The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [258]
“Making himself right at home.” She crouched down and opened the trim black suitcase lying on the closet floor. “The rest of his props.” Heart thudding, she nudged through the jewelry, muttering the numbers and lyrics. “All the way to twelve—this hair clip with a dozen guys drumming. They’re all here except number five. He’s got that with him.” She rose. “He took himself a nice relaxing bath, dressed in his suit, packed up his tools, and went out. And he’s planning on coming back.”
“So, we wait.”
She wanted to agree. More than she could stand to admit she wanted to be the one to take him down, to look in his face when she did. To know she’d beaten him, and that part of herself she faced in nightmares.
“I’m calling it in. We’ll have a few slobs who’d’ve drawn duty tonight. I’ll need some men on the building, some inside. It’ll take an hour or so to set it up. Then we’ll go home.”
“You don’t want to turn this over to someone else, Eve.”
“No, I don’t. Maybe that’s why I need to. And . . .” She turned back to him, thinking of Mira’s words. “I’m entitled to the life I’ve started to carve out for myself. With you.”
“Then make the calls.” He reached out to touch her cheek. “And let’s go home.”
Peabody filed the last of her paperwork, let out a long, self-pitying sigh, then caught sight of McNab in the doorway. “What?”
“Just passing by. I told you Dallas said you’re off duty.”
“I’m off when my reports are finished and filed.”
He smiled blandly as her machine reported filing complete. “Then I guess you’re off. Hot date with Mr. Slick?”
“You’re really ignorant, McNab.” Peabody pushed away from the desk. “You don’t spend Christmas Eve with a guy you’ve only dated once.” Besides, she thought, Charles had already been booked for the evening.
“Your family’s not around here, are they?”
“No.” Stalling, willing him to leave, she fussed around the desk.
“Couldn’t get home for Christmas?”
“Not this year.”
“Me either. This case has eaten away at my social life. I got no plans, either.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “What do you say, Peabody, want to call a truce, like a Christmas moratorium?”
“I’m not at war with you.” She turned to get her uniform coat from a hook.
“You look a little down.”
“It’s been a long day.”
“Well, if you’re not going to spend Christmas Eve with Mr. Slick, why don’t you spend it with a fellow cop? It’s a bad night to be alone. I’ll buy you a drink, some dinner.”
She kept her head lowered as she buttoned her coat. Christmas Eve alone, or a couple of hours with McNab. Neither were very appealing, but she decided alone was worse. “I don’t like you well enough for you to buy me dinner.” She looked up, shrugged. “We split the check.”
“Deal.”
She didn’t expect to enjoy herself, but after a couple of St. Nick Specials, she decided she wasn’t miserable. At least shoptalk was a way to kill a few hours.
She picked at the chicken nibbles she knew were going to go straight to her ass. Her diet could just go to hell. “How can you eat like that?” she asked McNab, watching with hate and envy as he plowed through a double-crust pizza with the works. “Why aren’t you pig fat?”
“Metabolism,” he said with his mouth full. “Mine’s always on overdrive. Want some?”
She knew better. Fighting off the chunkies was a constant personal battle. But she took half a slice and reveled in it.
“You and Dallas straighten things out?”
Peabody swallowed hard and glared. “She talk to you about it?”
“Hey, I’m a detective. I notice shit.”
The two drinks had loosened her tongue just enough. “She’s really pissed at me.”
“You screw up?”
“I guess. So did she,” Peabody said, brow furrowing. “But I screwed up bigger. I don’t know if I can make it right again.”
“You got somebody who’d go to the wall for you and you screw it up, you fix it. In my family we yell, then