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“I’ll be fine. I don’t want—” She gasped when he pinched her nose, drew her head back, and poured the liquid down her throat. “Bastard,” she managed, choking and batting at him.
“That’s a good girl. Now, into the shower.” He walked to the glass-enclosed tube and ordered the spray at half force and a soothing eighty-six degrees.
“I’ll get you for that. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but I’ll do it.” She limped into the shower, still muttering. “Son of a bitch pours drugs down my throat. Treats me like a goddamn imbecile.” The moan of relief came involuntarily as the soft water slid over her abused body.
He watched her, smiling as she braced both hands against the wall and ducked her head under the spray. “You’ll want to wear something loose and floor length. Try the blue ankle sweep Leonardo designed for you.”
“Oh, go to hell. I can dress myself. Why don’t you stop staring at me and go order some of your minions around?”
“Darling, they’re our minions now.”
She bit off a chuckle and rapped her hand against the shower panel to access the ’link recessed there. “Brightmore Health Center,” she ordered. “Fifth floor admissions.” She waited for the connection and managed to soap up her hair one-handed. “This is Lieutenant Eve Dallas. You have my aide, Officer Delia Peabody. I want status.” She listened to the standard line for approximately five seconds before she cut off the charge nurse. “Then find out, and find out now.
I want her full status, and believe me, you don’t want me coming down there to get it.”
It took her an hour, a relatively painless hour, she was forced to admit. Whatever Roarke had made her drink didn’t leave her with that helpless, floaty feeling she detested. Instead, she felt alert and only slightly giddy.
It might have been the drug that made her admit, at least to herself, that he’d been right about the dress. It slid weightlessly over her skin, concealing the bruises stylishly with its high neck, long, tapering sleeves, and draping skirt. She added the diamond he’d given her as a symbolic apology for swearing at him—even though he’d deserved it.
With less resentment than usual, she fussed with her face, struggled with her hair. The result, she decided as she gave herself a study in the triple mirrors in the closet, wasn’t half bad. She supposed she looked as close to elegant as she was ever going to get.
When she walked onto the roof terrace where the performance session of the party was to take place, Roarke’s quick smile agreed with her. “There she is,” he murmured and walked over to take both of her hands, bringing them to his lips.
“I don’t think I’m talking to you.”
“All right.” He lowered his head and, mindful of bruises, kissed her lightly. “Feel better?”
“Maybe.” She sighed and didn’t bother to tug her hands away. “I guess I’ll have to tolerate you, since you’re doing all this for Mavis.”
“We’re doing it for Mavis.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You married me,” he pointed out. “How’s Peabody? I heard you calling the health center from the shower.”
“Mild concussion, bumps, and bruises. She was a little shocky, but she’s stabilized. She went after the boomer.” Remembering that moment, Eve blew out a slow breath. “It started to heat up right in her hand. No way I could get to her.” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “Scared the hell out of me. I thought I’d find pieces of her everywhere.”
“She’s tough and smart, and she’s learning from the best.”
Eve opened her eyes, narrowed them. “Flattery isn’t going to make me forgive you for drugging me.”
“I’ll find something else that will.”
She surprised him by reaching up, framing his face with her hands. “We’re going to talk about that, ace.”
“Anytime. Lieutenant.”
But she didn’t smile. Her eyes only went more intense. “There’s another thing we have to talk about. It’s serious.”
“I can see that.” Concerned, he glanced around at the bustling caterers, the wait staff already lined up for their final briefing. “Summerset can handle the last of this. We can use the library.”
“It’s bad timing, I know, but it can’t be helped.” She took his hand, an instinctive gesture of support, as they headed out of the room and down the wide corridor toward the library.
Inside, he closed the door, ordered lights, then poured drinks. Mineral water for Eve. “You’ll have to forgo alcohol for a few hours,” he told her. “The painkiller doesn’t mix well with it.”
“I think I can restrain myself.”
“Tell me.”
