"Robb, J D - In Death 10 - Loyalty in Death (1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robb J D)

Still, he wasn't a child who believed he could have whatever he needed.
It would be good for him to see her here, in her own home, with her husband. He
liked to think it was the circumstances of how they'd met, of where they'd met,
that had caused this infatuation. She'd been alone, so obviously lonely, and had
looked so delicate, so cool and golden in the deep desert heat.
It would be different here because she would be different here. And so would he.
He would do the job she had asked him to do and nothing more. He would spend
time with the sister he had missed so deeply it sometimes made his heart ache.
And he would see, at long last, the city and the work that had pulled her away
from her family.
The city, he could already admit, fascinated him.
As he toweled off, he tried to see through the tiny, steam-misted window. Even
that blurry, narrow view made his blood pump just a little faster.
There was so much of it, he thought now. Not the open vastness of desert and
mountain and field he'd grown used to since his family had relocated in Arizona
a few years before. But so much of everything rammed and jammed into one small
space.
There was so much he wanted to see. So much he wanted to do. As he hitched on a
fresh shirt and jeans, he began to speculate, to plot, and to plan. When he
stepped back out into the living area, he was eager to begin.
He saw his sister busily tidying and grinned. "You make me feel like company."
"Well..." She'd tucked away every murder and mayhem disc and file she could
find. It would have to do. She glanced over, blinked.
Wow, was all she could think. Why hadn't she noticed in her first rush of
delight in seeing him? Her baby brother had grown up. And he was a genuine eye
treat. "You look good -- sort of filled out and everything."
"It's just a clean shirt."
"Right. Do you want some juice, some tea?"
"Ah ... I really want to go out. I've got this whole guidebook thing. I studied
it on the way east. You know how many museums there are in Manhattan alone?"
"No, but I bet you do." Inside her regulation shoes, Peabody's toes curled and
flexed. Her feet, she decided, were about to get a workout. "Let me change, and
we'll check them out."
An hour later, she was almost tearfully grateful for the airsoles, for the thick
soft wool of her slacks, and the lining of her winter coat. It wasn't just
museums Zeke was after. It was everything.
He took videos with the palm unit he told her he'd splurged on for the trip. It
would have been ripped off a dozen times if she hadn't kept her eyes peeled for
street thieves. No matter how often she lectured him to watch himself, to
recognize the signs and the moves, he just smiled and nodded.
They rode to the top of the Empire State Building, stood in the freezing, bitter
wind until the tips of her ears went numb. And his pale gray eyes glowed with
the wonder of it. They toured the Met, gawked at the storefronts along Fifth,
stared up at the tourist blimps, bumped along the sky glides, and gnawed on
stale pretzels he'd insisted on buying from a glide-cart.
Only deep and abiding love could have convinced her to agree to skidding over
the ice rink at Rockefeller Center when her calf muscles were already weeping
from three hours of urban hiking.
But he made her remember what it was to be stunned by the city, to see all it
had to offer. She realized, watching him be awed, time after time, that she'd