Holiday in Death (In Death #7)(69)

“Strip,” he said again and picked up a robe. “Put this on. Trina’s set up for you in the pool house.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” She raked her hands through her hair. “Do I look in the mood for a goddamn beauty session?”

“No, you look like you’re in the mood for a goddamn hospital session.” Temper snapping, he tossed down the robe. “Take care of yourself here, or that’s where you’re going.”

Her eyes went dark and dangerous. “Don’t push me. You’re my spouse, not my keeper.”

“A f**king keeper’s just what you need.” He grabbed her arm and, because her reflexes were slow, shoved her into a chair. “Stay down,” he warned in a voice that sizzled with barely restrained fury. “Or I’ll tie you down.”

She gripped the arm of the chair, fingers digging in as he stalked across the room to the recessed AutoChef. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“You. Have you looked at yourself recently? You stand over bodies that have more color than you do right now. There are shadows under your eyes thick enough to hide in. And you’re hurting.” That was what snapped it for him. “Do you think I can’t see it?”

He came back with a tall glass filled with amber liquid. “Drink it.”

“You’re not tranqing me.”

“I can pour it down your throat. I’ve done it before.” He leaned over until their faces were close, and the bitter anger in his eyes made her want to shrink away. “I won’t let you make yourself sick. You’ll drink this, Eve, and you’ll do what I tell you, or I’ll make you. We both know you’re too damn tired to stop me.”

She snatched the glass, and though she thought there would be lovely satisfaction gained from heaving it across the room, she didn’t think she was up to dealing with the consequences. Her eyes burned into his over the rim as she gulped it down.

“There. Happy now?”

“You’ll have something solid later.” He bent down to tug off her boots.

“I can undress myself.”

“Shut up, Eve.”

For form’s sake, she tried to tug her foot free, but he simply held on and pried off her boot. “I want a shower and a meal, and I want you to leave me alone.”

He pulled off the other boot, then started on the buttons of her shirt.

“Did you hear me? I said leave me alone.” The fact that she could hear the petulance in her own voice only added depression to exhaustion.

“Not in this or any other lifetime.”

“I don’t like to be taken care of. It irritates me.”

“Then you’re going to be irritated for quite a while.”

“I’ve been irritated since I met you.” She closed her eyes on that, but thought she caught a nicker of a smile around his mouth.

He undressed her quickly, efficiently, then bundled her into the robe. The limpness of her muscles told him the painkiller he’d added to the nutri-drink he’d made her was already at work. The mild tranq he’d laced it with should have done no more than relax her, but in her current state he imagined it would knock her out very shortly.

All for the best.

Still she slapped at him as he lifted her. “Don’t carry me.”

“I hate to repeat myself, but shut up, Eve.” He walked to the elevator and stepped inside with her.

“I don’t wanna be babied.” Her head spun once, one long, lilting circle that forced her to let it drop on his shoulder. “What the hell was in that drink?”

“All manner of things. Just relax.”

“You know I hate tranqs.”

“I know.” He turned his head, brushed his lips over her hair. “You can give me grief about it tomorrow.”

“Will. I let you push me round, you’ll get used to it. I’m gonna lie down for a minute.”

“That’s right.” He felt her head loll back, and the arm around his neck slid off and dangled as he stepped out into the pool house.

Mavis raced out from under the fanning fronds of a palm. “Jesus, Roarke, is she hurt?”

“I tranqued her.” He moved through the lush flowering plants, skirted the side of the shimmering waters of the pool, and laid his wife on the long, padded table Trina had already set up.

“Man, she’ll be pissed royal when she comes out of it.”

“I imagine so.” Gently, he brushed the untidy hair back from Eve’s forehead. “Not so tough now, are you, Lieutenant?” He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Don’t worry about the styling, Trina. She needs relaxation therapy.”

“Can do.” Trina, decked out in a flesh-colored skinsuit with a shimmering purple duster, rubbed her hands together. “But since she’s out anyway, why don’t I give her the works? She’s always bitching about treatments. This way she’ll be nice and quiet.”

Roarke lifted a brow at the gleam in the woman’s eye, and laid a protective hand on Eve’s shoulder. “Keep it simple.” Then remembering who he was dealing with, he cleared his throat. He didn’t mind facing his wife’s wrath, but not over his passive agreement to having her hair dyed pink. “Why don’t I order us down some dinner? I’ll just stick around.”