Reunion in Death

  She cursed him first, then followed the light. "Now let me up."

  "I let you up, you're going to fall down again. You've got a concussion, a jammed shoulder, bruised ribs, gashed hip, assorted contusions and lacerations in addition to a face that looks like you rammed it into the back end of a maxibus. We're transporting you to the hospital."

  "No, you're not."

  Peabody glanced up, let out a relieved breath. "I wouldn't bet on that," she commented and shifted aside as Roarke knelt down.

  "What is this?" Annoyance made way for panic. "Peabody, you are cooked."

  "Quiet," Roarke ordered with such casual confidence both MTs goggled at him as if he were a god. "How bad is she?" he demanded.

  The run-through of injuries was a great deal more coherent and professional, ending with the recommendation that the victim be transported to the nearest hospital for treatment and evaluation.

  "I'm not going."

  "You are." He feathered his fingers over her battered face, and a sick anger settled in his gut. "She needs something for the pain."

  "Roarke—"

  "Do you think I can't see it?" he snapped out, then drew himself back and shifted tactics. "Be a brave little soldier, darling, and let the nice MTs do what they must. If you're very good, I'll buy you some ice cream."

  "I'll kick your ass for this."

  "I look forward to you being able to try."

  She struggled, catching the glint of a pressure syringe. "I don't want that shit. It makes me stupid. I took a spill, that's all. Where's that kid? I'm going to stomp all over his little freckled nose."

  Roarke leaned over until his face filled her vision. "You let a kid take you down?" He saw immediately that the question, the amused tone of it had done the job. She stopped struggling to glare at him.

  "Listen, ace—damn it, damn it!" She bucked once when she felt the faint nip of the syringe.

  "Relax and enjoy it," he suggested. He felt the tension spill out of the hand he held. "That's the way."

  "Think you're so smart." Body and mind began to float. "But you're more pretty. So pretty. Give me a kiss. Love that mouth. Like to bite it."

  He kissed her limp hand instead. "She won't give you any more trouble."

  "Bet I flew ten feet. Whee." She rolled her head to the side as she was lifted onto a gurney. "Hey, Peabody! Outta uniform. You got no shoes."

  "Ditched them on the run. You're going to be okay, Dallas."

  "Fucking-A. But I'm not going to any lame hospital. No, sir. Going home now. Where's Roarke? We're going home now, okay?"

  "Eventually."

  "That's right," she said, decisively, then slid under before they'd loaded her into the ambulance.

  * * *

  "She's going to be really mad when she comes out of it," Peabody said as she paced the ER waiting room.

  "Oh yes." Roarke tapped his fingers against the side of the coffee cup. He'd yet to drink. "You did exactly right, Peabody, by calling the MTs, and me."

  "Maybe you wouldn't mind mentioning that when she's lunging for my throat later. I don't know how she got up to pursue in the first place. That guy, he was big as a gorilla, and he flattened her. Probably jammed her shoulder when she rammed it into his groin. There I am, fumbling for my off-duty in this stupid little purse, and she's already taken him down and cuffed him. I should've been faster."

  "I'd say you were quick enough. How are the feet?"

  She curled up her toes. She had stripped off her ruined hose in the ladies' room. "Nothing a soak and a rub won't fix. Too bad about the shoes though. They were new and totally mag. Even without them I couldn't keep up with Dallas. She's like lightning."

  "Long legs," he replied and thought of the blood he'd seen staining her trousers as she'd lain on the sidewalk.

  "Yeah, she'd've apprehended if it hadn't been for the kid with the airboard. You can't beat her. She's—" She broke off, jittery when the ER doctor swung out.

  "You're the husband?" the doctor asked with a nod to Roarke.

  "Yes. How is she?"

  "Spitting mad—I think she has some very ominous plans for you. And if you happen to be Peabody, you're in on them."

  "She's okay." Peabody let out a gush of air. "That's great."

