Memory in Death

Chapter 18

BOBBY WAS SITTING UP IN BED WHEN EVE stepped into his room. His eyes were closed, and the entertainment unit was set, she assumed, for a book on disc. In any case, there were voices spilling out of it in what seemed to be an intense and passionate argument.

If he was sleeping, he didn’t need to hear it. If he wasn’t, she needed his attention. So she stepped closer to the unit. “Pause program,” she ordered.

In the sudden silence Bobby stirred, opened his eyes.

“Zana? Oh, Eve. I must’ve nodded off. Sort of listening to a book. Crappy book,” he added with an attempt at a smile. “The nurse told me Zana was coming in soon.”

“I just left her a little while ago. I’m having a couple of uniforms drive her to and from. It’s nasty outside.”

“Yeah.” He looked out the window, his expression brooding.

“So. How’re you feeling?”

“I don’t know. Clumsy, stupid, annoyed to be here. Sorry for myself.”

“You’re entitled.”

“Yeah, that’s what myself s telling me. The flowers, the tree. It’s nice.”

He gestured toward the little fake pine decorated with miniature Santas. To Eve’s mind, it looked like the jolly old elf had been hanged, multiple times, in effigy.

“Zana told me you helped pick them out.”

“Not really. I was just there.”

“She thinks of stuff like that. Little things like that. This is a really, really shitty Christmas for her.”

“For you, too. It sucks out loud, Bobby, and I’m going to add to it by asking you if you’ve thought of anything else, remembered anything. About what happened to your mother, about what happened to you.”

“Nothing. Sorry. And I’ve had a lot of time to think, lying here like an idiot who can’t cross the damn street.” He let out a sigh, lifted the hand of his good arm, then let it fall. “A lot of time to think, about what you said, about what you said my mother did. Wanted to do. She really asked for money?”

Eve moved closer to the bed so she could stand at its side and watch his face. “How much shit can you take?”

He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, she hoped what she saw in them was strength. “I might as well get it all dumped on me. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Your mother had several numbered accounts, which were fed by funds she extorted from women she’d fostered as children.”

“Oh, God. Oh, my God. There has to be a mistake, some kind of mix-up, misunderstanding.”

“I have statements from two of these women that verify that your mother contacted them, threatened to expose their juvenile records unless they paid the amounts she demanded.”

She watched the blows land on his already battered face, until he was staring at her, not with disbelief or shock, but with the focused concentration of a man fighting pain.

“Statements,” he repeated. “Two of them.”

“There’re going to be more, Bobby, when it’s done. She also informed my husband that she had copies of my files and would sell them to interested media sources unless he paid her. She’s been blackmailing former charges for a number of years.”

“They were just kids,” he said under his breath. “We were all just kids.”

“It’s possible she used one of her former fosters to aid her in her attempt to blackmail me, through Roarke, and was killed by this individual.”

“I would never have let her do without. Whenever she wanted something I did what I could to get it for her. Why would she do this? I know what you’re thinking,” he said, and looked beyond her, toward the window again. “I understand what you’re thinking. You think she used and mistreated you when you were in her care, when you were a kid. So why not use and mistreat you now?”

“Am I wrong, Bobby? Is something wrong with my memory?”

His breath shuddered out softly. “No. She used to say, used to tell me that you—the kids she took in—were lucky to have someone offer them a decent home. Care enough to take them, to teach them manners and discipline and respect. That’s what she said it was when she locked you up. Consequences for unacceptable behavior. Things would be a lot worse if you were on the streets.”

“Did you buy that, Bobby?”

“I don’t know. Maybe some. She never hurt me.” He turned his head now, met Eve’s eyes. “She never treated me that way. She said it was because I did what I was told. But I didn’t, not always. If she caught me, she’d usually laugh and say, ‘Boys will be boys.’ It was the girls she… I don’t know why. Something inside her. She hated her mother. Used to tell me we were lucky to be rid of the old bitch. Maybe—I don’t know— maybe her mother did those things to her. It’s a cycle, right? Isn’t that what they say about abuse? It’s a cycle.”

“Yeah, it often is.” Maybe that comforted him, she thought. “What about you, Bobby? Did you cycle around, take care of your mother? She must’ve been a hardship on you. New wife, new business, and here’s this demanding woman, prying into your life. A demanding woman with a big pile of money stashed away.”

