J. Robb - Vengeance in Death

"Keep that thing away from me. Did I tell you to get me a communicator?"

"I'm doing my job, Lieutenant. If you'd just cooperate – "

"Cooperate hell. Cooperate with you guys and I'll end up drooling and strapped to a gurney."

"You need to go to a hospital or health center. You have a concussion, second-degree burns, contusions, lacerations. You're shocky."

Eve reached up and grabbed him by the band collar of his uniform coat. "One of us is going to be shocky, ace, if you don't get me a goddamn communicator."

"Well, Lieutenant, I see you're in your usual form."

She looked over, up, and, seeing Roarke, wiped the back of her hand over her bruised and sooty face. "Hi. I was just trying to get this jerk to find me a communicator so I could call you. Let you know I'd be late for dinner."

"I figured that out for myself when we heard your explosion." He crouched down until they were eye to eye. There was a nasty scrape on her forehead, still seeping blood. Her jacket was gone, and the shirt she wore was ripped and singed. Blood stained the sleeve of her left arm from a six-inch gash. Her slacks were literally tatters.

"Darling," he said mildly, "you're not looking your best."

"If this guy would just patch me up enough so I could – hey, hey, hey!" She jerked, slapped out, but wasn't quick enough to prevent the pressure syringe from shooting into her arm. "What was that? What'd you give me?"

"Just a pain blocker. This is going to hurt some."

"Ah shit, that's going to make me goofy. You know that stuff makes me goofy," she said, appealing to Roarke. "I hate when that happens."

"I rather enjoy it myself." He tipped her chin up as the MT went to work on her arm. "How many devoted husbands do you see?"

"Just you. I don't have a concussion."

"Yes, she does," the MT said cheerfully. "This gash is plenty dirty – got lots of street grit in it – but we'll clean her right up and close it."

"Make it snappy then." She was starting to shiver – part cold, part shock – but didn't notice. "I've got to follow this up with the fire team and the explosive unit. And where the hell's Peabody, because I… shit, shit, shit, it's happening. My tongue's getting thick." Her head lolled, and she shook it back into place. She felt a snort of laughter building and fought to suppress it. "Why don't they just give you a couple shots of Kentucky bourbon?''

"It isn't cost-effective. And you don't like bourbon." Roarke sat on the running board beside her, took her free hand to examine the scrapes and burns himself.

"Yeah well, I don't like this either. Chemicals make you all otherwise." She stared dully as the medic guided a suturing wand over her ripped flesh, neatly mending it. "Don't you take me to the hospital. I'll be really pissed."

He didn't see her beloved leather jacket anywhere and made a mental note to replace it. For now he stripped his own off and tucked it over her shoulders. "Darling, in about ninety seconds you're not going to know what I do with you, or where I take you."

Her body began a lovely slow float to nowhere. "I will when I come out of it. Why, there she is. Hey, Peabody. And McNab, too. Don't they make a cute couple?"

"Adorable. Put your head back, Eve, and let the nice MT bandage it for you."

"Okay, sure. Hiya, Peabody, you and McNab out on the town?"

"He drugged her," Roarke explained. "Tranqs always do this to her."

"How bad are you hurt?'' White-faced and shaken, Peabody knelt down. "Dallas, how bad?"

"Oh." She gestured widely, and managed to slap the long-suffering MT. "Bumps and stuff. Boy, did I fly. Let me tell you, the up part can be pretty cool, but those landings suck space waste. Wham!" To demonstrate she attempted to slam her fist on her knee, missed and caught the medic in the crotch. "Oops, sorry," she said when he folded. "Hey, Peabody, how's my vehicle?"

"It's a dead loss."

"Damn. Well, good night." She wrapped her arms around Roarke, nestled into him, and sighed.

The MT sucked his breath back then got shakily to his feet. "That's the best I can do for her here. She's all yours."

"Indeed she is. Come on, darling, let's go."

"Did you save me some pizza? I don't want you carrying me, okay? It's embarrassing. I can walk fine."

"Of course you can," he assured her and hefted her into his arms.

"See, told you." Her head dropped on his shoulder like lead. "Mmm. You smell good." She sniffed at his throat like a puppy. "Isn't he pretty?" she said to no one in particular. "He's all mine, too. All mine. Are we going home?"

"Mmm-hmm." There was no need to mention the detour he intended to take to the nearest hospital.

"I need Peabody to stay for… I need her to stay for something. Yeah, for follow-up, get those bomb guys to spill it, Peabody."

"Don't worry about it, Dallas. We'll have a full report for you in the morning."

"Tonight. 'S only the shank of the evening."

"Tomorrow," Roarke murmured, shifting his gaze from Peabody to McNab. "I want to know everything there is to know."

"You'll have it," McNab promised. He waited until Roarke carried Eve through the crowd, then turned to study the car. "If she'd been inside when it went up…"

"She wasn't," Peabody snapped. "Let's get to work."

Eve woke to silence. She had a vague recollection of being poked and prodded, and of swearing at someone – at several someones – during a physical examination. So her waking thought was panic, laced with fury.

No way were they keeping her in the damn hospital another five minutes.

She shot up in bed, and her head did one long, giddy reel. But it was relief that settled over her when she realized she was in her own bed.

"Going somewhere?" Roarke rose from the sitting area where he'd been keeping one eye on the scrolling stock reports on the monitor and one eye on his sleeping wife.

She didn't lay back. That was a matter of pride. "Maybe. You took me to the hospital."

"It's a little tradition of mine. Whenever my wife's been in an explosion, I like to make a quick trip to the hospital." He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes keen on her face, and held up three fingers. "How many do you see?"

She remembered more now – being awakened half a dozen times through the night and seeing his face looming over her while he asked that same question. "How many times are you going to ask me that?"

"It's become a habit now. It'll take me a while to break it. How many?"

"Thirty-six." She smiled thinly when he simply continued to stare. "Okay, three. Now get your fingers out of my face. I'm still mad at you."

"Now I'm devastated." When she started to shift he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Stay."

"What do I look like, a cocker spaniel?"

"Actually, there's a resemblance around the eyes." He kept his hand firmly in place. "Eve, you're staying in bed through the morning."

"I am not – "

"Think of it this way. I can make you." He reached out, caught her chin in his hand. "Then you'd be humiliated. You really hate that. Think how much easier it would be on your pride and ego if you decided to stay in bed a couple more hours."

They were fairly well matched physically, and Eve figured they were about even in takedowns. But there was a look in his eyes that warned he'd make good on his threat. And she wasn't feeling quite her best.

"Maybe I wouldn't mind staying in bed a couple hours, if I had some coffee."

The hand on her shoulder slid up to her cheek. "Maybe I'll get you some." He leaned forward to kiss her lightly, then found himself holding her tight against him, burying his face in her hair, rocking as every thought and fear he'd held back during the night flooded free. "Oh God."

The emotions that poured out of him in those two words swamped her. "I'm all right. Don't worry. I'm all right."