Page 55 of Bonded in Death

After dragging on the trousers, the tank, she studied her half a million boots.

“You might go with navy.”

Her hand slapped for the weapon that wasn’t yet there. Then her heart settled back in place as she turned to where Roarke leaned against the doorjamb.

“Jesus, Roarke.”

“Navy would play off the black and work well with your shirt.”

“Fine. I only have six dozen navy boots.”

He stepped in, crossed over, took a pair. Eve turned them over, studied the pristine soles.

“Make that six dozen and one.”

He chose a navy belt, offered it.

His suit wasn’t navy, wasn’t black, but some rich color between. And made his eyes fire.

“You’re up early,” he said as she slipped the belt into the trousers’ loops.

“Not as early as you.”

“You didn’t sleep well.”

“Did anyone?”

“Not likely. Summerset has the travel information.”

“I need that.”

“He copied you, so you’ll have it. They’ll all be here by late afternoon.”

“All of them, just like that?”

“Yes.”

She put on the boots. She didn’t think they fit like a glove—feet weren’t hands, for God’s sake. They fit like boots. Excellent boots.

She carried out the jacket, set it aside, then strapped on her weapon harness.

“I want to talk to Summerset before I go in this morning. I need more details on the incident that killed his wife and Dubois. I read about the explosion—the Dominion HQ, a lot of munitions, equipment, supplies, personnel inside. According to history, the hit was considered a major Underground success, and a turning point, again major, in ending the conflict in Europe.”

“But that doesn’t tell the story.”

“No. Where was he? Where was Potter, and the rest of the team?”

She should’ve pushed him there last night, she thought. But she’d pulled back. He’d looked ill, so she’d pulled back. And couldn’t do that again.

“He’s up. I doubt he slept. We could breakfast now, the three of us, in your office.”

He waited a beat, then one more.

“Is there any problem with me being there when you talk to him?”

“No. Over a meal just seems…” Unofficial. The cop wife, the father figure victim, and Roarke between. “You’re probably right. It’ll save time. And you weren’t thinking of time as much as making him comfortable.”

She put on her jacket, met his eyes. “I’m going to make him uncomfortable, Roarke.”

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