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Immortal In Deathby J. D. Robb*** CHAPTER ONE ***Getting married was murder. Eve wasn't sure how it had happened in the firstplace. She was a cop, for God's sake. Throughout her ten years on the force,she'd firmly believed cops should stay single, unencumbered, and focused utterlyon the job. It was insane to believe one person could split time, energy, andemotion between law, with all its rights and wrongs, and family, with all itsdemands and personalities.Both careers -- and from what she'd observed, marriage was a job -- hadimpossible demands and hellish hours. It might have been 2058, an enlightenedtime of technological advancement, but marriage was still marriage. To Eve ittranslated to terror.Yet here she was on a fine day in high summer -- one of her rare and preciousdays off -- preparing to go shopping. She couldn't stop the shudder.Not just shopping, she reminded herself as her stomach clutched, shopping for awedding dress.Obviously she'd lost her mind.It was Roarke's doing, of course. He'd caught her at a weak moment. Both of thembleeding and bruised and lucky to be alive. When a man is clever enough andknows his quarry well enough to choose such a time and place to proposemarriage, well, a woman was a goner.At least a woman like Eve Dallas."You look like you're about to take on a gang of chemi-thugs bare-handed."Eve tugged on a shoe, flicked her gaze up and over. He was entirely tooattractive, she thought. Criminally so. The strong face, poet's mouth, killerblue eyes. The wizard's mane of thick black hair. If you managed to get past theface to the body, it was equally impressive. Then you added that faint wisp ofIreland in the voice, and, well, you had one hell of a package."What I'm about to take on is worse than any chemi-head." Hearing the whine inher own voice, Eve scowled. She never whined. But the truth was, she'd havepreferred fighting hand to hand with a souped-up addict than discussinghemlines.Hemlines, for sweet Christ's sake.She bit back an oath, watching him narrowly as he crossed the spacious bedroom.He had a way of making her feel foolish at odd times. Like now as he sat besideher on the high, wide bed they shared.He caught her chin in his hand. "I'm hopelessly in love with you."There he was. This man with the sinfully blue eyes, the strong, gorgeous,somehow Raphaelite looks of a doomed angel, loved her."Roarke." She struggled to hold back a sigh. She could and had faced an armedlaser in the hands of a mad mutant mercenary with less fear than she faced suchunswerving emotion. "I'm going through with it. I said I would."His brow quirked, dark and wry. He wondered how she remained so unaware of herown appeal as she sat there, fretting, her poorly cut fawn-colored hair standingup in tufts and spikes, aroused by her restless hands, thin lines of annoyanceand doubt running between her big, whiskey-colored eyes."Darling Eve." He kissed her, lightly, once on the frowning lips, then again inthe gentle dip in her chin. "I never doubted it." Though he had, constantly."I've several things I have to see to today. You were late last night. I neverhad a chance to ask if you had plans.""The stakeout on the Bines case went to after oh three hundred.""Did you get him?""Walked right into my arms -- blissed on dreamers and a marathon VR session."She smiled, but it was the hunter's smile, dark and feral. "Murdering littlebastard came along like my personal droid.""Well, then." He patted her shoulder before rising. He stepped down from theplatform into the dressing area where he pondered a selection of jackets. "Andtoday? Reports to file?""I'm off today.""Oh?" Distracted, he turned back, a gorgeous silk jacket in deep charcoal in hishand. "I can reschedule some of my afternoon, if you like."Which would be, Eve mused, a bit like a general rescheduling battles. InRoarke's world, business was a complicated and profitable war. "I'm alreadybooked." The scowl snuck back on her before she could stop it. "Shopping," shemuttered. "Wedding dress."Now he smiled, quickly, easily. From her, such plans were a declaration of love."No wonder you're so cranky. I told you I'd see to it.""I'll pick out my own wedding dress. And I'll buy it myself. I'm not marryingyou for your damn money."Smooth and elegant as the jacket he slipped on, he continued to smile. "Why areyou marrying me, Lieutenant?" Her scowl deepened, but he was, above all, apatient man. "Want a multiple choice?""Because you never take no for an answer." She stood, shoving her hands into thefront pockets of her jeans."You only get a half point for that. Try again.""Because I've lost my mind.""That won't win you the trip for two to Tropic World on Star 50."A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "Maybe I love