  "She took a hard blow to the head. She's concussed, but that appears to be the worst of it. We've treated her shoulder, but she should refrain from lifting with it or any other strenuous activities for a couple of days, minimum. Her hip's going to give her some trouble, as are the ribs. But minimal blockers should relieve the discomfort there. We've patched up the cuts, cold-packed the bruises, the worst of which are facial. I'd like to keep her overnight for observation. In fact, I'd like to keep her for forty-eight hours."

  "I can surmise her opinion of that idea."

  "Mmm. A head injury of this nature is nothing to be trifled with. Her other injuries are serious enough to warrant an overnight. She needs to be observed and monitored."

  "And will be, but at home. She's phobic about hospitals. I can assure you she'll recover more quickly, and easier on all concerned, at home. I've a doctor I can call on to make sure of it. Louise Dimatto."

  "The Angel of Canal Street." The doctor nodded. "I'll sign her out, but I'm going to give you very specific instructions for her observation and care, and I'd like a followup from Dr. Dimatto."

  "Agreed, and thank you."

  "Treatment Room Three," she added as she walked away.

  When he walked back a few minutes later, Eve was trying and failing to pull her boots on. "When I get these on, I'm using them to kick your balls into your throat."

  "Darling, this isn't the time to think about sex." He walked to the examination table, lifted her chin with a fingertip. Her right cheek was a nightmare of bruising in colors already going sickly. Her right eye was swollen to a reddened, puffy slit. Her mouth was raw.

  "Lieutenant." He touched his lips to her forehead. "You've been well and truly bashed."

  "You let them give me drugs."

  "I did."

  "And haul me in here."

  "Guilty." His fingers slipped around to the back of her head, gently measured the lump. "Your head may be hard, but even it has its limits. And let's just say I lost mine when I saw you lying there, bruised and bleeding."

  "Peabody's going to fry for tagging you over this."

  "She is not." On that single statement his voice went firm with command. "She's been out there pacing her poor, sore feet off worrying over you. So you'll go easy on her."

  "You telling me my job now?"

  "No, just your heart. She thinks if she'd been faster, you might not be here."

  "That's bullshit. I had the lead, but she stayed in pursuit, even in those idiot shoes."

  "Exactly so. You wouldn't happen to know what size she wears, would you?"

  "Huh?"

  "Never mind, I'll take care of it. Ready to go home?"

  She slid off the table, but didn't object to having his hand support her. "Where's my ice cream?"

  "You didn't behave, so there'll be no treat for you."

  "That's just mean."

  * * *

  She was furious when she learned he'd called Louise in, but when she weighed that against the possibility of Roarke enlisting Summerset as a field MT, it was easier to swallow.

  Especially when Louise walked into the bedroom carrying an enormous bowl of double chocolate chunk ice cream.

  "Give me that."

  "You get it after I get your word you won't give me any trouble during the examination."

  "I've already had an examination."

  Saying nothing, Louise scooped up a spoonful and slipped it between her own lips.

  "Okay, okay. Jeez. Hand over the ice cream, and nobody gets hurt."

  Louise passed Eve the bowl, then sat on the side of the bed, propped her medical bag in her lap. She pursed her lips as she studied Eve's face. "Ouch," she said.

  "That your medical opinion, Doc?"

  "It
's a start. From the look of it, I'd say you're lucky he didn't shatter your cheekbone."

  "I just knew this was my lucky day. It's not so bad now," she added over a mouthful of chocolate. "Those cold packs sting like a bitch, but they work. Roarke's being pissy about this, and he's got me outnumbered. So if you'd just clear me so I could get up and do some work—"

  "Sure." Louise gestured.

  Suspicious but game, Eve swung her legs off the bed, even managed to stand on them. For about three seconds before her head exploded and began to spin. Louise caught the ice-cream bowl handily as Eve dropped back on the bed.

  "Some doctor you are."

  "Yes, I am, and efficient with it. That just saved both of us arguing time."

  Prone, Eve pursed her sore lips. "I don't think I like you anymore."

  "I don't know how I'm going to go on with my life knowing that. You'll stay put until I tell you otherwise." She pulled a palm unit out of her bag, called up the copy of Eve's chart. "You don't know how long you were unconscious?"