His eyes filmed over for a moment. Tears he blinked away. “I don’t blame you for saying it, thinking it. And you can put on record that I’ll take a Truth Test. I’ll take one voluntarily, as soon as you can arrange it. I want you to find who hurt her.”

He took a long breath. “I loved my mother, Eve. I don’t know if you can understand, but even knowing what she was, what she did, I loved her. If I’d known what she was doing, I’d have found a way to make it stop. To make her give the money back, and stop. That’s what I want to do. Give the money back. You have to help me get the money back to the people she took it from. Maybe it won’t make it right, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“Yeah, I can help you with that. How would you have made her stop, Bobby?”

“I don’t know. She’d listen to me. If she knew I was really upset, she’d listen to me.” Now he sighed a little. “Or pretend to. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know how to tell Zana all this. I don’t know how to tell her this is true. She’s already been through so much.”

“She was tight with your mother.”

“They got along. Zana gets along with everyone. She made a real effort with my mother—it takes one.” He tried another smile.

“You know, women get tight in a certain way. When they do, they tend to tell each other things they might not tell a man. Could it be your mother told Zana about what she was doing?”

“Not possible.” He tried to sit up straighter, as if to emphasize his point, and cursed the restriction of his broken arm. “Zana’s… she’s scrupulous. I don’t know anyone as intrinsically honest. She might not have argued with my mother about it, but she’d have been horrified, and she’d have told me. We don’t have secrets.”

People said that, Eve knew. But how did they know the other party didn’t have secrets? How did they know there’d been full disclosure?

“Zana the type to keep her word?”

His face was full of love. “Probably cut off a finger before she’d break it.”

“Then she’d be in a tough spot if she’d given your mother her word not to tell you, or anyone.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and Eve could see him wrestling with this new possibility. “I don’t know how she’d have dealt with it. But she’d have told me, at least after my mother was killed. She’d never have kept that to herself. I wonder where she is.” His fingers began to tug at the sheet. “I thought she’d be here by now.”

“I’ll check in a minute, make sure she’s on her way. They say when they’re springing you?”

“Not before tomorrow, but I’m pushing for that. I want to salvage something of Christmas. It’s our first, probably told you that. At least I bought a couple of things here, so Zana will have something to open. Man, this—how did you put it? Oh, yeah, this sucks out loud.”

Reaching into the pocket of her coat, Eve brought out a little bag. “Thought you might like these. Cookies,” she said as she put the bag in his good hand. “I figure they might not run to Christmas cookies around here.”

“Appreciate it.” He peeked inside, nearly smiled again. “Really. The food’s fairly crappy around here.”

He’d brought her food once, and now she’d returned the favor. She thought that made them even, or wanted to think it.

Eve checked with her uniforms, assured Bobby his wife would be there shortly.

Then she let it all shuffle around in her mind during the long, ugly drive uptown.

Her pocket ‘link signalled, causing her to fumble a moment as she interfaced it with the unfamiliar system on the all-terrain so her hands stayed free to fight the fight. “Dallas, and this better be good because I’m stuck in lousy traffic.”

“I’m not!” Peabody’s voice shot out thrills and excitement completely in contrast with the icy rain. On the dash screen, her face glowed like a damn candle. “I’m in Scotland, and it’s snowing. It’s snowing in big, fat, mag flakes.”

“Yippee.”

“Aw, don’t be that way. I just had to tell you we’re here, and it’s so beyond frosty. The McNabs have this amazing house, kinda like a really big cottage, and there’s a river and mountains. McNab’s dad has a burr.”

“Well, why doesn’t he pull it out?”

“No, no, the accent. It’s total. And they like me, Dallas. I mean, they just slathered, like, all over me.”

“Again, I repeat: Yippee.”

“I don’t know why I was so nervous and freaky. It’s just piles of fun on top of more. The shuttle ride was so uptown, and then, wow, the scenery is so completely mag. It’s like a vid or something, and—”

“Peabody, I’m glad you’re having a good time. Seriously. But I’m trying to get home here, so I can grab a little Christmas cheer myself.”

“Sorry, sorry. Wait, first, did you get the presents I left on your desk?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Oh.” Peabody’s face went through several expressions, ending on a pout. “You’re welcome.”

“We didn’t open them yet.”

“Oh! Oh, okay.” The pout turned into a nervous grin. “You want to wait until tomorrow. I just wondered. So, well… Anything I should know on the case?”

