Devoted in Death (In Death, #41)

by J.D. Robb

“You can’t understand anything anybody’s saying, then they all die. We get plenty of that on the job.”

Eve's thoughts on opera

I’d want to go to an Italian opera, I think—then it’s romantic.” “I don’t get how dying’s romantic.” “Well, like Romeo and Juliet—” “Double teenage suicide. Yeah, that makes my heart melt.”

“It’s romantic tragedy.” “That’s one of those oxygons.” “Moron.” Eve turned her head, aimed steely eyes. “Repeat that.” “I meant o...

thin snow started to spit out of grumpy gray skies. Which meant, Eve knew, that at least fifty percent of the drivers currently on the road would lose a minimum of one-third of their intelligence quotient, any skill they’d previously held at operating a vehicle thereby turning what had been the standard annoying traffic into mayhem.

My husband would so totally agree with that.

Sexual component?” “None that shows. The killer used a precise flame—probably a hand torch—to inflict small burns on the genitals.” Every male cop on the crowded car shifted, and Eve imagined cop balls shrinking up in sympathy and defense.

“Humiliation. But the face, nearly unmarked, no mutilation of the genitals. It doesn’t feel personal.” “Somebody takes a torch to my balls, I’m taking it personal,” one of the cops said. Mira smiled at him. “Burns heal, Officer, given the time. Personal would be slicing them up or off.” “Acid.” Eve spoke casually. “I caught one once where the girlfriend got pissed, and when the guy was crashed on Zoner, poured acid on his balls.”

“Everyone with balls on that car is going to check his own, first chance,” she said, and made Mira laugh. “I think that’s an accurate analysis.”

the police said we had to wait before Mina could file a missing persons.

Not all together true

“Some people have the ability to walk lightly through the world and still leave a deep impression.

She went to the AutoChef, programmed a vitamin smoothie. And was shocked when that’s exactly what she got. It has worked for Feeney, she thought, bitterly, disguising his real coffee for a spinach smoothie in his office machine. But did she get the candy bar she’d disguised in there? No, she did not. “Goddamn Candy Thief. I should’ve known he’d steal me blind while I was on leave.” “You have candy in there? What kind of—” “Not anymore.” In disgust, Eve went back to her desk, yanked out a drawer. “Bastard leaves the dumbass power bars, takes the really good chocolate.” “Chocolate!”

Master Lu.

Is master wu in festive in death

“A session with Master Lu?” “Yeah.” She stepped in so the door could close behind her. “I’ve been learning how to breathe. I thought I already knew, being alive and all, but apparently not. Did you know you can breathe into your toes? I think I did it. It sounds like bullshit, but I think I breathed into my toes.”

Arkansas. Why is S-A-S pronounced S-A-W? It should be Ar-Kansas. Did Kansas object?” Oddly enough, he found the question perfectly just.

He glanced over, saw the cat had managed to take advantage of the distraction and snag the bit of bacon still on Eve’s plate. “And that’s why you continue to try, isn’t it? Now and again, you hoist the prize.” Galahad ran his tongue over his whiskers, and belched.

the Mr. Mira snowflake hat on that, and a fresh pair of gloves added to the mix. She thought to stuff the hat in her pocket, thought of the thick snow, reconsidered. She’d just look at it like a good-luck charm, she decided.

“You were staring.” He scowled at Peabody as they trooped downstairs. “When he was naked.” “Well, duh. Naked. And built. If he’d been a girl, you’d have been staring.” Eve cast her eyes to the ceiling, quickened her pace from a walk to a jog down the steps. But she could still hear them. “I bet he bought that body.” “He got a really sweet deal if he did.

“A skeeze (she kind of liked the word), a fuckhead, a dickwad. He’s all of that and a bag of rice cakes.” “Chips. It’s a bag of chips,” Peabody told her. “Chips are good. Rice cakes are crap. He doesn’t get chips.”

