Page 8 of Fury In Death

“And the population of Free-Agers in New York spikes. I’m going home.”

“And after one quick stop to check that last box, so am I. See you tomorrow.”

They split off, Eve toward her car, Peabody walking to the subway.

A long day, she thought. But it might’ve been longer, as death usually meant murder in her line, then the hunt.

Since the Marriage Rules insisted, she texted Roarke when she got behind the wheel.

On my way now.

Should I get your case board ready?

Not this time. Accidental. Wouldn’t mind a glass of wine.

It’ll be here, and so will I.

He would, she thought as she waited for a break in traffic. That made her lucky. She had someone who loved her, who’d be there when she got home.

And who bought her obscenely expensive boots despite the fact she too often got blood on them.

And tonight, she thought as she finally zipped away from the curb, they’d have some wine, some dinner. Maybe take a walk out to the pond, maybe watch a vid, maybe have lots of sex.

Maybe all three.

As she stopped at a light, watched pedestrians stream like a storm-churned river over the intersection, her communicator signaled.

“Come on. Don’t do that. Shit. Dallas.”

Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, what is your status?

A little tired, she thought, a lot hungry.

“Closed unattended death, expect accidental ruling from ME. Leaving crime scene at 522 East Eighty-Second.”

See the officers at 330 West Seventy-Eight. Possible homicide.

“Acknowledged. I’m en route.”

She blew out a breath, streamed through the light. Said, “Crap,” before texting Roarke again.

Caught another. People just keep dying. It’s on my way home. I’ll let you know when I know.

Is Peabody with you?

Negative, already on her way to Central to write up the accidental. No point hauling her back.

Give me the address. I’ll be your Peabody.

She started to tell him not to bother, but stopped, admitted the futility. So she texted the address.

He had a good eye—a cop’s eye, though he didn’t like to hear it. But the fact he did, and could think like a cop—surely due to his criminal days—made him an asset.

She didn’t expect to hit another accidental, or a natural causes.

Traffic pulsed and sputtered as she drove across town, and the river of pedestrians didn’t abate. September teased at fall and still brought the balmy rather than the brisk.

People walked dogs, walked babies, hauled shopping bags, rolled suitcases, clipped toward restaurants, bars, shops still open.