Read Online Missing in Death by J. D. Robb - Free Book Online Page A

she sighed and leaned into him, he hit the release on her weapon harness.
    “Working,” she said against his mouth.
    “I certainly hope so.”
    She laughed when he tugged the harness off her shoulders. “No, I’ve got work.”
    “Searches will take a while.” He circled her, reaching out to press a control on his console. The bed slid out of the panel in the wall.
    “And you figure sex will cheer me up?”
    “I’m hoping it’s a side benefit to cheering me up.”
    He circled again, then launched them both toward the bed. She hit with a breathless thump, bounced and, what the hell, let herself be pinned under him.
    “Rough stuff.”
    He grinned. “If you like.”
    He yanked her shirt over her head, let it fly as he lowered his mouth, with a hint of teeth to her breast.
    She arched, urging him on. The violence here, so full of heat and hope, helped erase all those images of blood and loss. And helped her remember that no matter how they might differ on an issue, even an ideology, there was, always, love.
    And lust.
    She could take—a handful of that black silk hair, a ripple of muscle as she dragged at his shirt in turn. She could feel the pound of her heart and his as they rolled over the bed in a battle they would both win.
    He made her laugh, made her breath catch. He made her skin shimmer and her blood swim. And when she wrapped around him, found his mouth with hers again, she could taste the flood of love and lust and longing.
    So strong, so sweet. Her body moved under his, over his, agile and quick. The hum of the work that would draw them both back drowned under the thrum of his own pulse when his hands swept over her. Curve and angle, soft and firm. Wet and warm.
    She arched again, rising up where he drove her, to break, then to gather again. Open for more, for him.
    When he filled her, when they rose and fell, rose and fell, to break together, it gave her not only pleasure. It gave her peace.
    Curled against him, warm and naked and replete, it occurred to her Peabody had been right again. After-sex snuggles were very, very good.
    “You should sleep.” He spoke quietly, stroking her back. “It’s late, and there’s no urgency on this one.”
    “I don’t know. Isn’t there?” She thought how lovely it would be to just close her eyes, to drift away with the scent of him all over her. “Closing the case, maybe that’s not so urgent on a technical level. But if the killer did have this thing, this weapon, and still has it, ready to sell it to God knows, doesn’t that make finding him, stopping him, part of the job, too?”
    “Close the case, save the world?”
    She tipped up her head until their eyes met. “You said you had people trying to develop this thing. Why?”
    “Better you do it before the other one does. Self-preservation.”
    “I get that. It’s always going to be that way. Bad guy has a stick, you get a knife. He has a knife, you get a stunner. The ante keeps going up. It’s the way it is. So, there have to be rules and laws, and even when the line blurs, we have to be able to know who the good guys are. If I have the chance to find this guy, stop him before he sells this thing, maybe we hold all of it back for another day.”
    “The comp will signal when we have extrapolated data. Sleep awhile, then we’ll see about saving the world.”
    It sounded reasonable.
    The next thing she knew, the comp was beeping and she was springing up in bed—alone.
    “What? Morning?”
    “Nearly.” Roarke stood behind the command center, shirtless, his trousers riding low on his hips. “And your Owl’s come out.”
    “You found him—her?”
    “Him,” Roarke said as she leaped out of bed. He glanced over, smiled. “Come over here and I’ll show you.”
    “I bet.” She snatched at her shirt, her pants.
    “Killjoy. Well, at least get us both some coffee.”
    “Who is he?” she demanded as she dragged on her clothes.
    “That depends. He, like his victim, has gone by more than one