The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [47]
“Okay, disgusting, but smart. Lots of medical, scientific, technological advances come through little bits of craziness, a lot of ego.”
“Or happy accidents,” Roarke pointed out.
She nodded toward the candles burning on the table. “Bet the first guy who made fire figured he was a god, and the other cavemen bowed down to him.”
“Or bashed him in the head with a rock and stole his burning stick.”
She had to laugh. “Yeah. Well, yeah, but you get me. So you make fire, then, hey, let’s see what we can do with this. Wow, no more raw mastodon! Make mine medium-well. Oh shit, I set Joe on fire!”
Now Roarke’s laugh rolled out, and made her grin. “Oops, sorry, Joe,” she continued. “So now you have to figure out how to treat a burn. And how to deal with somebody who likes to set Joe on fire, and maybe torch the village. Next thing you know, you’ve got hospitals and cops and climate control and—” She forked up more meat. “Roast pig on demand.”
“A fascinating capsule view of civilization.”
“I think I got off my point somewhere around the mastodon. Anyway, what I’m saying is, you do something big—universal big, life-and-death big, and get known for it. What’s next?”
“Bigger.”
When her ’link beeped, she snatched it up. “Dallas.”
“You’d better be right.” Reo’s Southern-comfort voice was all business. “Because our asses are sharing the same sling.”
“Just shoot me the paper.”
“No, I’m bringing the warrant personally. I’ll meet you at Icove Jr.’s residence in twenty minutes. Oh, and Dallas, if that sling rips, I’m tossing you out and using you to break my fall.”
“Fair enough.” She clicked off, glanced at Roarke. “Well, here we go,” she said, and beeped Peabody.
She beat Reo and Peabody, and used her waiting time to study Icove’s home. There was a light on, third-floor window. Home office, bedroom? Another, giving a backwash of pale light, second floor. Probably a hall light left burning for convenience.
The main level was dark but for dim security lights, and the steady red blink at the entrance door indicating lockdown.
It meant the doctor was in, which would make the entry easier and the search itself messier. She’d just leave the diplomacy of that to Reo.
It was after nine now, full dark, with a cool, kicky breeze. A neighboring house had some sort of folk-arty decoration on its front door in the shape of a fat turkey.
It made her think about Thanksgiving and having numerous Irish strangers underfoot.
Roarke’s family, she reminded herself. She’d have to figure out how to get on with them—or get around them. She’d liked Sinead, his aunt, the only one of the group she’d met. But that didn’t mean she knew what to do with her, or the rest of them, when they were just hanging around.
Family relations were way out of her orbit.
He hadn’t said for how long, and she could admit now she’d been afraid to ask. Maybe it was just for the day. Just an overnight thing.
What if it was longer? What if it was a week?
Maybe she’d get lucky, catch some vicious, violent homicide that would keep her out of the house for most of their stay.
And that, she thought with a sigh, was just sick.
Roarke was nervous about this deal, she reminded herself. And he had ice for blood most of the time. So that meant it was important to him. Really important. Which meant she had to be supportive and wifely.
God. It wouldn’t actually be her fault if a vicious, violent homicide landed in her lap, would it? She couldn’t control these things.
She caught sight of Peabody coming up from the west corner. And of the skinny form in neon-green skin-pants and purple duster strolling beside her.
“Mag coat,” McNab said. “Do they make it in brights?”
“I wouldn’t know. Did I tell you to bring your boy toy?”
“Figured we could use an e-man.”
McNab smiled, his green eyes twinkling in his pretty face. “Not that I mind when she toys with me. Hey, Mavis says hi. We saw her as we were heading out. Getting