Fantasy in Death - J. D. Robb [73]
“It’s nice isn’t it, when some things remain constant? You told me you came here when you first got to the city. You had your first slice of New York pizza, watched the people walking by. And you were happy. You were free.”
“I felt like my life could finally begin when I sat at the counter at the window. Nobody knew me or cared. I had no friends, no lovers. Nobody but me. And it was incredible.”
She looked at him, those gilded eyes warm, so for a moment it seemed no one else walked the sidewalk, no one else breathed the air. Only the two of them.
“Things are different now. It’s good they changed. It’s good this is the same.” This time she took his hand, linked fingers firmly. “Let’s go have some pizza.”
They didn’t take the counter, but grabbed a narrow two-top and sat on squat, stingily cushioned stools.
He could have chosen anywhere, Eve thought. Snapped his fingers and scored them a table for two at the most exclusive restaurant in the city. Somewhere with snooty waiters, a superior wine cellar, and a temperamental chef who created complex dishes with an artist’s skill.
But he’d given her a crowded, noisy joint where the tables crammed so close together the patrons’ elbows bumped, where the scents of spices and onions and cheap wine in squat carafes stung the air.
More, he’d given her a memory.
When they’d ordered, she propped her chin on her hand. Yes, things were different now, she thought. She was hardly embarrassed at all that she went gooey over him. “Did you buy this place?”
“No. Some things should remain constant. But we’re keeping an eye on it, in the event the owners decide to retire or sell off.”
So it could stay as it was, for her, she thought, even if years passed before she came back.
“It seems to be the day for people to give me presents. I’ve got one for you.”
“Really? What would it be?”
“There’s a cookie in my file bag—a really good cookie with your name on it. Figuratively.”
“What kind of cookie?”
She grinned at him. “Mega chocolate chunk. Nadine came by. It’s her own fault she got the bullpen used to being bribed with baked goods, but she comes through.”
“She wanted info on the investigation?”
“Actually no.” The beer came in bottles, which made it a much safer bet than the wine. Eve picked hers up when the waitress set it on the table. “She did say she’d had Bart on the show a couple times, and I think she might’ve pushed there if she hadn’t been so whacked.”
“Her book hits this week.”
“Exactly. And when were you going to remind me about this party deal tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow.” He smiled, sipped his beer. “Giving you less time to fuss and fret about having to go to a party when you’re deep into a case.”
“I don’t fuss and fret.”
“No, you bitch and complain, but it’s such a nice evening I used code.”
She eyed him over a swig of beer. There was no point in denying what was truth. “I suppose you’ve already decided what I’m wearing.”
“There would be suitable attire earmarked, though naturally you might decide you’d prefer something else.” He brushed his hand lightly over the top of hers. “You could always go through your closet tonight and give it some thought.”
“Yeah, that’s going to happen. I have to go. I mean, if the case breaks I can work around it and put in an appearance.”
“If the case breaks, assuming you’re right about it being one of the three, you’d hardly be facing down a career criminal or fighting for your life. At the core of it, they’re still geeks.”
“One or more of them killed a fellow geek in a really creative and ugly way,” she reminded him. “But yeah, I think I can handle him, her, or them.”
“So tell me why you have to go, which is not your default statement when it comes to events like this.”
She blew out a breath as the pizza landed in front of them. “Because I meant it when I said Nadine was whacked. She’s got herself all wound up, wrapped up, twisted up about the book thing. How maybe it sucks and all that. Lack of confidence isn’t what you call her default setting either.”
“She put a lot into it, and it’s, for her, a new