  "How the hell should I know? I was unconscious."

  "Good point. I'm going to run some scans, give you a second round of cold packs. I can give you something for the discomfort."

  "I don't want chemicals. Deal's off if you pull out a syringe."

  "That's fine. I'd rather not give you anything with the concussion. We'll use external blockers there to take the edge off that whopper of a headache you must have."

  She went back into her bag, calling out a "Come in," at the knock on the bedroom door.

  "Excuse me." Sam stepped just inside the threshold. "Roarke said I should come up as I might be of some help."

  "Are you a medical?" Louise asked.

  "No, not a medical. I'm Sam, Delia's father."

  "We're okay here," Eve said carefully, and set the bowl aside. "She's doing whatever she's got to do."

  "Yes, of course." He backed up awkwardly.

  "A healer then?" Louise asked, studying him with interest.

  "I'm a sensitive." His gaze was drawn to Eve's face again, and pity for the pain rose in him.

  "Empathic?"

  "A bit." He shifted his soft eyes to Louise, smiled. "Medicals rarely put any stock in sensitives or empaths."

  "I like keeping my mind and options open. Louise Dimatto." She rose to step off the platform and offer a hand. "It's nice to meet you, Sam."

  "Why don't you two go have a drink downstairs," Eve said dryly. "Get acquainted."

  "Unfortunately"—Louise glanced back over her shoulder—"I can't say her rudeness is a result of her injuries. She was born that way. Obviously a genetic defect beyond the scope of medical science."

  "If you can't be rude in your own bedroom, where can you?" Eve picked up the bowl again, sulked over it.

  "If I could just have a private word with her?" Sam asked.

  "Sure. I'll just step outside."

  When they were alone, Sam walked up to the bed. "You're in considerable pain."

  "I've had worse."

  "Yes, I'm sure you have." He lowered himself to the side of the bed. "You don't want chemical blockers, and while I'm sure Dr. Dimatto can relieve some of the discomfort externally, I can do more. It won't happen again, Eve," he said before she could speak. "Because I'm prepared. I know you're not sure if you can trust that, but you can. I don't lie, and I wouldn't offer if I wasn't sure of your privacy."

  She pushed at her ice cream with the spoon. No, he didn't lie. "Will what you can do get me on my feet faster?"

  "It should, especially in conjunction with the medical."

  "Okay. Let's just get it done. I've got work."

  * * *

  It was mortifying as neither the healer nor the medical had bothered to mention she'd have to strip down to the skin for the exam and treatment. They discussed her anatomy as if she were a science droid in a lab, so that she finally shut her eyes in defense. She jerked at the first touch of fingertips, at the spread of cool, then of warmth along the blade of her hip that had rudely met pavement, twice.

  The palm of another hand pressed to her injured cheek, and she clenched her teeth. But the sting passed, and she was floating. Not like the ride on blockers that was like a giddy trip on a carousel, but like a weightless drift on a cloud.

  She could hear them speaking, but their voices were insubstantial.

  "She's gone under," Louise said quietly. "You're very good."

  "Her hip's causing her a great deal of pain. Most people would be screaming."

  "She's not most people, is she? If you'll work on that, I'll deal with the head injury. I think we can get the swelling down a bit more."

  "Will I be in the way?"

  Roarke. At the sound of his voice, Eve struggled to surface.

  "No, shh. Lie still," he told her. "I'm right here."

  Because he was, she let go again.

  When next she woke, it was dark. There was a terrible moment when she thought she'd gone blind. Even as she tried to sit up, she saw a shadow move and knew it was him. "What time is it?"

  "Late." He sat on the side of the bed. "You're to rest. Lights on, ten percent."

  The faint glow brought her a flood of relief. Enough that she didn't snap at him when he moved closer to examine her pupils. "What's the date?"

  "Depends. Is it before or after midnight?"

  "Clever girl."

  "I know where I am and when I am. And that we've got an anniversary coming up in a couple days. And, Carlo, I've never loved you more."

