Devoted in Death (In Death, #41)

by J.D. Robb

“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...