“Yes. This is my place, this is my work. I’m coming back.” He put a box on the table. “This was hers. I want you to have it.”
“Morris, I can’t—”
“It’s a small thing.” He opened the lid himself. Inside was a glass butterfly, jeweled wings lifted. “She told me it was the first thing she bought herself when she came here. That it always made her smile. It would mean a lot to me if you’d take it.”
She nodded, then laid a hand over his. “It wasn’t just the job this time.”
“I know. But then, for you, it never is.” He rose, crossed over. He took her face in his hands and kissed her softly on the mouth. “I’ll be back. I promise,” he said and left her with the jeweled butterfly.
She lost track of the time she sat there, waiting for herself to settle, to smooth out. Lost track of the time alone before Roarke came into the room.
Like Morris, he sat across from her. He studied her face in silence.
“I’m tired,” she told him.
“I know you are.”
“I want to feel good about this, but I can’t quite get there. It was good work, I know that. Everybody did good work. But I can’t feel good about it. I just feel tired.”
She took a breath. “I wanted her cut to pieces, and 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.
J. D. Robb, Promises in Death
(Series: In Death # 28)
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