Murder Under Cover

“God. She could’ve been killed,” I said. “The first strike was such a shock, and then she was hitting Robin in the head, punching her hard. There was blood.”

Derek shushed me, rocked me, whispered nonsensical endearments in my ear as if I were a child who needed consoling. And in that moment, that was exactly how I felt. Still shaken from the murder in Robin’s home, now I was worried about her safety. Derek walked me over to the small love seat under the window, sat down, and pulled me onto his lap. And held me.

I couldn’t remember any man ever holding me in his lap, not since I was five years old, and the man was my dad. It was a strange moment for me. Sweet, but strange.

When I was finally able to speak without whimpering, I said, “It took a while, but between us, we managed to kick her ass.”

Derek chuckled. “I always said you two were tough. Did the woman give you any idea why she came after Robin? Did she say anything?”

“Just what I told you earlier,” I said, and sighed. “She kept shouting at Robin in a foreign language. The only English she used was when she called her a ‘keeller,’ accused her of killing Alexei.”

“She had an accent, obviously,” Derek said.

“Yes. A thick one. Russian, Eastern European, something like that. It was classic Boris and Natasha.”

“Boris and Natasha?”

I blinked at him. “Come on. Rocky and Bullwinkle? That had to make it to England at some point.”

He frowned. “Rocky the flying squirrel and Bullwinkle the moose?”

I laughed softly. “Exactly. So there were these two silly spies, Boris and Natasha. Anyway, never mind. But Galina sounded like Natasha. Right out of a spy movie, like From Russia with Love. You know?”

“Ah, yes, of course.” He smiled. “Darling, can you remember any of the words or sounds she spoke in her language?”

At that moment I realized his mood had shifted subtly from consoling lover to interrogator. And I was okay with it. Interesting.

“Yes, she kept repeating this one phrase, and now I can’t get it out of my head. It went something like, ‘date-eh it-eh om you.’ I’m probably saying it wrong.”

“ ‘Date-eh it-eh om-you’?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“ ‘Give it to me.’ ”

I glanced around. “What?”

“That’s what she was saying. It’s Ukrainian. ‘Give it to me.’ ”

“ ‘Give it to me’?” I said, puzzled. “Give what to me? What does she want?”

“I have no idea.”

“Me neither.” I stretched my muscles, felt the ache in my back from grappling with Galina. “God, she was insane.”

“You’re in pain.”

“I’m in better shape than Robin.”

“Did you take something to help you sleep?”

“I took a Xanax a few hours ago, but that wore off. Just a few minutes ago I took some over-the-counter pain stuff. I didn’t want anything too strong.”

He frowned, kissed my cheek and my temple, then brushed his lips over mine. “I’ll make sure you sleep.”

“Will you?” I smiled.

“Yes.” He stood, lifting me as he rose, and carried me to the bed. It delighted me, flustered me. I buried my face in the smooth skin of his shoulder.

I’d never been much of a girlie girl, never gone in for sugary sweet bedroom accessories like my sisters had. There were no frills in here, no lace, no froufrou brass bed with ornate curlicues. Instead, my room was furnished in pale woods, crisp whites, a light green love seat with green and white pillows. The effect was cool, clean, appealing. To me, anyway. But now I felt outrageously feminine as I lay next to Derek on cool white sheets. He was so big, so masculine, so intense.

“You’ll sleep now,” he said.

“I’ll try.”

He shifted to hold me, fitting me against him, my back to his front, until we were aligned perfectly together.

“You’ll sleep,” he murmured in my ear, and I no longer doubted whether he was right.

But before I drifted off, I remembered something I’d forgotten to ask him. “Do you mind that Robin is staying here with us?”

“Of course not.” One of his hands rested on my stomach and the other smoothed a path down my side until it rested lightly on my hip. “I offered to move back to my hotel because I thought she might be more comfortable if I weren’t here.”

“No, it makes her feel safe to have you near.” I rested my hand over his. “I like your being here, too.”

“It’s settled then,” he said, his breath ruffling my hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Early the next morning, Robin emerged from her bedroom and walked slowly to the couch just as Derek was about to leave for a run around the neighborhood. I winced when I saw her face.

“I know I look like hell,” she muttered. “And oh, joy, I feel like it, too.” It took her a few seconds of careful maneuvering to sit comfortably on the couch.

“I think the swelling has gone down,” I said, studying her.

“Maybe a little. But my face still looks like a punching bag.”

“Let me see it.” Derek sat on the coffee table in front of Robin and gently touched her cheek and temple around her swollen eye. Yesterday, that whole area was dark pink, but today it was mottled black and blue and purple.

While Derek examined the bruising, I filled a small Ziploc bag with ice and wrapped it in a clean dish cloth.

“The swelling is better today,” he said. “And the blood has clotted where the capillaries broke, so it’s already healing quite well.”

“And yet it’s hideous,” Robin murmured, and took the ice bag from me. “Go ahead. You can say it out loud.”

“Never,” he said, smiling as he ran his knuckles along her undamaged jaw. “You’ve been heroic through it all. Yes, you’re a bit battle scarred now, but within a week you’ll be healed and back to your beautiful self.”

She shifted her gaze to me. “He’s good at this.”

I smiled and nodded, so grateful he was there. Nothing like a gorgeous man telling a woman she’s beautiful to make her feel better about life in general.

“I’ll be back with bagels and cream cheese in short order,” Derek promised before enveloping me in his arms and kissing me soundly.

Just for a second or two, I melted right into him. Then I walked with him down the hall to the front door and kissed him once more before sending him off on his run.

“You’re domesticating him,” Robin said when I returned to the living room.

“Domesticating?” I said, and laughed at the very idea. Derek was way too dangerous to ever be called domesticated. Shaking my head, I said, “Not likely. He still seems wild and untamed to me.”

“Don’t worry. He’s still got that ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe going for him, but he’s turned into a pussycat around you.”

Good to know, I thought, but said, “Don’t ever say that to him, I beg of you.”

“I won’t. But he’s still a pussycat.”

I smiled. “To be honest, ever since I first saw him, I’ve thought of him as a big jungle cat. A panther. Or a jaguar. Always on guard, always on the hunt.”

“Panther works for me. Very sexy.” She sighed and laid her head back against the cushion. “It’s just nice to see what a real man is like around the house.”

“Now, that I totally agree with. But just so you know, he’s not completely perfect-he sometimes forgets to take