He’s all of that and a bag of rice cakes.” “Chips. It’s a bag of chips,” Peabody told her. “Chips are good. Rice cakes are crap. He doesn’t get chips.”

“Oh.” Peabody frowned over it before she nodded. “T...

“If it’s past midnight there, it’s past one here. It’s an hour difference.” “That drives me stupid crazy.” “It does.” Banner dragged his hands through his hair, kept them gripped there as if it was the only way to keep his head upright. His eyes had the hazed and dazed look of a sleepwalker. “Step across some state line and you gain an hour, lose an hour. It’s confusing.” She jabbed a finger at him in solidarity. “See?” she said to Roarke.

“Well, the magic elephant who carries the wide dish of the planet on its massive back moves ponderously on its daily trek around the sun.”

“It’s a thing,” Eve repeated, and pushed the box at Feeney. “For you.” His hands went directly into his pockets; his face fell into wary lines. “Why?” She often thought the same when it came to gifts, so only shrugged. “Just a . . . you know,” she mumbled, and shoved it at him. He looked puzzled, mildly embarrassed, but ripped the paper away. Wanting to keep it moving, she snagged the paper from him, balled it up, and tossed it on the closest table. Then got busy putting on her coat.

“Well, fuck me sideways.” The stunned pleasure in his voice gave twin tugs—that mild embarrassment, and quick satisfaction. She turned back, pulling the scarf out of her pocket when he dumped the box on the floor, pulled out the coat. “Son of a bitch!” He grinned as he held it up. Shit-brown—she’d chosen the color as it was his usual choice of hue—the coat with its protective lining would, she saw, hit him about mid-thigh. She’d left the design to Roarke, saw he’d gone roomy, simple, and had added the flash of captain’s bars as buttons. “You got me a goddamn magic coat.” “Well, Roarke—” “Son of a bitch.” Still grinning, he punched her in the shoulder, then immediately pulled off his old shit-brown coat, dumped it on the floor. “Bastard fits, too.” He folded it back, studied the lining with a shake of his head. “Freaking genius is what it is.” More comfortable discussing the body armor aspect, she relaxed a bit. “No bulk, no weight, and it works. Deflects a full stun—I can attest. Sharps, too, though I haven’t personally tested that one.” “Son of a bitch,” he said for a third time, and met her eyes. His ears had gone faintly pink. “’Preciate it.” “Sure.” He bent to gather up his old coat, the box, and looked at her again. “Really appreciate it.” “Really sure.” “Wait till the wife gets a load of this.” He skimmed one hand down the leather. “Let’s go get some bad guys, kid.” “It’s what we do.” They walked out. She heard him murmur “son of a bitch” yet again as they peeled off...

faintly pink. “’Preciate it.” “Sure.” He bent to gather up his old coat, the box, and looked at her again. “Really appreciate it.” “Really sure.” “Wait till the wife gets a load of this.” He skimmed one hand down the leather. “Let’s go get some bad guys, kid.” “It’s what we do.” They walked out. She heard him murmur “son of a bitch” yet again as they peeled off to their separate vehicles. The instant she was in the car, Peabody leane...

She eyed him as he programmed. “Want some candy to go with it?” He gave her a blank look. A blank cop look. “You got candy in here?” She jabbed a finger at him. “You know something. Now you know I know you know something, and I’d grill you like a trout if I had time.” “You doing okay, LT?” He sipped his coffee casually. “You seem a little stressed.” “Bite me, Baxter. Hardware store.”

“What is that noise?” “It’s cows, Lieutenant. Or steers. I think there’s a difference, but I’m not going to ask. There are . . . members of the cow/steer/cattle family in the trailer Carmichael opted to park next to. I really don’t think they like it in there.” “You should get away from there, in case they get out.” “I’m thinking that.” Glancing over his shoulder, he walked a few paces away. “You’ve been off-planet, right, LT?” “Yeah.” “I haven’t, but I think this is something like it.