you.""Maybe you do." Content with that, he crossed back to her and laid his hands onher strong shoulders. "How bad can it be? You can pop a few shopping programsinto the computer, look at dozens of suitable dresses, order in what appeals toyou.""That was my idea." She rolled her eyes. "Mavis ditched it.""Mavis." He paled a bit. "Eve, tell me you're not going shopping with Mavis."His reaction brightened her mood a little. "She has this friend. He's adesigner.""Dear Christ.""She says he's mag. Just needs a break to make a name for himself. He has alittle workshop in Soho.""Let's elope. Now. You look fine."Her grin flashed. "Scared?""Terrified.""Good. Now we're even." Delighted to be on level footing, she leaned in andkissed him. "Now you can worry about what I'll be wearing on the big day for thenext few weeks. Gotta go." She patted his cheek. "I'm meeting her in twentyminutes.""Eve." Roarke grabbed for her hand. "You wouldn't do something ridiculous?''She tugged her way free. "I'm getting married, aren't I? What could be moreridiculous?"-=O=-***-=O=-She hoped he stewed over it all day. The idea of marriage was daunting enough,but a wedding -- clothes, flowers, music, people. It was horrifying.She zipped downtown on Lex, braking hard and muttering curses at a sidewalkvendor who encroached on the lane with his smoking glide cart. The trafficviolation was bad enough, but the scent of overcooked soydogs hit her nervousstomach like lead.The Rapid cab behind her broke the intercity noise pollution code by blastinghis horn and shouting curses through his speaker. A group, obviously tourists,loaded down with palm cams, compumaps, and binoks gaped stupidly at the whizzingtraffic. Eve shook her head as a quick-fingered street thief elbowed throughthem.When they got back to their hotel, they were going to find themselves severalcredits poorer. If she'd had the time and a place to pull over, she might havegiven the thief a chase. But he was lost in the crowd and a block across town onhis air skates before she could blink.That was New York, she thought with a faint smile. Take it at your own risk.She loved the crowds, the noise, the constant frantic rush of it. You wererarely alone, but never intimate. That's why she'd come here so many years ago.No, she wasn't a social animal, but too much space and too much solitude madeher nervous.She'd come to New York to be a cop, because she believed in order, needed it tosurvive. Her miserable and abusive childhood with all its blank spaces and darkcorners couldn't be changed. But she had changed. She had taken control, hadmade herself into the person some anonymous social worker had named Eve Dallas.Now she was changing again. In a few weeks she wouldn't just be Eve Dallas,lieutenant, homicide. She'd be Roarke's wife. How she would manage to be bothwas more of a mystery to her than any case that had ever come across her desk.Neither of them knew what it was to be family, to have family, to make a family.They knew cruelty, abuse, abandonment. She wondered if that was why they hadcome together. They both understood what it was to have nothing, to be nothing,to know fear and hunger and despair -- and both had remade themselves.Was it just mutual need that attracted them? Need for sex, for love, and themelding of the two that she had never thought was possible before Roarke.A question for Dr. Mira, she mused, thinking of the police psychiatrist sheoften consulted.But for now, Eve determined that she wasn't going to think about the future orthe past. The moment was complicated enough.Three blocks from Greene Street, she seized her chance and squeezed into aparking space. After searching through her pockets, she found the credit tokensthe aging meter demanded in its moronic and static jumbled tones and plugged inenough for two hours.If it took any more than that, she'd be ready for a tranq room and a parkingcitation wouldn't bother her in the least.Taking a deep breath, she scanned the area. She wasn't called this far downtownoften. Murders happened everywhere, but Soho was an arty bastion for the youngand struggling who more often debated their disagreements over tiny glasses ofcheap wine or cups of cafe noir.Just now, Soho was full of summer. Flower vendors burst with roses, the classicreds and pinks vying with the hybrid stripes. Traffic droned and chugged on thestreet, rumbled overhead, puffed a bit on the rickety passovers. Pedestriansstuck mostly with the scenic sidewalks, though the people glides were busy. Theflowing robes currently hot from Europe were much in evidence, with artysandals, headdresses, and shiny ropes swinging from earlobes to shoulder blades.Oil, watercolor, and compu art... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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