Page 148 of Passions in Death
“He tosses in a few other items for Christmas, but jewelry, yes, is the main thing. Nothing overly expensive, but not too cheap, either. He frequents the same jeweler on Fifth, or has for these purchases. Earrings are his go-to, but he’s gone for a necklace, a bracelet now and then.”
“She wore this necklace, linked hearts, played with it some in Interview.”
“Linked hearts—a boyfriend gift, I’d say. And for her birthday last spring, a ring. Not an engagement type. A blue topaz flanked by citrines. A blue stone,” he explained, “with smaller yellow ones on each side. Set in silver.”
“Yeah, I got it. She’s had it on every time I’ve seen her. Okay, okay, it’s jewelry. And it’s probably jewelry he took.”
She pushed up, paced. “Shauna got engaged. He’s not ready for that yet, but he switches up and gives Becca a ring. Symbolic, maybe. It’s always jewelry, so we’ll try that first tomorrow. He’s got a pattern, he has tradition. This makes sense. Thanks.”
She glanced back at her command center where he sat still, looking so easily Roarke. Her coffee was gone, and she had nothing to do, not really, until the next morning.
As if reading her, he got up, slid his arms around her.
“Why don’t you shut this down, and we go for a swim? We can smooth out the rest of each other’s edges.”
“You just want to get me wet and naked.”
“I absolutely do.” He kissed her, slow, long, deep, to prove it.
“Since that means I get you wet and naked, too, what are we waiting for? Close operations,” she said, and kissed him back.
She woke in the morning with everything as smooth as it got.
And there, on the sofa, sat Roarke and the cat, so she began a day as well as she’d ended another.
She rolled out of bed and went straight for coffee.
“I’m so ready for today.”
“Be ready for some rain as well,” Roarke warned her. “We’re likely in for a storm later.”
“Before it’s over, Greg Barney’s going to find out I’m the goddamn storm.”
When she went in to shower, Roarke looked at the cat. “She’s not wrong about that, as we well know. Let’s feed the storm, shall we?”
When she came out, he put his tablet aside. He enjoyed seeing her in a robe, which certainly explained why he couldn’t resist buying them for her. This one was as close as he’d dared come to pink, with its deep rose tone, and in silk that shimmered, just a little.
He took off the domes as she sat, and found himself pleased when she gave the full Irish a nod and a narrow look.
“That’s just right for today.”
“You’ll let me know, won’t you, when you have him?”
“Sure. I want to take him at his shop. Mortify him.” She shrugged as she crunched into bacon. “Not necessary, but it’s a personal wish.”
She glanced at him as she dug into her eggs. “You’ll have a better day today.”
“I will. What’s done’s done. I’ll move along to what’s next—as will you. Don’t wear black today.”
She paused as she cut into a fat sausage. “Oh, come on.”
“Wear a strong color, but not black. He’ll understand and respect the cut, the fabric. Add a strong color, and you’ll intimidate, just a bit, along with it. A vest, once you’re in the box, so your weapon’s visible.”
“I like that part,” she mumbled.
“It wouldn’t hurt, at least until he notices, to leave this out.” He slid a hand over to lift the chain of the Giant’s Tear diamond she wore under her shirts.
“I don’t like to wear it out on the job. Cops don’t wear big, fat diamonds.”
