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"Maybe I'll go for all three." She tried for a halfhearted smile, then spotted McNab coming their way and stiffened like a flagpole.
"I need a drink." He looked directly, deliberately at Eve. "I need a whole bunch of drinks. Do you want us back at Central?"
"No. We've had enough for one day. Report at eight hundred hours."
"You got it." Then, following the lecture he'd given himself off and on throughout the day, he made himself look at Peabody. "You want a lift home?
"I—well…" Flustered, she shifted from foot to foot. "No, um. No."
"Take the lift, Peabody. You're a mess. No point in fighting public transpo at this hour."
"I don't want…" Before Eve's baffled eyes she blushed like a schoolgirl. "I think it would be better…" She coughed, cleared her throat. "I appreciate the offer, McNab, but I'm fine."
"You look tired, that's all." And Eve watched in amazement as his color rose as well. "It was rough in there."
"I'm okay." She lowered her head, stared at her shoes. "I'm fine."
"If you're sure. Well, ah, eight hundred hours. Later."
With his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, he headed off.
"What's the deal here, Peabody?"
"Nothing. No deal." Her head came up sharply, and despising herself, she watched McNab walk away. "Not a deal. Not a thing. Nothing going on."
Stop it, she ordered herself as babbling continued to stream out of her mouth. "Zip. Zero happening here. Oh look." With outrageous relief for the distraction, she saw Roarke step out of a limo. "Looks like you've got a lift. A class one."
Eve looked across the avenue, studied Roarke in the blinking red and blue emergency lights. "Take my vehicle and go home, Peabody. I'll get transpo to Central in the morning."
"Yes, sir," she said, but Eve was already crossing the street.
"You've had a lousy day, Lieutenant." He lifted a hand, started to stroke her cheek, but she stepped back.
"No, don't touch me. I'm filthy." She saw the look in his eyes, knew he'd ignore her, and yanked the door open herself. "Not yet. Okay? God, not yet."
She climbed in, waited for him to settle beside her, order the driver to take them home, then lift the privacy screen.
"Now?" he said quietly.
Saying nothing, she turned to him, turned into him. And wept.
• • •
It helped, the tears and the man who understood her enough to offer nothing more until they were shed. When they were home, she took a hot shower, and the wine he poured her and was grateful he said nothing.
They ate in the bedroom. She'd been certain she wouldn't be able to swallow. But the first spoonful of hot soup hit her raw stomach like a blessing.
"Thanks." She sighed a little, leaned her head back against the cushions in the seating area. "For giving me an hour. I needed it."
She needed more than an hour, Roarke thought, studying the pale face, the bruised eyes. But they'd take it a step at a time. "I was there earlier." He waited while her eyes opened. "I would have done what I could to help you, but civilians weren't permitted."
"No." She closed her eyes again. "They're not."
But he had seen, briefly at least, he had seen the carnage, the horrors, and her. He had seen her deal with it, her hands steady, her eyes dark with the pity she thought she hid from everyone.
"I don't envy you your job, Lieutenant."
She nearly smiled at that. "You can't prove that to me when you're always popping up into it." With her eyes still closed, she reached out for his hand. "The hotel was one of yours, wasn't it? I didn't have time to check."
