by J. D. Robb
“No. No soothers. No tranqs.”
“It’s for the nausea. Here now.” He brushed her damp hair back and hoped he wouldn’t be forced to pour it down her throat. “That’s all. I promise.”
She drank because her stomach was quivering again, and her throat felt as if it had been raked by claws. “I didn’t know you were here.” She opened her eyes again, and the tears that burned in her chest flooded into her eyes. “Roarke. Oh God.”
She pressed herself against him. Burrowed. As her body shook, he tightened his arms around her. “Get rid of it,” he murmured. “Whatever it is, let it go.”
“I hate what I did. I hate myself for doing it.”
“Ssh. Whatever it was, you wouldn’t have had a choice.”
“I should have found one.” She turned her head so that her cheek rested against his shoulder, and with her eyes closed, she told him everything.
“I know what went through her.” She was better now, the worst of the sickness eased. “I know what she felt. And I saw myself in her when she looked at me.”
“Eve. No one knows better than you, or I, what vileness there is in the world. You did what you had to do.”
“I could’ve—”
“No.” He leaned back, cupped her face so that their eyes met. There wasn’t pity in his, which she would have hated. There wasn’t sympathy, which would have scraped her raw.
There was simply understanding.
“You couldn’t have. Not you. You had to know, didn’t you? You had to be sure if she’d known who he was to her. Now you do.”
“Yeah, now I do. No one’s that good an actress. She’ll see herself, again and again, together with him. Over and over.”
“Stop. You couldn’t have changed that, no matter how she found out.”
“Maybe not.” She closed her eyes again, sighed. “I swiped at Peabody.”
“She’ll get over it.”
“I came close to losing it, right out on the street. I nearly—”
“But you didn’t.” He gave her a little shake before she could speak again. “You irritate me, Eve. Why must you beat yourself up like this? You haven’t slept in over thirty hours. You’ve entered into a phase of this investigation that hits so close to a personal horror most people would run away or shatter. You’ve done neither.”
“I broke.”
“No, Eve. You chipped.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Then you came home. Lie down for a bit. Close your eyes. Turn it off.”
“I shouldn’t have told you to leave me alone. I didn’t mean it.”
“It hardly matters.” The innate arrogance in his voice nearly made her smile. “I wouldn’t have. I won’t.”
“I know. I wanted you to be here.” She slid into him before he could nudge her back. “I needed you to be. And you were.” Her mouth turned to his. Seeking. “Roarke.”
“You need to sleep.”
“I’m empty, and it hurts.” Her hands roamed up his back, kneading. “Fill me with something. Please.”
Love filled the voids and hollows, no matter how deep, no matter how wide. He would give it to her, take it for himself. With patience, with tenderness.
His lips brushed hers, settled, sank, until he felt hers warm and yield. Gathering her, he trailed kisses over her face, her hair, her throat. First to comfort.
She turned into him, offering more. But his hands were light as wings, floating over her, slipping under her shirt to her flesh with long, slow strokes. Then to soothe.
And when she sighed, when her body melted back against the pillows, he undressed her. His lips followed the trace of his fingers, gently stirring pulses. Now to arouse.
She opened for him, as she never had for anyone else. For him, she could lay herself bare. Body, heart, and mind. And know, and trust, he would do the same.
Without heat or demands or urgency, he nudged her up, let her linger on the crest, slide over, until her system glowed with the pleasure of belonging.
Her heart swelled, matched its beat to his, and her arms wrapped around him like ribbons to draw him close.
“I love you.” He watched her face as he slipped inside her. “Completely. Endlessly.”
Her breath caught, sighed out again. She closed her eyes to hold on to the beauty of the moment. And let him bring her home.
• • •
She held him close, needing for just a bit longer to have his body pressed so intimately to hers. “Thanks.”
“I hate to state the obvious, but it was my pleasure. Better now?”
“A lot. Roarke—no, just stay like this a minute.” She kept her face turned into his shoulder. “When we’re together like this, it’s not like it’s ever been with anyone else. It’s like there never was anyone else.”
“For me either.”
She laughed, relieved that she could. “You’ve had a lot more anyones.”
“Who’s counting?” He shifted, rolling over so that she ranged over him. The fragility was gone, he noted. There was the smooth and agile flow to her movements that characterized her.
Her cheeks were no longer pale, but her eyes were heavy, bruised, exhausted. It made him regret not pouring a tranq into her after all.
“Cut it out.” She scooped her hair back and nearly managed a scowl.
“Cut what out?”
“Thinking about fussing over me. You don’t have to take care of me.” She didn’t need the amused glint in his eyes to tell her how ridiculous that sounded under the circumstances. “All the time,” she amended.
“Let’s take a nap.”
“I can’t. I don’t imagine you can, either. I’ve already messed up your day. You were probably buying a solar system or something.”
“Only a small, largely uninhabited planet. It’s not going anywhere. I can use a break, and you need to sleep.”
“Yeah, I do, but I can’t.”
“Eve—”
“Look, I’ll catch some downtime soon. You’re one to talk. You haven’t had much more than me lately.”
