" He came back, sat on the ledge again, and handed her a glass. “You haven’t slept; you haven’t eaten.”

“It goes with the territory.” The wine tasted like liquid gold. “Nonetheless, you worry me, Lieutenant.”

“You worry too easily.”

“I love you.” It flustered her to hear him say it in that lovely voice that hinted of Irish mists, to know that somehow, incredibly, it was true. Since she had no answer to give him, she frowned into her wine. "

― J.D. Robb , Glory in Death (In Death, #2)