Promises in Death (In Death #28)(46)

“Peabody contacted me.” He pressed his finger to her lips now before she could curse. “To assure me you were all right, not seriously hurt. She was afraid they’d flash it on the media reports, on traffic, on something, and I’d hear about it that way. She didn’t want me to worry.”

“And I didn’t think of it. Sorry again.”

“You were a little preoccupied. You’ll tell me the truth now. Is the bump on the head all of it?”

“Pretty sure. I’m a little sore from being jostled around. Got a little queasy and dizzy from the dive and spin. That’s passed.”

“Well, then, we’ll go in and fix you up.”

“We being you, right? Not His Scariness.”

“As long as there’s nothing serious, we shouldn’t need Summerset.”

“That’s what I say all the time, we shouldn’t need Summerset. But do you listen?”

He smiled, kissed her hand, and drove to the house.

She was prepared for the once-over from the black crow of the foyer. Summerset didn’t disappoint. “I see you’ve destroyed another police vehicle. Perhaps you now hold the record.”

Because she was afraid she just might, Eve only curled her lip and started up the stairs. Beside her, Roarke caught the inquiry in Summerset’s eyes, shook his head.

Summerset crouched to stroke the cat. “She’s all right. Just a bump or two. He’ll see to her. You stay with me until she’s more herself. Not one nasty comment from her.” Summerset tsked as he and Galahad walked back toward the kitchen. “I’m sure she’ll be more herself tomorrow.”

Upstairs, Eve took the blocker Roarke gave her without protest, and sat through his ministrations of her head wound. There had been a time, they both knew, she’d have fought him on both. So when he offered her a soother, and she refused, he simply nodded.

“You’ll feel better for a soak in the tub.”

“You want to see me naked.”

“At every moment of every day.” He went into the bathroom, ordered the tub to fill at the boiling temperature she preferred. He added salts of some sort to the water, then turned where she waited and began to undress her himself.

“Getting in with me?”

“I’m not, no. Though, tempting. You’ll soak, use the VR for a relaxation program. Then you’ll eat something soothing.” Every inch he undressed he studied for bruises, swelling, and was relieved to find none. “As it’s the alternative to a trip to the hospital, you’ll obey orders like a good girl.”

“I’d rather you soak with me, and maybe try out a dual VR. Something sexy. And I could be a bad girl.”

He arched a brow. “You’re trying to take my mind off the fact you’ve been hurt. It’s a damn good attempt.” He gave her a light, almost paternal kiss. “In you go, Lieutenant. Alone.”

“You’re turning down sex. Maybe you’re the one who got knocked on the head.” But she stepped into the frothy, swirling water of the wide tub, and couldn’t stop the moan of pleasure. “Okay, yeah, this is good.”

He took VR goggles out of a drawer, set a program. “Relax.”

“Am.”

He slid the goggles on her, heard her sigh. He got himself a glass of wine, as good as a soother, he thought. And leaning against the door, he sipped it slowly, and watched her while she soaked away the aches.

Home, he told himself. She was home and whole and safe.

10

RELAXED, RESTED, EVE BUNDLED INTO A ROBE. She stepped to the mirror, scooping her hair back to examine the cut on her forehead. Not bad, she decided, and pulled her bangs over it. You could hardly see it.

Which was bullshit, she admitted, blowing those bangs with an irritable exhale, because he’d see it. He knew it was there. She’d scared him, pulled him away from his own work—with a side dish of worry—and for no good reason. If she’d taken two seconds to think, to contact him, to tell him she’d banged up her vehicle, but she was okay, he wouldn’t have worried.

Big black mark in the Good Wife column. She tended to rack those up.

Worse, he hears she’s been in a crash while she’s investigating the murder of another cop. Just not good.

Guilt smeared over relaxation as she walked back into the bedroom. “Listen, I want to say . . .” She trailed off. She scented the red sauce first, then spotted the plates of spaghetti and meatballs on the table of the sitting area. “Damn it.”

“Not in the mood for pasta?” He narrowed those bold blue eyes to give her a critical study. “You must’ve hit your head harder than we thought.”

“I was going to do it—get dinner, I mean. One of the fancy things you like, because—Hell.” She gave up, hurried to him to wrap her arms around him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was so pissed off at what happened, at myself, I didn’t think.”

He stroked a hand down her hair first, then gave the choppy ends a quick tug. “I’m not angry with you.”

“I know. You could be, but you’re not. So I have to be even sorrier.”

“Your logic is fascinating, and elusive.”

“I can’t pay you back with sex or salt-crusted sea bass or whatever because you’re too busy taking care of me. So now I’ve got this black mark in my column against the bright shiny star in yours, and—”