Chapter Nineteen #3
She slid into traffic, then decided to save her energy for what was to come, switched to auto. She gave herself the gift of simply turning off her brain, letting the blocker mask the worst of the pain.
Then made the mistake of pulling down the vanity mirror to check her face.
“Oh Jesus. That’s bad. That’s really bad.” She snapped the mirror up again.
Bad, she thought again. The beating had been bad. But what she’d deal with when she walked into the house?
Worse.
The hell with turning her brain off.
She blocked video, tagged Reo.
“Banner,” she said.
“Are you naked or something?”
“Or something.”
“He’s in custody, and will remain in custody. His lawyers pushed for a bail hearing, got it. They pushed for ROR, got squashed. Tried for bail, denied. We pulled a good judge, one who takes conspiracy to blow up occupied buildings, the creation of bioweapons, and so on very seriously.”
“This is good.”
“Yes, it’s good. They’re also good, and will try to have evidence thrown out. And, I swear to you, they will fail. Data from the raid’s still coming in, and we’ll use every bit of it.”
“Okay, again good.”
She shifted to try to find some half comfortable position.
No luck.
“You know about Wyst?”
“Yes,” Reo confirmed. “Are you still on scene?”
“No, and you’ll have a report tonight, including my recording of a conversation with Steven Redman.”
“What? When? Jesus, Dallas, do you have him?”
“Maybe an hour ago, and no, we don’t have him. Give me a couple hours, then read the report. Keep Banner locked up tight, Reo, and contact Abernathy with Interpol. You’re going to want O’Brian locked up tight. If they’re anywhere Redman can get to them, he will.”
“Trust me. Did Redman hurt you?”
“I’ll live. Read the report.”
Eve cut her off, sat back again because the conversation had exhausted her. And she needed to recharge for the ones she’d have when she got home.
Two men and a cat would give her a major shitload of grief.
She programmed coffee, quickly discovered that set her mouth on fire. Cursing, she switched to Pepsi, then just held the blissfully cold tube against that abused mouth until she drove through the gates.
“Okay, here it comes, and you’re going to stand up to it.”
She sent Peabody a text.
I’m home. Get me the recording, the report. Eight hundred hours at the morgue.
You’ll have both within the hour. Scene is secured. Get some ice and some rest.
Eve parked, got out, walked to the door. “Here goes,” she muttered.
Summerset loomed, of course. The cat at his feet let out a yowl when she walked in, rushed to her.
“Good God.” Summerset started forward, but she shot up a hand.
“No touching. I’m okay.”
“No, you are most certainly not. Have you had medical treatment?”
She started to say no, then thought of the morgue tech. “More or less.”
“Obviously less.”
“Look, I’m going up. I’m going to ice down. You’re not alerting Roarke while I’m heading up.”
“I’ll be up in a few moments to assess and treat your injuries. I won’t alert Roarke,” he said before she could blast him, “and you will accept treatment from a still licensed medic. That’s the deal, Lieutenant.”
“How many names do you have that license in?”
“That’s the deal,” Summerset repeated.
“Fine, but don’t think for a minute I’m stripping down for you.”
“I’ll somehow live with the disappointment. Take the damn elevator, for God’s sake. There’s no need to hobble your way up the stairs.”
She’d have scowled, but she knew it would hurt, and probably start her lip bleeding again.
Because she’d started stiffening up along the drive, hobble is what she did to the elevator. The cat, all but glued to her ankle, got in with her.
“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re upset. I don’t feel real cheery myself, but don’t start. I’ve still got the main event coming up.”
Maybe she wanted to take the elevator to the bedroom, crawl into bed. But he’d be waiting for her, either in his office or hers. He didn’t deserve having her try to avoid him.
And she had work.
The elevator opened in her office. Even as she hobbled out, braced herself, the cat ran straight to the adjoining door, yowled again. Three times.
“Seriously?”
“What’s all this then?” She heard the trace of amusement in Roarke’s voice. “I’ve finished here, yes, but that doesn’t mean you can have another . . .”
He’d come to the doorway. A single glance at her had any trace of amusement falling away.
“I’m sorry. I’m okay, and I’m sorry. Just—”
“Eve. Ah, Eve.” He started toward her.
“Don’t hug me. I’m pretty banged up. I’m okay, but banged up some, that’s all.”
He cupped her face as gently as a man might the most precious of jewels. In contrast his eyes held the rage of all the gods.
“Who did this to you?”
“I’ll explain. I will. I just want you to know it looks worse than it is.”
“Bollocks. Don’t bloody placate me. Come now, lie down over here and we’ll have a look. Did the MTs clear you?”
“Not exactly.”
The blue flames of his eyes scorched her.
“Because you didn’t see them at all, did you? Too bloody stubborn. Then it’s Summerset, and I’ll hear no argument from you on it.”
“She won’t argue,” Summerset said as he came in with a medical bag. “Will you, Lieutenant?”
On the sofa, Eve closed her eyes and prepared for humiliation on top of the pain.