by J. D. Robb
“The prospect holds no appeal for me. One moment of your time, however, Lieutenant.” He simply stepped in front of her before she could head up the stairs.
“Life’s too short to spend a moment with you. Out of the way or I’ll take you out.”
She looked ill, he thought, and her threat lacked its usual bite. “The book you requested for Roarke has been located,” he said stiffly, but his eyes were narrowed as he studied her face.
“Oh.” She braced a hand on the newel post as she tried to get through the fog in her brain to think. “Fine. Good.”
“Shall I order it to be shipped?”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s the idea.”
“You’ll need to transfer the price, plus shipping, to the book searcher’s account. As the book searcher knows me, he’s agreed to send the item immediately and trust that you’ll transfer the appropriate funds within twenty-four hours. I noted the details on your E-mail.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll take care of it.” She had to swallow pride. “Thank you.” And she turned toward the stairs. Looked up. She thought it would be like climbing a mountain, but she couldn’t swallow another gulp of pride and take the elevator while he was watching.
“You’re quite welcome,” he murmured, then stepped away to the in-house screen while she moved up the steps. “Roarke, the lieutenant is home and on her way up.” He hesitated, then sighed. “She looks unwell.”
She was going to take a hot shower, fuel up, and get to work. Eve calculated she could at least run a probability scan on Rudy with the data she had. If it clicked, she might be able to pressure the PA into slapping a surveillance bracelet on him.
But when she stepped into the bedroom, Roarke was already waiting.
“You’re late.”
“I hit traffic,” she said as she unhooked her weapon harness.
“Strip.”
She knew she was punchy, but she was pretty sure this was a first. “Well, that’s real romantic, Roarke, but—”
“Strip,” he said again and picked up a robe. “Put this on. Trina’s set up for you in the pool house.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake.” She raked her hands through her hair. “Do I look in the mood for a goddamn beauty session?”
“No, you look like you’re in the mood for a goddamn hospital session.” Temper snapping, he tossed down the robe. “Take care of yourself here, or that’s where you’re going.”
Her eyes went dark and dangerous. “Don’t push me. You’re my spouse, not my keeper.”
“A fucking keeper’s just what you need.” He grabbed her arm and, because her reflexes were slow, shoved her into a chair. “Stay down,” he warned in a voice that sizzled with barely restrained fury. “Or I’ll tie you down.”
She gripped the arm of the chair, fingers digging in as he stalked across the room to the recessed AutoChef. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”
“You. Have you looked at yourself recently? You stand over bodies that have more color than you do right now. There are shadows under your eyes thick enough to hide in. And you’re hurting.” That was what snapped it for him. “Do you think I can’t see it?”
He came back with a tall glass filled with amber liquid. “Drink it.”
“You’re not tranqing me.”
“I can pour it down your throat. I’ve done it before.” He leaned over until their faces were close, and the bitter anger in his eyes made her want to shrink away. “I won’t let you make yourself sick. You’ll drink this, Eve, and you’ll do what I tell you, or I’ll make you. We both know you’re too damn tired to stop me.”
She snatched the glass, and though she thought there would be lovely satisfaction gained from heaving it across the room, she didn’t think she was up to dealing with the consequences. Her eyes burned into his over the rim as she gulped it down.
“There. Happy now?”
“You’ll have something solid later.” He bent down to tug off her boots.
“I can undress myself.”
“Shut up, Eve.”
For form’s sake, she tried to tug her foot free, but he simply held on and pried off her boot. “I want a shower and a meal, and I want you to leave me alone.”
He pulled off the other boot, then started on the buttons of her shirt.
“Did you hear me? I said leave me alone.” The fact that she could hear the petulance in her own voice only added depression to exhaustion.
“Not in this or any other lifetime.”
“I don’t like to be taken care of. It irritates me.”
“Then you’re going to be irritated for quite a while.”
