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He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and, crouching down, examined the cut before tying the cloth over the wound. "You'll need that tended. It's full of grit." Rising, he stroked a hand over her hair. "Interesting do, and somehow you."
She caught Peabody's smirk out of the corner of her eye but decided to let it pass. "I don't have time for you, Roarke. I'm working."
"Yes, I can see that. But I think you'll want to make time." His eyes were cold and flat as he scanned the smoldering rubble. "This used to be my building."
"Oh hell." Eve shoved her hands into her pockets, paced away, back, away again. "Hell," she repeated and glared at him.
"I knew you'd be delighted." He took a disc pouch out of his pocket, offered it to her. He'd already copied the disc and secured it. "I received that this morning. It's a text message from a group calling themselves Cassandra. Basically, it calls me a capitalist opportunist—which of course is absolutely true—and states that I've been chosen in their first demonstration. There's some tired and tedious political jargon thrown in. The redistribution of wealth, the exploitation of the poor by the rich. Nothing terribly original."
His words might have been casual, but the tone was much too controlled. And she knew him. Beneath those cool eyes, violence was bubbling.
She handled it the only way she knew how, with professional dispatch. "I'm going to need you to come in so I can take a detailed statement. I'll have to take this as evidence."
She broke off as the violence in his eyes swam to the surface. No one, she thought fleetingly, no one could look more dangerous than Roarke in an icy temper.
Abruptly, he swung away from her to stride through the smoking bricks.
"Damn it." Impatient, she scooped a hand through her disordered hair and tossed a glance at Peabody.
"Units are on the way, Dallas."
"Stand at the gate," Eve ordered. "Secure it if necessary."
"Yes, sir." With some sympathy, Peabody watched as Eve walked over to deal with her husband.
"Look, Roarke, I know you're pissed off. I don't blame you. Somebody blows up one of your buildings, you've got a right to be pissed."
"Damn right I do." He spun back to her, fury ripe in his eyes. The fact that she'd nearly backed up a step in the face of it both mortified and infuriated her. She compensated by leaning forward until her boots bumped his shoes.
"This is a goddamn crime scene, and I don't have the time or inclination to stand around and pat you on the head because one of your six million buildings got blown to hell. Now, I'm sorry about it, and I understand you feel ticked off and violated, but don't take it out on me."
He gripped her arms and hauled her up to her toes in a move guaranteed to make her snarl and spit. If his property hadn't been heaved out in a half-block pile of stinking ruin, she might have decked him.
"Do you think that's the problem?" he demanded. "Do you think the fucking warehouse is the problem?"
She struggled to think through her own temper. "Yes."
He hauled her up another inch. "You're an idiot."
"I'm an idiot? I'm an idiot? You're a moron if you think I'm going to stand here making clucky noises to your ego while I've got somebody blowing up buildings on my watch. Now, get your hands off before I take you down."
"How close were you to going in?"
"That's not—" She broke off, deflating as it hit her. It wasn't the building that put that wicked light in his eyes. It was her. "Not that close." She said it quietly as she unclenched her fists. "Not that close, Roarke. I didn't like the setup. I'd just ordered Peabody to call it in, send for a couple of backup units. I know how to handle myself."
"Yeah." He took a hand off her arm to brush his fingertips over her filthy cheek. "It shows." Then he released her completely, stepped back. "Have that leg tended to. I'll meet you at your office."
When he started to walk away, she jammed her hands in her pockets, pulled them out. Rolled her eyes. Damn it, she did know how to handle herself. She just didn't always know how to handle him. "Roarke."
He stopped, glanced back. And nearly smiled when he watched the obvious struggle between duty and heart on her face. Looking over to make certain Peabody had her back discreetly turned, she crossed to him, lifted a hand to his cheek.
"Sorry. I was a little pissed off, myself. Having a building blow up in my face does that to me." When she heard the approaching sirens, she dropped her hands, frowned. "No kissing in front of the uniforms."
Now he did smile. "Darling, no kissing until you wash your face. I'll meet you at your office," he repeated and walked away.
"Give it a couple of hours," she called out. "I'll be tied up here at least that long."
