The In Death Collection Books 6-10 - J. D. Robb [463]
He was shown to the lower-level workshop, asked if he required anything, then left alone.
And alone, he grinned like a boy.
The shop was nearly as well-equipped and organized as his own back home. Here, though he had no intention of using them, were the additions of a computer and telelink system, a wall screen, VR unit and mood tube, and a droid assistant that was currently disengaged.
He ran his hands over the oak he knew would be a joy to work with, then took out his plans. They were on paper rather than disc. He preferred to create his drawings with a pencil as his father had, and his grandfather before him.
It was more personal, Zeke thought, more a part of himself. He spread the diagrams out neatly on the workbench, took his bottle of water from his sack, and sipped contemplatively while he visualized the project, stage by stage.
He offered the work up to the power that had given him the knowledge and skill to build, then took his first measurements.
When he heard Clarissa’s voice, his pencil faltered. The flush was already working up his neck as he turned. The fact that there was no one there only made the blush deepen. He’d been thinking too much about her, he told himself. And had no right to think about another man’s wife. No matter how lovely she was, no matter if something in her big, troubled eyes called to him.
Especially because of that.
Because he was flustered, it took him a moment to realize the murmur of sound he heard was coming through the old vents. They should be sealed, he mused. He would ask her if she wanted him to take care of that while he was here.
He couldn’t quite make out the words—not that he would have tried, he assured himself. Not that he would ever, ever, intrude on another’s privacy. But he recognized her tone—the smooth flow of it, and his blood moved a little faster.
He laughed at himself, went back to his measuring with the assurance that it was all right to admire a woman because of her beauty and gentle manner. When he heard a voice join hers, he nodded. Her husband. It was good to remember she had a husband.
And a lifestyle, he added, lifting a board with a casual strength his gangly body disguised. A lifestyle that was far removed from his own.
Even as he carried the board to the braces for his first cuts, he heard the tones change. Voices raised in anger now, loud and clear enough for him to catch a few words.
“Stupid bitch. Get the hell out of my way.”
“B. D., please. Just listen.”
“To what? More whining? You make me sick.”
“I only want to—”
There was a thump, a crash that made Zeke wince, and the sound of Clarissa’s voice, begging now: “Don’t, don’t, don’t.”
“Just remember, you pathetic cunt, who’s in charge.”
Another bullet of sound, a door slamming. Then a woman’s wild and miserable weeping.
He’d had no right, Zeke told himself, no right to listen to the intimacies of a marriage. No right to want to go upstairs and comfort her.
But, my God, how could anyone treat their life partner so callously, so cruelly? She should be cherished.
Despising himself for imagining doing just that, of going upstairs, gathering Clarissa against him, Zeke slipped on his ear protectors and gave her the privacy that was her right.
“I appreciate you changing your schedule and coming here.” Eve scooped her jacket off her ratty chair and tried not to obsess that her tiny, cluttered office was a far cry from the elegant Dr. Mira’s work space.
“I know you’re working against the clock on this one.” Mira glanced around. Odd, she thought, she’d never been in Eve’s office before. She doubted Eve realized just how completely the cramped little room suited her. No fuss, no frills, and very little comfort.
She took the chair Eve offered, crossed her smooth legs,