"Don't be silly." Roarke skimmed a hand over Eve's hair, a subtle gesture of reassurance. "We've plenty of room. Whose fist did you run into, Ian?"
"Monroe's." He smirked and sent his sore lip throbbing. "We ran into each other's."
"It's nothing to brag about." Eve stripped off her jacket. "Crash here. The briefing's at oh six hundred anyway. Pick a couple of bedrooms on opposite sides of the house."
"Aw" was all Peabody said.
Laughing, Roarke patted her arm. "She doesn't mean it."
"Do, too," Eve replied. "Mavis and Trina?"
"In the pool, along with Leonardo, who arrived about two hours ago. I bowed out when they decided it was time for nude relay races."
"They're naked?" McNab perked right up. "Wet and naked? You know, a quick swim would be good. Just a passing thought," he murmured when Peabody curled her lip.
"Playtime's over. Bed." Eve pointed up the stairs. "We've got a major op tomorrow, and I want you both fresh. Where are the mermaids and friend bunking?"
"Oh, here and there," Roarke said easily. "Why don't you go up? I'll settle our company in."
"Good. I've got some things left to run before I turn in." She started up the stairs. "And I don't want to hear the patter of little feet sneaking around the corridors."
"She's so strict," Peabody said under her breath.
"Tired and cross is what she is. Now, why don't we take the elevator." Roarke gestured. "I think you'll like the accommodations I have in mind. Plenty of room for two."
Eve went to his office first, brought up a diagram of Greenpeace Park. After highlighting the picnic site, she let the computer select the most strategic locations for her men. She'd see if she agreed – after a few hours of sleep.
She listed the men she wanted for the operation, transmitted the order, and copied Whitney.
A shower, she decided when her vision blurred. Maybe a shower would wash some of the fog out of her brain so she could put another hour in.
She was staggering into the bedroom when her pocket-link beeped. "Dallas."
"Figured I'd tag you on the portable." Morris yawned hugely. "Our guest this evening departed this plane of existence at seven-forty. Previously, he had an unpleasant altercation with a blunt object. This altercation would have resulted in death within an hour, perhaps a tad less. The medical term would be having one's brains bashed in."
"Got it." Too tired to stand, she sat on the arm of the sofa in the sitting area. "I hate to be the one to break this to you, Morris, but I already got the data from a media source. You've got a gossip in your house."
"No! Why, I'm shocked and amazed. A city official leaking information to the media. What is the world coming to?"
"You're a fucking jolly soul."
"Love your work, love the world. I don't imagine your media contact had quite everything, as I've just gotten the tox results."
She shook her head clear as Roarke came into the room. "He was drugged?"
"Between the initial insults and the coup de grace, the doctor was given a stimulant."
"They tried to revive him?" Her thoughts jumbled, then cleared before Morris could answer. "No, that doesn't make sense. They wanted to keep him alive a little longer."
"Give the lady a stuffed panda. The substance used stimulates the heart, and it's quickly absorbed. If we'd gotten him in here twenty, thirty minutes later, we wouldn't have found a trace of it."
"They kept him alive so they could get him to a dumping site and kill him there. He'd have died anyway, right, from the initial beating?"
"Without immediate medical attention, yes. And even then his chances were minimal. He'd certainly have drowned without that final blow."
"So they wanted to give him that last shot. When he was unconscious, helpless. Stripped of his dignity."
"You've got yourself mighty nasty customers, Dallas. I'm sending the data to our mutual friend Renfrew. His robbery theory doesn't cut the mustard."
"Thanks. I appreciate you handling this yourself."
"Just part of our luxury package. Get some sleep, for sweet Christ's sake, Dallas. I've got customers in here who look perkier than you."
"Yeah, I'll do that." She broke transmission, then just sat, staring down at her 'link. She blinked back when Roarke released her weapon harness. "You put them in a room together, didn't you?"
"Haven't you more to worry about than the sexual activities of your subordinates?"
"My subordinates come dragging their asses into the briefing because they've spent what's left of the night playing hide the salami… What're you doing?"
"Taking off your boots. You're going to bed."
She stared down at the top of his head. Jesus, the man had the most incredible hair… All black and silky, she thought as her head started to loll. So you just wanted to bury your hands in it. Your face in it and…
She snapped back. "I'm going to grab a shower and get another hour in."
"No, Eve, you're not." Temper simmered in his voice as he tossed her boots aside with just enough force to have them bounce and skitter. "I'm not standing here watching while you make yourself sick. You go to bed on your own, or I knock you out and put you there."
She frowned at him. It wasn't often the rage showed, that hot and bubbling violence they both knew lived inside him. Seeing it leap, she knew she must look every bit as ragged as Morris indicated.
"I saw his face. I looked in his face." She spoke quietly. "I can't sleep, Roarke, because I'll see it." She pressed her fingers to her eyes, then rose. "I looked at him, and if I hadn't known what he was, I wouldn't have seen it."
She walked away, dragged open a window. Breathed. "He's young. His face is still a little soft around the edges. His hair's all red and curly like, I don't know, a pretty kid's doll or something. He'd killed tonight, taken a life – a life connected to him by blood – with deliberation and forethought and extreme violence. And he sat there talking to me. Teary. Remorseful. He played it perfectly, and I wouldn't have seen it. I wouldn't have seen what's in him."
He hated to hear the fatigue in her voice, and more the discouragement that ghosted through it. "Why should you?"
"Because I was watching for it, and it wasn't there." She whirled back. "He enjoyed it. I know that, in my gut, but I didn't see it on his face, didn't see it in his eyes. He was… entertained. I'd upped the stakes for him again. Same game, new level.
"I wanted to hurt him," she continued. "Personally. I wanted to ram my fist into his face until I erased it. Erased him."
"Instead you walked away." He crossed to her, certain she was unaware that her cheeks were wet. "Because you'll erase him by stopping him, by putting him in a cage for the rest of his life. Eve." He framed her face in his hands, brushed at the damp with his thumbs. "Darling Eve, you're exhausted, right down to the bone. If you don't rest, who'll stand for those women?"
She lifted her hands to his wrists. "The dream I had, the last one, with my father standing there bleeding from dozens of holes I'd put in him. He said I'd never be rid of him. He was right. You take one down and another one's right there. Right there waiting. I can't sleep, because I'll see them."
"Not tonight." He drew her in. "We won't let them come in tonight. If you won't sleep…" He brushed his lips over her temple. "… you'll rest."
He picked her up, carried her back to the sofa.
"What are we doing?"
"We'll watch a movie," he told her.
"A movie. Roarke – "
"It's something you don't do enough of." He laid her down, selected a film disc. "Go outside yourself and into make-believe. Dramas or comedies, joys and sorrows that pull you away from your own for a bit of time."
He came back, slid behind her, and tucked her head on his shoulder. "I've told you about this one, Magda Lane. It took me out of my own miseries once."
It felt so good to lie with him, to have his arm hooked cozily around her waist. The opening music swept into the room, color and costume swirled on-screen. "How many times have you seen this?" she asked him.