the cool air smelled, very subtly, of summer flowers.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she began. “No blood again. Must be a record, since the anal keep track.”
“Congratulations.” He spoke dryly. “I’ll be sure to mark it down on my event calendar. Roarke is upstairs in his office. He had a difficult day.”
She’d bent down to stroke the cat, and looked up, straightened. As alarm bells rang in her head. “Is he hurt?”
“Not physically, no. He’s brooding, which he’s quite good at from time to time. I expect you’ll deal with it. If not, I can cancel my plans for this evening.”
“I’ll deal with it.” She started for the stairs.
“Fish and chips,” Summerset added. “It’s a comfort food for him.”
“I’ve got it.” She went up the stairs with the cat on her heels.
He didn’t often need comfort, she thought. But she could figure it out.
Upstairs, she heard his voice—sharp and final, with a little more Irish leading the way. A sure sign of emotion—passion, anger, amusement. And in this case, anger.
“I said it’s done, and handled as I choose. That’s the bloody end of it.”
She turned into the office just as he cut off whoever had been on the other end of the ’link.
He sat, hair tied back, jacket off, sleeves rolled. Work mode, she noted. But the cold blue fire in his eyes went dark and broody. Dark and broody enough he didn’t sense her there.
The cat trotted over, leaped onto the desk.
“Not now, mate. Not now.”
He started to lift the cat off, then spotted Eve.
“Ah. I didn’t know you were home.”
“Just got here. So, what was that about? On the ’link just now?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged it off as he set the cat on the floor. “A work matter. It’s handled. But I have a bit more to see to here.”
Oh no, she thought, he didn’t get off that easy.
“What kind of work matter?”
“It’s handled,” he repeated, and though the tone lacked the sharpness, it still held all the finality.
It clearly said: Butt out.
The tone would’ve pissed her off—if she hadn’t seen the brooding under the temper.