“Our engines don’t run at the same speed.”
That stopped her from her slide off the bed. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Just that.”
She frowned, considered. “It sounds like something that ought to piss me off. But I can’t figure out exactly why. When I do, I might have to pop you one.”
“I’ll look forward to it. If you won’t sleep, eat. You need something in your stomach. And what are you grinning at?”
“You. You’re such a wife,” she said as she headed toward the shower.
He sat for a minute, stunned. “Now I’m pissed off.”
“See, now you know how it feels. Well, order me something to eat,” she called out. “Water on, one hundred and two degrees.”
“Bite me,” he muttered and ordered her some soup with a high-protein additive.
• • •
She ate every drop, as much to please him as to kill the hunger. Her mind clear again, she dressed, strapped on her weapon. “I have to go by the hospital, see what I can get out of Stiles.”
“Why? You’ve already figured it out.” When she just stared at him, he shrugged. “I know you, Lieutenant. You let it churn around while you were eating, settle into place. Now you’re revving up to finish it.”
“I haven’t filled all the gaps yet. I want to cover a few more bases, and I need to run something by Whitney. It sort of involves you.”
“And what might that be?”
She shook her head. “If he doesn’t clear it, it won’t matter. I’ll be able to reach you, right? If I need to talk to you before I get back.”
“I’ll be available. I thought I’d bake some cookies.”
The dry tone had her snorting as she picked up her jacket. “You do that, honey.” She turned to kiss him, then yelped when he twisted her earlobe. “Hey!”
“Don’t work too hard, darling.”
“Man.” Pouting, she rubbed her ear as she walked to the doo
r. “If I did that every time you used the W word, you wouldn’t have any ears left.”
She stopped at the door, looked back. “But you’re beautiful when you’re angry,” she said, and fled.
• • •
Peabody stood outside the hospital’s main doors, shoulders hunched against the brisk wind, nose red from it.
“Why the hell didn’t you wait inside?” Eve demanded. “It’s freezing out here.”
“I wanted to catch you before you went in. Can we take a minute?”
Eve studied Peabody’s set and serious face. Personal business, she decided, not official. Well, she deserved it. “All right. Let’s walk, keep the blood moving.” She headed away from the ramps and glides, as sirens announced another unlucky resident of New York was about to enjoy the building’s facilities.
“About before,” Peabody began.
“Look, I was out of line, and you were the closest target. I’m sorry about it.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I figured it out. Took me a while,” she added. “What you did, telling her cold like that was because you had to see how she’d react. If she knew Draco was her father, well, it bumped up her motive. Either way, if she knew it before they…you know, or if she knew it after they got going, it went to her frame of mind.”
Eve watched a medi-van whip past. “She didn’t know.”
“I don’t think so either. If you’d eased her into it, it would’ve given her time to think, to figure out how best to react, what to say. I should’ve known that right off instead of working around to it an hour later.”
“I could have clued you in before we got there.” With a shake of her head, she turned around, started back. “I hadn’t settled myself into it yet.”
“It was a hard thing to do. I don’t think I’d’ve had the guts for it.”
“It has nothing to do with guts.”
“Yeah, it does.” Peabody stopped, waited for Eve to turn to face her. “If you didn’t have feelings, it wouldn’t have been hard. But you do. Guts can be the same thing as mean without compassion. It was hard, but you did it anyway. A better cop would have realized that quicker.”
“I didn’t give you much of a chance since I was busy jumping down your throat. You worked it out, came around to it on your own. I must be doing something right with you. So, are we square now?”
“Yeah, all four corners.”
“Good, let’s get inside. I’m freezing my ass off.”
*** CHAPTER TWENTY ***
They went by to see Trueheart first. At Peabody’s insistence, they stopped off in the shopping mall for a get-well gift.
“It’ll take five minutes.”
“We’ve chipped in on the flowers already.” The forest of goods, the wide and winding trails that led to them, and the chirpy voices announcing the sales and specials caused Eve’s already abused stomach to execute a slow, anxious roll.
She’d rather have gone hand-to-hand with a three-hundred-pound violent tendency than be swallowed up in a consumer sea.
“That’s from everyone,” Peabody explained patiently. “This’ll be from us.”
Despite herself, Eve stopped at a display of dull green surgical scrubs brightly emblazoned with the hospital’s logo. For ten bucks extra, you could have one splattered with what appeared to be arterial blood.
“It’s a sick world. Just sick.”
“We’re not going for the souvenirs.” Though she thought the oversized anal probes were kind of a hoot. “When a guy’s in the hospital, he wants toys.”
“When a guy gets a splinter in his toe, he wants toys,” Eve complained but followed Peabody into a game shop and resigned herself to having her senses battered by the beeps, crashes, roars, and blasts.
Here, according to the flashing signs, you could choose from over ten thousand selections for your entertainment, leisure, or educational desires. From sports to quantum physics programs and everything in between, you had only to key in the topic of your interest and the animated map, or one of the fully trained and friendly game partners, would direct you to the correct area.
The store menu pumped out screaming yellow light. Eve felt her eyes cross.