  "I feel exactly the same way, Miranda." He touched his lips to her forehead, a sneaky way of checking for fever. "If you're feeling better perhaps I can let the children come in. Carlo Junior, Robbie, Anna, and little Alice are anxious to see their mum."

  "Trying to scare an invalid. You vicious bastard."

  "Go back to sleep." He brought her hand to his face, rubbed it against his cheek.

  "I will if you will. I'm not going to sleep with you prowling around and lurking over me."

  "I'll have you know I was valiantly standing watch over my concussed beloved." He slipped in beside her, settled her head gently on his shoulder. "Pain?"

  "A little achy maybe, nothing major. Hey, remember? I got hit in the face right before our wedding, too. Now it's like a tradition."

  "And so uniquely us. Quiet down now, and go to sleep."

  She closed her eyes. "Roarke?"

  "Hmm?"

  "I almost had her."

  * * *

  The next time she awoke, the room was dim. She spent the first twenty seconds worrying that this time she was going blind, then realized he'd lowered the sun screens on all the windows, including the skylight above the bed.

  Okay, so her mind wasn't real sharp yet. She lay still and took mental inventory of the aches and pains. Not so bad, considering, she decided, and when she cautiously sat up was pleased there was no violent throbbing or disorienting dizziness.

  She inched over to the side of the bed, planted her feet on the floor. After a bracing breath, she rose. The room bobbled a bit, but steadied quickly. Her head felt like it was caught in a vice, but at least nobody was tightening the screws.

  As she was naked still she frowned down at the Arena Ball-sized bruise on her ribs, the raw, scraped area on her hip. The bruising in both areas was a miserably faded gray and yellow, and that was a good sign. Well into the healing stage, she decided, then tested her shoulder.

  Stiff, but not painful. She turned her head to examine the impressive bruise on that area as well.

  Roarke stepped off the elevator. "You're not to get up without clearance."

  "Who says?"

  "Common sense, but when have you listened to that particular individual?"

  "I want a shower."

  "As soon as Louise looks you over. She'll be up in a minute. She's just having breakfast."

  "I have a conference at eight hundred."

  "Rescheduled for nine." He got a robe out of her closet. "Tentatively."

  S
he snatched the robe and would have shot her arms through if her shoulder had cooperated. Instead she eased into it. But when she started to stalk past him, he shifted to block.

  "Where are you going?"

  "To pee," she snapped. "Is that allowed?"

  "Even recommended." Amused, he wandered to the AutoChef while she marched into the adjoining bath. He counted off the seconds, and thought it might take her eight.

  "Holy shit!"

  "Seven," he murmured. She was moving faster than he'd expected. "You should have seen it a few hours ago." He walked in behind her and stood while she stared at her face in the mirror.

  The same sickly combination of gray and yellow— with a tinge of green—which she'd found on her hip and ribs, flowered over the entire right side of her face. It was a mottled pattern, a bit heavier along the ridge of cheekbone and around the eye where her skin puffed out and sagged like a deflating balloon. Her hair sprung out in untidy spikes, matted from sweat and blood, she imagined.

  Her bottom lip looked tender and when she poked a finger at it, she found it felt the same way.

  "Man, he really slammed me."

  "Must've had a hand like a jet train."

  "He was a big guy," she remembered, turning her head a little to study her profile. It wasn't any better than the full-on view. "I hate getting punched in the face. People are always staring at you and making moronic comments: Oh, ran into a wall? Wow, gee, does it hurt?"

  He had to laugh. "Only you would be more pissed off about that than the blow."

  "He was goony. Didn't know what he was doing. Bitch set me up, then didn't have the balls to come at me herself."

  "As you'd hoped."

  Her eyes met his in the mirror. "When I take her down, she's going to pay for this." Eve tapped fingers lightly over her jaw. "And she won't look so fucking pretty when I toss her in a cage."

  "Girl fight? Can I watch?"

  "Pervert." She stepped away, into the shower, and ordered the jets on full at a blistering temperature.

  Because he was concerned she might get dizzy and fall, and because he enjoyed it, Roarke eased a hip on the sink and watched her wavery silhouette behind the patterned glass.