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Roarke paced the waiting area outside Mira's office. What the hell was taking so long? He should have known Eve was conning him when she'd said it wouldn't take more than a couple of hours. It was no big deal. Just as he'd known when he realized she'd gotten out of the house without telling him that morning that she hadn't wanted him here.
Well, he was here, by God. She'd just have to deal with it.
Four hours, he thought with another glance at his wrist unit. How the devil could some tests and questions take four hours? He should have pressed her, pushed her into explaining exactly what would be done.
He knew something about Testing, the basic process a cop went through whenever maximum force was employed. It wasn't pleasant, but she'd gotten through it before. He understood the elemental strain of Level One, and the additional burden of truth testing.
It was again, unpleasant, very often left the subject a little shaky for a few hours.
She'd get through that as well.
Why the hell weren't they done with her?
His head came up, and his eyes went to pools of ice when Whitney walked in.
"Roarke. I'd hoped she'd be finished by now."
"She doesn't need to see you here when she is. You've done more than enough already, Commander."
Whitney's eyes went blank, and the shadows under them were deep. "We all follow orders, Roarke, and procedure. Without them, there's no order."
"Why don't I tell you what I think of your procedure?" he began, stepping forward with blood in his eye.
The door opened. He turned quickly, an arrow of shock piercing his heart when he saw her.
She was pale as death. Her eyes seemed to be carved deep into the skull, the irises like gold glass, the pupils huge. Mira had a supporting arm around her, and still she swayed.
"You're not ready to get up. Your system needs more time."
"I want out of here." She would have shaken Mira off, but was seriously afraid she'd pitch forward onto her face. She saw Roarke first, felt twin surges of frustration and relief. "What are you doing here? I told you not to come."
"Shut the hell up." There was only one emotion pumping through him, and it was all fury. He was across the room in three quick strides, and pulling her away from Mira. "What the hell did you do to her?"
"What she was supposed to do." Eve made the effort to stand on her own feet, though it had the nausea swimming back, the clammy sweat popping out. She would not be sick again, she promised herself. She'd already been violently ill twice and would not be sick again.
"She needs to lie down." Mira's face was nearly as pale as Eve's, and every line of strain showed. "Her system hasn't had time to recover. Please convince her to come back and lie down so I can monitor her vitals."
"I have to get out of here." Eve looked straight into Roarke's eyes. "I can't stay here."
"All right. We're going."
She let herself lean against him until she saw Whitney. Then it was instinct as much as pride that had her forcing her aching body to attention. "Sir."
"Dallas. I regret the necessity of this procedure. Dr. Mira needs to keep you under observation until she's satisfied you're well enough to leave."
"With respect, Commander, I'm free to go where the hell I want."
"Jack." Mira linked her fingers together, felt useless. "She took Level Three."
His eyes flashed, shifted back to Eve's face. "Level Three was not necessary. Damn it, it was not necessary."
"You took my badge," Eve said quietly. "It was necessary." She forced herself straight again, praying Roarke would understand she needed to walk out under her own power. She made it to the door before the trembling started again, but she shook her head fiercely when he turne
d.
"No, don't, don't carry me. God, leave me something here."
"All right, just hold on." He hooked an arm around her waist, took most of her weight. Bypassing the glide, he walked her to the elevator. "What's Level Three?"
