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Eve felt that punch of his, accepted the ice that coated her belly. Even welcomed it. “Don’t interrupt. Resist, by all means, because I’d love to spend the next several minutes kicking your ass. Jesus, Peabody, can’t you shut her up?”
“She’s a screamer,” Peabody said cheerfully as she passed the hysterical Ola to waiting uniforms.
“Now where was I? Oh yeah, the death of Brian Trosky, another human being. We’ve got kidnapping charges, illegals, fraud, medical abuse, and just for fun, destruction of property. You guys seriously trashed that suite. You have the right to remain silent,” she began.
“You can go to hell.”
“Thanks, but New York’s close enough for me.” She grabbed one of his arms to pull it behind his back as she read him the rest of the Revised Miranda. When he tried to shake her off, she gave herself the pleasure of slamming the heel of her boot into his instep. He cursed at her, snarled at her as she clapped the restraints to his wrist. “What is that, Latin? Greek? Or is just all made up?”
He struggled as she frog-marched him across the room, which, she thought, it could be argued was the reason his head smacked into the doorjamb. “Gee, I bet you’re going to have a headache now. Cut it out, before you hurt yourself.”
“I’ll drink your blood from a silver cup.”
“That’s just disgusting.” She moved her mouth close to his ear. “You don’t have any power here, asshole. Getting arrested, dragged out of your fancy house in front of your fancy neighbors, and hey, look, it’s Channel 75.” She beamed, pleased her heads-up to her contact there had brought the media. “Nothing like humiliation to water down power. I bet even the devil himself’s embarrassed.”
She muscled him into the back of the police car. She fixed dark glasses over his head, over his eyes. “Remember he’s a sensitive,” she told the cops she’d put in charge. “He goes straight into isolation.”
She slammed the door, put her hands on her hips. “Go home, Peabody,” she said when her partner stepped beside her and yawned until her jaw cracked. “Get some sleep.”
“I am so on that. Some day, huh?”
“Yeah, some day.” Eve stood where she was, watched Roarke come to her. Gosh, she thought, pretty. And realized sleep deprivation had gooed up her brain.
“I imagine this arrest will be playing on screen for some time.”
“That’s entertainment.” Eve gave him a quick smile.
“Please tell me you’re not going to make all the other arrests personally, then deal with the ensuing paperwork tonight.”
“Nah, I just wanted this one, ’specially. I delegated, and the paperwork’ll wait till morning. I’m pretty close to falling on my face.”
He put his arms around her, amused that she was tired enough not to resist even though some of the media remained. “I want to go home, sleep with my wife. For days.”
“Settle for eight straight hours?”
“Deal.”
With their arms around each other’s waist they walked to the car. Roarke got behind the wheel; Eve slid into the passenger’s seat. And, he noted, got started on that eight hours immediately.
Epilogue
Jack sat up in bed when Eve entered his treatment room. He was pale, and bruises of fatigue dogged his eyes. No doubt she’d had a more restful night than he had. “Doctor?” he began.
“Lieutenant. Lieutenant Dallas. Do you remember me?”
He stared through her for a moment. “Yes. I remember.” He held up a hand, a signal to wait. And shutting his eyes, breathed. “I remember. You were at the hotel, but not, not in that room. And you were talking to me in another room. The police station. Am I under arrest?”
“No, Jack. I know you’re working with Dr. Mira. She says you’re better than you were, and you’ll be better yet.”
“The drugs are out of my system. It helps. The headaches . . . it’s not as bad. Ava’s dead. I was there.” The words trembled out. Once more he closed his eyes, breathed. “I was there. I raped her.”
“No, you didn’t. They used you both. You’re a doctor, Jack. I know Mira told you what they’d put in you, and you know what those chemicals can do. You were drugged, put under hypnosis. Kidnapped. Nothing that happened was your fault or responsibility. You were a victim.”
“I’m alive. She’s not.”
“I know. That’s hard. You’re afraid to remember, afraid to ask if you used the knife you had in your hand.”
His eyes welled, and tears leaked out. “How can I live with that? Whatever they put in me, whatever they did, how can I live with that?”