“Nothing that can’t wait until you get back. Go eat some—what is it—haggis.”

“I might. I’ve already had a really big whiskey, and it’s dancing in my head. But I don’t care! It’s Christmas. And last year you and I were mad at each other, and now we’re not. I love you, Dallas, and Roarke, and every bony inch of McNab. And his cousin Sheila. Merry Christmas, Dallas.”

“Yeah, you bet.” She cut off before Peabody could get started again. But she was smiling as she rolled through the gates toward home.

The house was lit as if it were night, and an icy mist rolled over the ground, sparkled just a little in the lights. She could see trees shimmering, candles glowing, and heard the patter of that cold, hard rain on the roof of her vehicle.

She stopped, just stopped in the middle of the drive. Just to look, and to think, and remember. Inside was warmth, fires burning with the crackle of real wood. Everything in her life had somehow navigated her here. Whatever the horrors had been, the pain and blood, whatever dogged her dreams like a hound, had brought her here. She believed that.

She had this because she’d survived the other. She had this because he’d been waiting on the other side of the road. Navigating his own trenches.

She had home, where the candles were lit and the fires were burning. It was good, she thought, to take a moment to remember that, and to know, whatever else she faced, this was here.

And if she couldn’t just enjoy it for twenty-four hours, what was the point?

She dashed into the house, shook rain from her hair. For once, Summerset wasn’t lurking in the foyer, but even as she tugged off her coat, Roarke strolled out of the parlor.

“And there you are.”

“Later than I thought, sorry.”

“I only got in a few minutes ago myself. Summerset and I are having a drink by the fire. Come, sit down.”

“Oh, well.” Summerset. They’d have to be civil to each other. It was like a holiday law. “I have to take care of something first.” She concealed a small bag behind her back. “Need a few minutes.”

“Secrets.” He wandered over to kiss her. And to peek over her shoulder. She shifted, poked a finger in his belly.

“Cut it out. I’ll be down in a minute.”

He watched her go up, then walked back into the parlor to sit by the fire with Summerset and enjoy his Irish coffee. “She’s smuggling in some last-minute gift.”

“Ah. I’ll garage the vehicle she no doubt left out in this weather, in a moment.”

“Of course. And as much as I believe the two of you enjoy your mutual sniping, we might try a moratorium on that until Boxing Day.”

Summerset lifted a shoulder. “You look relaxed.”

“And so I am.”

“There was a time, not that long ago, when you’d have been out hounding some deal right up until the last moment. At which time, you’d have been off with the woman of the moment. Christmas in Saint Moritz or Fiji. Wherever your whim took you. But not here.”

“No, not here.” Roarke picked up one of the little frosted cookies Summerset had arranged on a glossy red dish. “Because, I realize now, here would have made it impossible for me not to understand I was alone. Lonely. Despite all the women, the deals, the people, the parties, what have you. I was alone because there was no one who mattered enough to keep me here.”

He sipped his coffee, watched the flames. “You gave me my life. You did,” he insisted when Summerset made a protesting sound. “And I worked—in my fashion—to build this place. I asked you to tend it for me. You’ve never let me down. But I needed her. The one thing, the only thing that could make this place home.”

“She’s not what I’d have chosen for you.”

“Oh.” With a half-laugh, Roarke bit into the cookie. “That I know.”

“But she’s right for you. The one for you.” His smile was slow. “Despite, or maybe due to, her many flaws.”

“I imagine she thinks somewhat the same about you.”

When he heard her coming, Roarke glanced back. She’d taken off her weapon, changed her boots for skids. She took a package to the tree, placed it there with the others.

He saw the expression on her face as she scanned the piles he’d stacked. Consternation, bafflement, and a kind of resignation that amused him.

“Why do you do this?” She demanded with a wave at the gifts.

“It’s a sickness.”

“I’ll say. ”

“We’re having Irish in our coffee.”

“If that means whiskey, I’ll pass. I don’t know why you want to muck up perfectly good coffee that way.”

“Just another sickness. I’ll pour you some wine.”

“I’ll get it myself. Peabody tagged me on the way home. She’s not only safe and sound in Scotland, she was half-piss-faced and insane with delight. She loves you, by the way, and me, and McNab’s bony ass—and even his cousin Sheila.” She gave Summerset a small smile. “She didn’t mention you, but I’m sure it was an oversight.”