“I’ve been irritated since I met you.” She closed her eyes on that, but thought she caught a flicker of a smile around his mouth.
He undressed her quickly, efficiently, then bundled her into the robe. The limpness of her muscles told him the painkiller he’d added to the nutri-drink he’d made her was already at work. The mild tranq he’d laced it with should have done no more than relax her, but in her current state he imagined it would knock her out very shortly.
All for the best.
Still she slapped at him as he lifted her. “Don’t carry me.”
“I hate to repeat myself, but shut up, Eve.” He walked to the elevator and stepped inside with her.
“I don’t wanna be babied.” Her head spun once, one long, lilting circle that forced her to let it drop on his shoulder. “What the hell was in that drink?”
“All manner of things. Just relax.”
“You know I hate tranqs.”
“I know.” He turned his head, brushed his lips over her hair. “You can give me grief about it tomorrow.”
“Will. I let you push me round, you’ll get used to it. I’m gonna lie down for a minute.”
“That’s right.” He felt her head loll back, and the arm around his neck slid off and dangled as he stepped out into the pool house.
Mavis raced out from under the fanning fronds of a palm. “Jesus, Roarke, is she hurt?”
“I tranqued her.” He moved through the lush flowering plants, skirted the side of the shimmering waters of the pool, and laid his wife on the long, padded table Trina had already set up.
“Man, she’ll be pissed royal when she comes out of it.”
“I imagine so.” Gently, he brushed the untidy hair back from Eve’s forehead. “Not so tough now, are you, Lieutenant?” He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Don’t worry about the styling, Trina. She needs relaxation therapy.”
“Can do.” Trina, decked out in a flesh-colored skinsuit with a shimmering purple duster, rubbed her hands together. “But since she’s out anyway, why don’t I give her the works? She’s always bitching about treatments. This way she’ll be nice and quiet.”
Roarke lifted a brow at the gleam in the woman’s eye, and laid a protective hand on Eve’s shoulder. “Keep it simple.” Then remembering who he was dealing with, he cleared his throat. He didn’t mind facing his wife’s wrath, but not over his passive agreement to having her hair dyed pink. “Why don’t I order us down some dinner? I’ll just stick around.”
• • •
She heard voices, laughter. All so distant and disconnected. In part of her mind Eve knew she was fogged out by the drug. Roarke would pay for that.
She wished he would hold her again, just hold her in that way that made everything inside her stretch and yearn.
Someone was rubbing her back, her shoulders. The moan of pleasure was trapped in her mind, but it was low and it was long.
She smelled him, just a whiff in passing of the scent that was Roarke.
Then there was water, warm, bubbling, swirling around her. She was floating in it, weightless, mindless as a fetus in the womb. She drifted there, endlessly, feeling nothing but peace.
A flash of heat on her shoulder. A shock. Someone was whimpering inside her head. Then cool, cool liquid over the heat, soothing as a kiss.
And under she went again, sliding down and down
until she rocked on the soft bottom and curled there, sleeping deep.
When she surfaced, it was dark. Disoriented, she lay very still, counting her own breaths. She was warm and naked, stretched flat on her stomach under the billowing cloud of the duvet.
Home in bed, she realized, as the last hours of her life slipped in and out of focus. Trying to bring it clear, she rolled over, and her legs tangled with Roarke’s.
“Awake?”
His voice sounded alert—a little skill of his that was a mild irritation to her. “What—”
“It’s nearly morning.”
She was indeed warm, and naked, her skin soft as dewed petals thanks to Trina, and she smelled like the cool juice of hothouse peaches.
“How do you feel?”
She wasn’t entirely sure. Everything in her was so loose and smooth. “I’m fine,” she said automatically.
“Good. Then you’re ready for the final phase of your relaxation program.”
His mouth took hers, whisper-soft, his tongue already sliding in to tangle. Her mind, which had just started to clear, clouded again. This time with pure and healthy lust.
