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The In Death Collection Books 26-29 - J.D. Robb [432]

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I knew Ricker would do just that. I knew it. I wanted it. I had enough on her for the arrest without it. But—”

“Coltraine and Morris deserved more. And we both know an arrest isn’t a conviction.”

“Reo would’ve nailed her. But, yeah, Coltraine and Morris deserved more.”

“They betrayed each other so easily. Used and attacked and betrayed each other without hesitation, without remorse. While I enjoyed watching you work Ricker, enjoyed seeing him in that stone box, it’s just hard to feel good watching people who should feel some loyalty—bugger that—feel something for each other tear in like vultures on a corpse.”

“She did feel something for him. Maybe that’s the problem.”

“You’re right, yes. But it didn’t stop her. You knew she felt something, however twisted, and used it. And that, Lieutenant, is good work.” He tapped the open box. “What’s this?”

“It was Coltraine’s. Morris . . . he wanted me to have it.”

Across those jeweled wings he smiled at her. “I think you’ll be able to look at that in days to come, and feel good. Can you go home?”

“Yeah. Peabody’s handling the grunt work.”

“Let’s go home, and have an evening being grateful for who we are.” She closed the lid on the box, slipped it into her pocket. She came around the table, put her arms around him. “I am. Grateful. God. I want to watch a vid where lots of stuff blows up, and eat popcorn, drink a lot of wine, then have drunken sex on the floor.”

“Strangely, just what I had in mind.” He shifted her, took her hand in his. “We’re perfect for each other.”

Maybe she wasn’t quite up to good, Eve thought as they left the conference room and started for the glides. But she was definitely feeling better.

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Copyright © 2009 by Nora Roberts

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Published simultaneously in Canada

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Robb, J. D., date.

Kindred in death / J. D. Robb.

p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-15104-4

1. Dallas, Eve (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Policewomen—Fiction. 3. New York (N.Y.)—Fiction.

I. Title.

PS3568.O243K

813’.54—dc22

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

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Welcome, kindred glooms!

Congenial horrors, hail!

—JAMES THOMSON

A lie which

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