She sat down, stretched out her legs. “That’s one present that hit the mark, big time. You clear everything you needed to clear?”

“I did,” Roarke told her. “You?”

“No, but screw it. I tried to get the lab and got a recording of ‘Jingle Bell Rock.’ Why don’t songs like that ever die? Now it’s stuck in my head.”

The cat deserted Summerset to jump into her lap, complain loudly, and knead his claws into her thighs.

“He’s trying you.” Roarke gestured with his cup. “He wants the cookies, and got nowhere with me or Summerset in that area.”

“Well, you can forget it, Fatso.” She lifted him, went nose-to-nose. “But I’ve got something for you.” She dumped him, then went to the tree, pawed around, and came up with a gift bag.

She dug out a pair of feline-sized antlers, and a toy mouse.

“He’s much too dignified to wear those, or bat about some ridiculous toy,” Summerset protested.

Eve just snorted.

“Catnip.” She held the mouse up by the tail in front of Galahad’s face. “Yeah, that’s right,” she said as Galahad reared up on his hind legs and grabbed the mouse with his front claws. “Zeus for cats.”

“And you, a duly designated officer of the law,” Roarke said, “dealing.”

“I’ve got my sources.” While the cat rolled deliriously with his new toy, Eve stuck the antlers in place. “Okay, you look really stupid, so this is only for tonight. We humans have to get our kicks somewhere.”

“Is he trying to eat it,” Roarke wondered, “or make love to it?”

“I don’t want to think that hard about it. But he’s not thinking about cookies anymore.”

She sat again, propped her feet on Roarke’s lap. And when Roarke ran an absent hand up her calf, Summerset took it as his cue.

“I’ve prepared something simple for dinner, assuming you’d enjoy having it in here. I’m having mine with some friends in the city.”

“You have friends?” nearly popped out of Eve’s mouth, but Roarke squeezed her ankle in anticipation.

“Everything is in the kitchen unit.”

“Enjoy your evening, then.”

“I will, and you, too.”

Another ankle squeeze had Eve wincing. “Um, yeah. Merry.”

When they were alone, she shoved at Roarke’s arm. “Take it easy, will you? I was going to say something.”

“I know very well what you were going to say. We’re having peace on our particular square of Earth until Boxing Day.”

“Fine, I can do it if he can. Besides, I plan to get really drunk.”

“Why don’t I help you out with that?” He rose, and poured her more wine.

“What about you?”

“I’ll have some, but I think one of us has to keep his wits. That cat is stoned,” he commented, glancing down at the floor where Galahad rubbed himself lasciviously over the mouse.

“Well, seeing as he’s fixed, he can’t ever have sex. I just figured he should have a little thrill for the holiday. I’m counting on getting some thrills myself.”

Roarke lifted a brow. “I can help you with that, too.”

“Maybe I was talking about cookies.”

He dropped onto the couch, full-length beside her. And fastened his mouth on hers.

“Not drunk yet,” she murmured.

“Not done yet, either.”

“You gotta close those doors if you’re going to start fooling around. He may be going out, but the spirit of Summerset haunts these halls.”

“I’m simply kissing my wife.” He propped them both up, longways, so that they could watch the fire, sip wine. And neck.

“Nice.” She took a breath, breathed him, and let every cell in her body relax. “I may not leave this room, hell, this couch, until after Christmas.”

“We’ll have to take turns getting provisions. Feeding ourselves and the fire.”

“Okay. You first.”

He laughed, brushed his lips over her hair. “You smell delicious.” He sniffed down to her neck. “You’ve put something on.”

“I can take a minute now and then.”

“And it’s appreciated.”

“Did you get in touch with your people in Ireland?”

“I did, yes. It appeared to be a madhouse of baking and babies, which suits them very well. They wish you a happy Christmas.”

“You’re okay, not being over there?”

“I’m exactly where I want to be.” He turned her face up to his, met her lips. “Exactly. And you need more wine.”

“Already got a buzz going.”

“Likely because you didn’t have lunch.”

“Oh, yeah, I knew I forgot something.” She took the wine he poured. “After I get plowed, and make love to every square inch of you, I’ll eat a ton.”

Since he was up, he went over, closed the parlor doors.

From the sofa, Eve grinned. “Come over here, and start unwrapping me.”