“Hold on. I’m not—”
“Let me taste you.” His mouth skimmed down her throat to nibble and destroy. “Touch you.” His hand glided up to her hip, down, parted her legs. “Have you.”
When he slipped inside her, slowly, she was already hot and ready.
She couldn’t see. The predawn light was like ink. He was a shadow moving over her, a steady, glorious force moving inside her. She tripped over the first peak before she could find the rhythm.
With long, slow, torturous strokes he pleasured them both. Her breathing thickened to match his, her hips lifted and fell until their paces meshed. Now when their mouths met, they swallowed each other’s groans.
Warm, soft waves of sensation cradled her, then swept her up and over silky crests. When she felt his body tense, she enfolded him, wrapping herself around him, welcoming that final thrust that pinned them both to peak.
He buried his face in her hair and breathed her in.
“You are feeling better.” He murmured it, his breath tickling her skin and making her smile.
Then her mind cleared.
“Goddamn it.”
“Uh-oh.” Chuckling, he rolled, taking her with him until her body was sprawled over his.
“You think it’s funny.” She shoved up and away, blowing at her hair as she sat up. “You think it’s a joke? You push me around, bully me into taking some tranq.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to bully you into anything if you hadn’t been ready to drop.” He sat up as well. “Lights, ten percent.” At his order the room filled with a soft glow. “You look good,” he said after a moment’s study of her furious—and rested—face. “Despite her rather extreme personal taste, Trina knows what suits you.”
The way her mouth dropped open and her eyes bugged out had Roarke fighting back a roar of laughter. “You let her work on me while I was out? You sadistic, treacherous son of a bitch.” She might have taken a swing at him, but she was already leaping out of bed toward the mirror.
The relief that she looked normal, fairly much the way she looked every other morning wasn’t quite enough to cut through the temper. “I ought to throw you both in a cage for this.”
“Mavis was in on it, too,” he said cheerfully. She hadn’t moved that quickly or easily in several days, he noted. And her eyes were free of shadows. “Oh, and Summerset.”
Now she had no choice but to sit down. She staggered back to the bed and dropped down on the edge. “Summerset.” It was a horrified croak.
“He worked on your shoulder after I ran a quick diagnostic. The muscles had flamed up. Why the hell don’t you take normal steps to deal with discomfort?”
“Summerset” was all she could say.
“He’s had medical training, as you know. He simply treated your shoulder. How does it feel?”
Maybe it was pain free for the first time in days. Maybe her entire body felt gloriously energized and fresh. That didn’t make Roarke’s methods acceptable.
She pushed off the bed, snagged the robe that was draped over a chair, and shoved her arms into the sleeves. “I’m going to kick your ass.”
“All right.” He got up agreeably and found a robe for himself. “It’ll be a fairer match than it was last night. You want to go at me here, or down in the gym?”
Before the last word was out of his mouth, she sprang. She came in low. He had time to start a pivot, but not to complete it, and ended up sprawled on the bed, his wife on top of him, with her knee planted firmly, worrisomely, between his legs.
“Ah, I’d say you’re back, Lieutenant.”
“Damn right. I ought to knock your balls up to your ears, smart guy.”
“Well, at least we both got one last use of them first.” He grinned and risked serious damage. Then he reached up and feathered his fingers over her cheek. And distracted her just enough to allow him to counter the move. He flipped her over and pinned her down.
“Now, you listen.” The grin was gone. “Whatever it takes is what I’ll do. Whenever it’s needed is when I’ll do it. You don’t have to like it, but you’ll damn well live with it.”
He pushed off, shifting to the balls of his feet when he saw her eyes narrow with purpose. Then he let out a sigh and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Bloody hell. I love you.”
She’d been poised to spring. Those two sentences, said with equal parts frustration and weariness, arrowed straight to her heart. He stood there, his hair tousled from sleep and sex and struggle, his eyes deeply blue and filled with annoyance and love.
