Rapture in Death (In Death #4)(62)

The move proved to be as effective as a stun. His eyes rolled up white before she shoved him aside and got to her knees.

Panting, fighting back the nausea that was a result of taking some bony part of his body in the stomach, she blew the hair out of her eyes. Peabody was also on her knees, the boomer in one hand, her weapon in the other.

“I couldn’t get a clear shot. I went for the boomer first, thought you could take him.”

“Fine, that’s just dandy.” She hurt everywhere, and now her pulse began to hammer at the sight of her aide clutching a bomb. “Don’t move.”

“Not moving. Barely breathing.”

“I’ll call the goddamn bomb disposal unit. Get a safe box in here now.”

“I was just about — ” Peabody broke off, went pale as death. “Oh hell, Dallas. It’s heating up.”

“Dump it. Dump it now! Take cover.” Swiping out one handed, Eve dragged the unconscious man with her behind the counter, draped herself over him, then locked her arms over the back of her head.

The explosion blasted the air, fumed out a fist of heat and had God knew what raining down on her. The auto fire control system whirled into action, spewing sprays of icy water, shrilling out a new alarm, warning employees and customers to vacate the building in a calm and orderly manner.

She sent up a quick thanks to whoever was listening that she felt no bright pain, and that all her body parts appeared to be attached.

Coughing against the thick wash of smoke, she crawled out from behind what was left of the counter. “Peabody. Christ.” She hacked, wiped her stinging eyes, and kept crawling over the wet, now filthy floor. Something hot burned the heel of her hand, made her swear again. “Come on, Peabody. Where the hell are you?”

“Here.” The answer was weak, followed by a fit of throaty coughing. “I’m okay. I think.”

They met on hands and knees through the curtain of smoke and water and eyed each other’s blackened faces. Casually, Eve reached out and rapped Peabody several times on the side of the head. “Your hair was on fire,” she said mildly.

“Oh. Thanks. How’s the ass**le?”

“Still unconscious.” Eve sat back on her heels and took a quick self-inventory. She didn’t see any blood, which was no small relief. Most of her clothes were still there, which hardly mattered since they were ruined. “You know, Peabody, I think Roarke owns this building.”

“Then he’s probably going to be pissed. Smoke and water damage is a bitch.”

“You’re telling me. Let’s call it a goddamn day. The credit cops can handle this. I’m giving a party tonight.”

“Yeah.” Mouth twisted, Peabody tugged on the torn sleeve of her uniform. “I’m looking forward to it.” Then she swayed, squinted. “Dallas, how many pairs of eyes did you have when we came in here?”

“One. Just one.”

“Shit. Now you’ve got two. I think one of us has a problem.” With this, Peabody pitched forward into Eve’s arms.

There wasn’t time to clean up. After she’d hauled Peabody out of the wreckage and dumped her on the medical technicians, she had a report to relay to the officer in charge of the security team, then she fed the same data to the bomb disposal unit. Between reports she harassed the MTs about Peabody’s condition and blocked their attempts to treat her to an injury scan.

Roarke was already dressed for the evening when she rushed in the door. He cut off his conversation with Tokyo on his palm link, shifted away from the team of florists currently arranging pink and white hibiscus in the foyer.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Don’t ask.” She raced past him and hit the stairs at a dead run.

She was out of what was left of her shirt by the time he came into the bedroom, closed the door. “I will ask.”

“The bomb wasn’t a dud after all.” Unwilling to sit down and smear whatever was on her slacks onto the furniture, she balanced on one foot and fought off a boot.

Roarke took a deep breath. “The bomb?”

“Well, a homemade boomer. Very unreliable.” She pried off the second boot, then began to peel off her torn and blackened slacks. “Guy hits a CEC two blocks from Cop Central. Idiot.” She dumped the tatters on the floor, swung around to head to the bath, only to come up short when Roarke took her arm.

“Name of God.” He turned her to get a closer look at the purpling bruise that spread over her hip. It was bigger than his spread hand. Her right knee was raw and there were more bruises blooming on her arms and shoulders. “You’re a mess, Eve.”

“You should see the other guy. Well, at least he’ll get three square and a roof for a few years, courtesy of the state. I’ve got to get cleaned up.”

He didn’t release her, only shifted his gaze to hers. “I don’t suppose you bothered to let the MTs work on you.”

“Those butchers?” She smiled. “I’m fine, just sore. I can get a quick treatment tomorrow.”

“You’ll be lucky if you can walk by tomorrow. Come on.”

“Roarke — ” But she winced and hobbled, and he pulled her into the bath.

“Sit. Be quiet.”

“We don’t have time for this.” She sat, rolled her eyes. “It’s going to take me a couple hours to get the stink and soot off. Christ, those boomers smell.” She turned her head to sniff at her shoulder and grimaced. “Sulfur.” Then she eyed him warily. “What’s that?”