Amused, aroused, he sat at her feet. “Why don’t I start down here?” he suggested, and slipped off her shoes. Then he pressed his thumbs to her arch, made her purr.

“Good spot.” She closed her eyes, drank a little more wine. “Tell you what, later, you can get plowed and I’ll do you.”

“Someone has the Christmas spirit.” He kissed a bracelet around her ankles.

“You can’t avoid it, it’s winging around out there left and right.” Lovely little sensations shimmered up her legs. “You can dodge, but eventually it beans you.”

She opened one eye when he unhooked her trousers. “Quick work.”

“Want slow?”

“Hell, no.” She grinned, reared up and grabbed him, spilling wine on both of them. “Uh-oh.”

“Now look what you’ve done. We’ll have to get out of these clothes. Hands up,” he said, and tugged her sweater over her head. “Here.” He handed her back her wine, put both her hands on the bowl of the glass. “Mind that now.”

“Prolly had enough.”

“I haven’t.”

He stripped her, then himself. He took the glass from her, upending it so drops scattered over her breasts, her torso.

She looked down, looked up. “Uh-oh,” she said again and laughed.

He licked wine and flesh, letting the combination go to his head while she moved and moaned under him. She arched up, a trembling bridge, when his hands roamed over her.

Then she locked around him, arms, legs. And rolled hard. She plopped on top of him, giggling. “Ouch.”

“Easy for you to say.” She’d stolen his breath in more ways than one. To pay her back he rolled her over. With lips and fingers he tickled her into shrieks, aroused her into gasps.

She was riding on foolishness and passion, a giddy combination with the wine flowing through her. When he was inside her, still laughing breathlessly, she chained her arms around his neck.

“Merry Christmas,” she managed. “Oh, God.” She came on a gasping laugh, then dragged him with her.

“Merry Christmas,” he said and shot her over, one last time.

She lay, all but cross-eyed, staring up at the tree. “Jesus, talk about putting a bow on it.”

Later, at his insistence, she opened her first gift. So she’d be comfortable, he’d said. It was hard to be otherwise in the long cashmere robe of forest green.

They ate by the fire, washing down Summerset’s simple lobster with champagne. When he asked about the case, she shook her head. She wouldn’t bring it into this. She was—they were—entitled to one night where blood and death stayed locked outside their world. A world where they sat like children, cross-legged under a tree, ripping at colored paper.

“The Universe According to Roarke?” He read the label on a cased disc.

“Feeney helped me put it together. Okay, Feeney mostly put it together, but I came up with the concept. It’ll go for holo or comp.”

She reached up for another cookie. She was making herself half-sick with sugar, but what was Christmas for? “Personalized game, and what you do is start out at the bottom. Pretty much wits only. Then you can earn money, arms, land. Build stuff, fight wars. You can pull in other people—we’re all in there. And take on famous foes and stuff. You can cheat, steal, barter, and bloody. But there are a lot of traps, so you can end up broke, destitute, in a cage or tortured by your enemies. Or you can end up ruling the known universe. The graphics are very chilly.”

“You’re in here?”

“Yeah.”

“How can I lose?”

“It’s tough. Feeney’s had it up and running for a couple weeks and said he couldn’t get by level twelve. It’s pissing him off. Anyway, I figured since you don’t get to steal in real life anymore, you’d get a kick out of virtual.”

“The best present is having a woman who knows me.” He leaned over to kiss her, tasted wine and sugar cookies. “Thanks. Your turn.”

“I’ve already opened a million.” Which, she thought, ran the gamut from the sparkly to the silly, the sumptuous to the sexy.

“Nearly done. This one.”

She tugged the ribbon from the box he gave her, and though he winced, draped it around his neck. Inside was a magnifying glass with a silver handle.

“It’s old,” he told her. “I thought, ‘What’s a detective without a magnifying glass?’”

“It’s great.” She held up her hand, studied it through the glass, then grinning, shifted closer to Roarke, peered at him through it. “Jeez. You’re even prettier.” Then she turned it on the snoring cat. “You’re not. Thanks.”

When he tapped a finger to his lips, she pretended to sigh before she leaned over to kiss him.

“Here, do this one, it sort of fits.” She pushed a box at him while she played with the glass. “If I’d had one of these when I was a kid, I’d‘ve driven people crazy.”

