Devoted in Death (In Death, #41)

by J.D. Robb

“She’s writing an opera – do people still do that? I thought all the people who wrote operas have been dead for centuries.”

“I bet you’ve been to the opera,” Peabody said as she started the run on her PPC. “Twice. Then I drew the line. I’d go again when they finished building the ice palace in hell.”

“I think I’d like it – I mean to at least go. The costumes, the music, the drama, and everybody all dressed up and sparkly.” “You can’t understand anything anybody’s saying, then they all die. We get plenty of that on the job.”

“But if they’re doing all that in Italian – 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 —” “Doubl...

“That’s one of those oxygons.” “Moron.” Eve turned her head, aimed steely eyes. “Repeat that.” “I meant oxymoron. It’s oxymoron not gon. Sir.”

A 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.

“Held and tortured for two days. 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.

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

“Why did those map people, or state-naming people go with so many New Wherevers?” “So speaks the New Yorker.” “Question still holds. If they were so attached to the Mexico or the Hampshire or the York, why didn’t they just stay there? Anyway, about there, or that part of Texas or Oklahoma. That gets a higher bump from me, and so does the first possibility. Up from southeast Texas, hit Louisiana, Mississippi, 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. “I can’t tell you.”

“That’s a lot of boring cop work for one night.” “Boring enough I can get some of my own somewhat less boring work done at the same time.” “I owe you.” “We’ll work out a payment schedule.” “Yeah, like I don’t know that currency.” He laughed, pulled her in for a kiss. “Which makes me the richest man in the world.” “You already are – pretty much.” “Not without you.” This time he kissed her forehead, tenderly. “Not any longer.”

“Just a few inches, and it rules the brain, the ego and can obliterate common sense.” “ ‘A few’?” he countered, making her laugh. “Knew that would get you.” “Used properly it can rule a woman’s brain, her ego and obliterate her common sense.” “I guess you’re going to show me how to use it properly.” “It would be my pleasure.”

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.

Nodding, Banner took a hit of caffeine. His eyes went wide and glassy. “Sweet Baby Jesus, what is this? Is this New York coffee?” “Not exactly. It’s real coffee. I’ve got a connection.” “Real coffee.” He said it like a prayer, with awe and reverence. Remembering her first taste of Roarke’s coffee, she smiled. “Need a minute?” “It could take days.” He smiled back, and she saw, beneath the fatigue, a great deal of charm. “Wait till I tell the boys back home.”

“Whatever came before, whatever comes after, I know what love is because of you.” He took her free hand. “Whatever came before, whatever comes after, it’s you who’ve shown me love changes everything. Lifts everything. Gives everything.”