When he pulled off her boots, she flipped around to her stomach. The cat made room; Roarke tucked a throw around her.
“You’re on duty,” he told the cat.
And he would engage the monitor to watch over her in case nightmares chased her while she slept.
In his office, he started on Aileen Carville’s financials first. After he initiated the search, he contacted his old friend Brian in Dublin.
“And how’s it all going then?”
“About how it was,” Roarke told him. “And you?”
“It’s Saturday night in the pub. We’ve Rory’s group doing aseisiún. Lots of tourists joining the locals for a pint. I’ll not complain.”
“And are you hearing anything that might be of interest to me and my cop?”
“Well now, there wasn’t a peep when last we spoke. Then the Yanks broke the story, and there’s plenty of talk. I’ll be using the snug for a moment or two, Mary darling. Take over for me.
“Speculative sort of talk,” Brian continued, as he went into the snug behind the bar and, closing the door, closed off the pub noise. “Plenty of interest in what might’ve been taken, and what’s left. I’ve a few names, potentials you could say, of who might try for such a job across the pond, as they’ve had previous success.”
“I wouldn’t mind having the names.”
“I’ll give you those, and add it’s the murder that throws them off. There’s one or two who might fit there as well, but again, speculative.”
“Understood, and appreciated, Brian.”
Roarke noted down the names, recognized most.
“Thanks for this. I won’t keep you away from the stick on a Saturdaynight. Why don’t you come for Thanksgiving? Come over with the family, stay a few days.”
“Well now, I wouldn’t mind that a bit. How’s our Lieutenant Darling?”
“Taking a bit of a nap at the moment. She wears herself out.”
“You give her a kiss for me when she wakes. If I hear more, I’ll pass it to you.” He laughed. “And here we are, street rats that were, helping out the coppers. What a world.”
“It’s all what we make it, Brian. I’ll be talking to you.”
He ended the call, glanced at the monitor.
She hadn’t moved a muscle, though the cat had draped himself over her ass as he tended to do when she slept face down.
Satisfied, he got a bottle of sparkling water from his office friggie. And settled into helping his cop.
Chapter Nine
She couldn’t have slept deeper if she’d been laid out in a drawer in the morgue. He gave her the hour, then stretched it another thirty minutes. When she began to stir, he set aside the work.
When he got to the bedroom, she sat up, tangled in the throw, one hand absently stroking the cat.
Her face looked warm from sleep, her eyes still heavy with it.
He went to the AutoChef for coffee.
As she had that morning, she took the mug in both hands.
“Twice in one day. Right? It’s still today? I feel like I slept a week.”
“It’s the very same day.”