“Rather the point of toys and tools.” He glanced up, found himself being inspected again. He tossed a bow at her. “Here, see what you make of that.”

He opened the box, gently took out the pocket watch inside. “Eve, this is wonderful.”

“It’s old, too. I know how you rev on old stuff. And I figured you could put it on a shelf somewhere with all the other old stuff. It was already engraved,” she added when he opened it. “But I thought…”

“ ‘Time stops.’” He said it quietly, then just looked at her with those stunning blue eyes.

“I thought, yeah, it does.” She reached for his hand. “It does.”

He gathered her in, pressing his lips to her throat, her cheek, just holding on. “It’s a treasure. So are you.”

“This is good,” she murmured. Not the things, she thought, and knew he understood. But the sharing of them. The being. “I love you. I’m really getting the hang of it.”

He laughed, kissed her again, then drew away. “You’ve one more.”

It had to be more jewelry, she noted from the size of the box. The man just loved draping her in sparkles. Her first thought when she opened the box was that they not only sparkled, they could blind you like the sun.

The earrings were diamond drops—three perfect round stones in graduated sizes that dripped from a cluster of more diamonds that formed the petals of a brilliant flower.

“Wowzer,” she said. When he only smiled, it hit her. “Big Jack’s diamonds, from the Forty-seventh Street heist. The ones we recovered.”

“After they’d stayed hidden away nearly half a century.”

“These were impounded.”

“I didn’t steal them.” He laughed, held up his game disc. “Remember? Only virtually these days. I negotiated, and acquired them through completely legal means. They deserve the light. They deserve you. Without you, they might still be shut up in a child’s toy. Without you, Lieutenant, Chad Dix wouldn’t be celebrating Christmas right now.”

“You had them made for me.” That touched her, most of all. She picked up the magnifying glass. “Let’s check them out,” she said, and pretended to inspect the gems. “Nice job.”

“You can think of them as medals.”

“A lot jazzier than any medals the department hands out.” She put them on, knowing it would please him. Seeing the way it did.

“They suit you.”

“Glitters like these would work on anybody.” But she wrapped her arms around him, snuggled in. “Knowing where they came from, why you had them made for me, that means a lot. I—”

She jerked back, eyes wide. “You bought them all, didn’t you?”

He cocked his head. “Well, aren’t you greedy.”

“No, but you are. You bought them all. I know it.”

He smoothed a finger down the dent in her chin. “I think we need more champagne. You’re entirely too sober.”

She started to speak again, then buttoned it. The man was entitled to spend his money as he liked. And he was right about one thing. Big Jack’s diamonds deserved better than a departmental vault.

“There’s one more under there,” he noticed as he started to rise. “The one you brought in today.”

“Oh. Right.” Part of her had hoped he’d forget that one. “Yeah, well, it’s nothing much. No big.”

“I’m greedy, remember? Hand it over.”

“Okay, sure.” She stretched out for it, dumped it in his lap. “I’ll get the champagne.”

He grabbed her arm before she could get up. “Just hold on a minute, until I see what I have here.” He shoved aside tissue paper, drew it out, and said only, “Oh.”

She struggled not to squirm. “You said you wanted a picture, you know, like from before.”

“Oh,” he repeated, and the expression on his face had color rising up her neck. “Look at you.” His eyes moved from image to woman, so full of pleasure, of surprise, of love, her throat went tight.

“I just dug it out, and picked up a frame.”

“When was it taken?”

“Right after I went into the Academy. This girl I hung with a little, she was always taking pictures. I was trying to study, and she—”

“Your hair.”

She shifted, a little uncomfortable. In the picture she was sitting at a desk, discs piled around her. She wore a dull gray Police Academy sweatshirt. Her hair was long, pulled back in a tail.

“Yeah, I used to wear it long back then. Figured it was less trouble because I could just tie it back out of my way. Then in hand-to-hand training, my opponent grabbed it, yanked, and took me down. I lopped it off.”

“Look at your eyes. Cop’s eyes even then. Hardly more than a child, and you knew.”

“I knew if she didn’t get that camera out of my face so I could study, I was going to clock her.”

He laughed, took her hand, but remained riveted on the photograph. “What happened to her?”

“She washed out, made it about a month. She was okay. She just wasn’t—”

“A cop,” he finished. “Thank you for this. It’s so exactly what I wanted.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, let the lights of the tree dazzle her and thought, Who needs champagne?