The clear tubes of the sample booths were all loaded with people trying out demos. Others trolled the store proper, their faces bright with avarice or blank from sensory overload.
“Don’t these people have jobs?” Eve wondered.
“We hit lunch hour.”
“Well, lucky us.”
Peabody made a beeline for the combat section. “Hand-to-hand,” she decided. “It’ll make him feel in control. Wow, look! It’s the new Super Street Fighter. It’s supposed to be majorly mag.” She flipped the anti-theft box over, winced a little at the price, then noted the manufacturer.
“Roarke Industries. We oughta get a discount or something. Oh well, it’s not so bad when you split it.” She headed toward the auto-express checkout, glanced back at Eve. “I guess Roarke’s got a whole factory full of these, huh?”
“Probably.” Eve pulled out her credit card, swiped it through the scanner, pressed her thumb to the identi-plate.
Thank you for your purchase, Eve Dallas. One moment, please, while your credit is verified.
“I’ll give you my half on payday, okay?”
“Yeah, whatever. Why do these things take so long?”
Thank you for waiting, Eve Dallas. The cost of your selection, Super Street Fighter, PPC version, comes to one hundred and sixteen dollars and fifty-eight cents, including all applicable taxes. Due to Authorization One, your account will not be debited for this selection. Please enjoy your day.
“What the hell are you talking about? What’s Authorization One?”
Authorization One, Roarke Industries. This level entitles you to select any items under this manufacturer’s brand at no cost.
“Wow. We can clean house.” Peabody turned her dazzled eyes to the shelves crammed with delights. “Can I get one of these?”
“Shut up, Peabody. Look, I’m paying for this,” she told the machine. “So just bypass Authorization One and debit my account.”
Unable to comply. Would you care to make another selection?
“Damn it.” She shoved the game at Peabody. “He’s not getting away with this.”
Peabody had the wit to run the box through security release, then jogged to catch up with Eve. “Listen, since we’re here anyway, couldn’t I just have one—”
“No.”
“But—”
“No.” Eve gave the glide one quick, bad-tempered kick, then got on to ride to medical level.
“Most women would be happy if their husbands gave them blank shopping credit.”
“I’m not most women.”
Peabody rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me.”
Peabody might have sulked over the loss of her own imaginary game collection, but Trueheart’s pleasure in the gift outweighed greed.
“This is great. It just came out.”
He turned the box over in his good hand. His other arm was cased in a plasti-cast to knit the bone that had snapped in his fall.
There was a collar of the same material around his neck, an IV drip in his wrist, and a brutal bruise that crept over his shoulder and showed purple and black against the sagging neck of his hospital shift. His left leg was slightly elevated, and Eve remembered how his blood had pumped out of the gash there and onto her hands.
Machines hummed around him.
All Eve could think was if she were in his place, she wouldn’t be so damn cheerful.
She left the small talk and conversation to Peabody. She never knew what to say to hospital patients.
“I don’t remember much after I took the hit.” He shifted his eyes to Eve. “Commander Whitney said we got him.”
“Yeah.” This, at least, was her element. “You got him. He’s down on the next patient level. We’ll be questioning him after we leave here. You did the job, Trueheart. He might have gotten by us if you ha
dn’t reacted fast and taken him down.”
“The commander said you put me up for a commendation.”
“Like I said, you did the job.”
“I didn’t do much.” He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. “I would have taken him down clean if that trigger-happy asshole transit jerk hadn’t blasted off.”
“That’s the spirit. The trigger-happy asshole and his moronic superior are going to get kicked around plenty.”
“Wouldn’t have happened if they’d listened to you. You had it under control.”
“If I’d had it under control, you wouldn’t be here. You took a mean hit and a bad fall. If you’re feeling shaky over it, you should see the department counselor.”
“I’m feeling okay about it. I want to get back in uniform, back on the job. I was hoping, when you close the case, you’d let me know the details.”
“Sure.”
“Ah, Lieutenant, I know you’ve got to get going, but I just wanted to say…I know you saw my mother the other night.”
“Yeah, we ran into each other. She’s a nice woman.”
“Isn’t she great?” His face lit up. “She’s the best. My old man ditched us when I was a kid, so we’ve always, you know, taken care of each other. Anyway, she told me how you hung around, waited until I was out of surgery and all.”
“You went down under my watch.” Your blood was on my hands, she thought.
“Well, it meant a lot to her that you were here. I just wanted to tell you that. So thanks.”
“Just stay out of laser streams,” she advised.
• • •
Down on the next level, Kenneth Stiles stirred in his bed, glanced toward the nurse who checked his monitors. “I want to confess.”
She turned to him, smile bright and professional. “So, you’re awake, Mr. Stiles. You should take some nutrition now.”
He’d been awake for a considerable amount of time. And thinking. “I want to confess,” he repeated.
She walked to the side of the bed to pat his hand. “Do you want a priest?”
“No.” He turned his hand over, gripped hers with a strength she wasn’t expecting. “Dallas. Lieutenant Dallas. Tell her I confess.”
“You don’t want to get overexcited.”
“Find Lieutenant Dallas, and tell her.”