Calculated in Death (In Death #36)(58)

She breathed, shut her eyes, let him carefully lift the wool. Not bad, not bad—shit, shit—okay, better.

“See? No hacking, and—” She followed the direction of his gaze, looked down at herself and found herself mildly stunned by the bruising blooming across her chest above her tank.

“Wow, colorful. I think the kid’s head plowed into me. He came at me like a mortar. Pow! Skull meets tits. Tits lose.”

“Have a seat, let me get your boots off.”

She did, watched him. His cool tone told her he was very, very angry, and much too worried. She could pin his response on her previous injuries. Not enough time between bouts, she decided. The only way she knew to offset his reaction was playing it light, playing it easy.

“I like sexy undressing better than you thinking about tranq’ing me unconscious and hauling me to the health center undressing.”

“I considered just that.”

“Come on. What kind of reward is that for making a really excellent catch?”

He met her eyes, and she saw him relax, just a little. “You’ve been hurt worse.”

“That’s what I said—thought.”

“Pants next.”

She smiled again. She still hurt, but some of the aches and twinges were buried under a layer of cotton from the blocker. “I will if you will.”

“It pains me to refuse such a generous offer.” He just unhooked her trousers, drew them off. “You’ve more bruises here and there.” He stroked his hands over the back of her head, carefully. Then relaxed a bit more when he found no knots or lumps. “But from watching the mini-vid all over the media, I’d say you’ve worse on your ass.”

“It’s kind of numb right now, but yeah. Tits and ass took the brunt.”

“Two of my favorite parts. Up you come.” He held her upright, and gently for a moment, brushing his lips over her temple.

Just banged up, he told himself. It wouldn’t be the first time, or the last.

“Have you seen the vid?”

“No. Kind of unnecessary as I was there.”

“I think you need to see it.” Gently, he drew her support tank up, bit back a curse at the trail of bruises over her ribs. “Two seconds later, or if you’d misjudged the—I suppose I’ll say arc and velocity—that little boy would have more than some bruises.”

“It was so damn fast. That f**ker? The way he moved—speed, agility. He scooped the kid up with one hand, elbow-jabbed the father with the other arm, did a smooth half pivot, hurled. He’s played ball, Roarke. Serious ball at some point. And he’s strong. I figure the kid for a solid twenty-five pounds.”

“Twenty-seven, according to the parents in an interview.”

“Twenty-seven, and he hurled it like the kid weighed two. Some of that’s adrenaline, but it’s serious, solidly strong.”

He’d slipped off her underwear and stood studying her ass.

“What? How bad?” She craned her neck, tried to see for herself.

“There’s one here that looks a bit like Africa, another that resembles Australia. Then there’s a small chain of islands.”

“Great, I’ve got a world map on my ass.” She managed to turn, get a reasonable look in the mirror. “Jesus. It is a world map.”

“You’ve not much meat back there.”

“Are you complaining?”

He traced his fingers over her, featherlight. “Only about its current state.”

“It’ll be better when I soak it, and the rest of me in a hot jet tub.”

“It’s ice you need.”

“I don’t want ice. Ice is cold.”

“Is it? I need to write that down. On the bed with you.”

“The tub’ll be soothing.”

“So will this. Ass up to start,” he ordered as he moved into the next room.

She really wanted the tub, and figured the sooner she got the ice portion over and done, the sooner she’d get what she wanted. Plus it felt good to stretch out on the bed, at least once she’d adjusted for throbs and twinges.

Roarke came back, knelt on the bed beside her. “Why were you in that area?”

“Something Feeney said, so I wanted to get the feel from some of the suspects’ exes. Exes may say it all ended friendly, no problem, but they’re usually ready to serve the guy up to whoever asks for a slice.”

She started to protest when cold met her aching butt, then the relief eked through. Maybe ice wasn’t so bad.

“And you got the slice?”

“Yeah, on Carter Young-Sachs. He fits Mira’s profile, and my sense of the type who’d arrange a killing on impulse. Then again, he’s not the only one. I was telling Peabody to hit up a couple more of the exes, and I’d go by and take another pass at the WIN Group, and the ass**le tries to stun me. In the back. Cowardly f**khead.”

Roarke’s hands paused. “He fired at you, on the High Line?”

“No, he fired at me below the High Line.” And she realized, belatedly, she’d just told her husband she’d been fired on, without any kind of preparation. “I heard the whine of the stream—not sure why—and felt this thudding between my shoulder blades. So your most excellent still-in-development anti-stun material has now been field tested.”