Everything inside her shifted, then settled into the pattern she supposed it was fated for. “I know. I’m sorry. You were right.” She tunneled her fingers through her hair, distracted enough not to see the flicker of surprise on his face. “I don’t like your methods, but you were right. I was pushing too hard before I was a hundred percent. You’ve been telling me to recharge for days, and I didn’t want to hear it.”
“Why?”
“I was scared.” It was hard to admit it, even to a man she knew she could tell every secret.
“Scared?” He crossed to her, sat down, and took her hand in his. “Of what?”
“That I wouldn’t be able to go back, not all the way back. That I wouldn’t be strong enough, or sharp enough to be back on the job. And if I couldn’t . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’ve got to be a cop. I have to do the job. If I can’t—I’ve lost myself.”
“You could have talked to me about this.”
“I wouldn’t even talk to myself about it.” She rubbed her fingers over her eyes, irritated that there were tears brewing behind them. “Since I went back, I’ve been mostly doing paperwork, court dates. This is my first homicide since I got off disability leave. If I can’t handle it . . .”
“You are handling it.”
“Whitney ordered me home last night—either that or he was taking me off the case. I get here and you threaten to pour drugs down my throat.”
“Well.” He gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze. “That was lousy timing. But I believe, in both cases, it was a matter of wanting you to rest, rather than a criticism of your abilities.”
He took her chin in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the center dent. “Eve, there are times when you are astonishingly unaware of self. You push yourself to the wall on every case. The only difference with this is that you were physically shaky to begin with. You’re the same cop you were when I met you last winter. And occasionally that’s a frightening thought.”
“Yeah, I’m counting on that.” She studied their joined hands. “But I’m not the same person I was last winter.” With her fingers linked with his, she lifted her head, looked into his eyes. “I don’t want to be. I like who I am now. Who we are now.”
“Good.” He leaned over to kiss her. “Because we’re stuck.”
She fisted a hand in hi
s hair to deepen the kiss. “It’s turned out to be a pretty good deal. But . . .” She nibbled lightly at his bottom lip then bit it sharply enough to make him yelp in surprise and pain. “If you ever again let Summerset put his hands on me when I’m out . . .” She rose, breathed deeply, and decided she felt incredible. “I’ll shave you bald in your sleep. I’m starving,” she said abruptly. “Want breakfast?”
He considered her for a moment, then ran a considering hand over his long black hair. He was, fortunately, a very light sleeper. “Yeah. I could eat.”
chapter fifteen
Armed with the results of the probability scan on Rudy, Eve paced Dr. Mira’s outer office. She needed the weight of Mira’s profile on him to yank him back into Interview and, hopefully, into a cell.
Time was passing. With or without the tag, she expected him to move on to number five that night.
“Does she know I’m out here?” Eve demanded of Mira’s assistant.
Well used to impatient cops, the woman didn’t bother to glance up from her own work. “She’s in a session. She’ll be with you as soon as possible.”
Pumped by refreshed energy, Eve paced to the far wall and eyed with suspicion a dreamy watercolor of some seacoast town. She paced back and scowled at the mini AutoChef. She knew it wouldn’t be stocked with coffee. Mira preferred her patients and associates to sip soothers or tea.
The minute Mira’s door opened, Eve whirled and pounced. “Dr. Mira—” She broke off when she spotted Nadine Furst.
The reporter flushed, then straightened her shoulders and met Eve’s annoyed glare dead on.
“If you start going around me to pump my profiler for data, you’re going to find yourself without a departmental source, and up on charges, pal.”
“I’m here on personal business,” Nadine said stiffly.
“Save the bullshit for your viewing audience.”
“I said I’m here on personal business.” Nadine held up a hand before Mira could interfere. “Dr. Mira counseled me after the . . . incident last spring. You kept me alive, Dallas, but she kept me sane. Now and again I need a little help, that’s all. Now if you’ll get the hell out of my way—”