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Eve glanced at Roarke, grimaced. Blood and smoke coated his face. “You look disgusting.”
“You should see yourself, Lieutenant.” He slipped an arm around her. “I think Peabody has a point. We’ll find a blanket. That should be sufficient to get you home without you freezing or getting arrested.”
She wanted a bath so desperately she could have wept. “Okay. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Dallas, it isn’t necessary for you to come back tonight.”
“An hour,” she repeated. “Secure the scene, call the ME. Get that boy an MT. He’s shocky. Contact Whitney. He’ll want to know what happened here, and I want Charles Forte released as soon as possible.”
Eve tugged Roarke’s jacket more securely around her. “You were right about him, Peabody. Your instincts were on target. They’re good instincts.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Use them again. If that boy says anything that doesn’t jibe with my brief statement of the events, ignore him. He’s emotionally wrecked and in shock. I don’t want him questioned tonight by anyone.”
Peabody nodded, kept her eyes carefully blank. “Yes, sir. I’ll see that he’s taken home. I’ll remain on scene until you return.”
“Do that.” Eve turned, started to button the jacket.
“By the way, Dallas?”
“What, Peabody?”
“That’s a lovely tattoo. New?”
Eve clamped her teeth together, strode toward the door with as much dignity as she could manage. “See?” She jabbed a finger into Roarke’s chest as they walked down the corridor. “I told you I’d be humiliated by that stupid rosebud.”
“You’ve been drugged, slapped, tied up naked, and nearly killed, but a rose on your butt humiliates you?”
“All that other stuff’s the job. The rosebud’s personal.”
Laughing, he swung his arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. “Christ, Lieutenant, I love you.”
• • •
