"Oh, dozens, I suppose. Shh. You'll miss the opening lines."
She watched, and when her lids drooped, she listened. Then she slept.
When she woke, it was quiet, and it was dark, and his arm was still around her. Fatigue wanted to drag her back under, but she willed it back and turned her wrist up to check the time.
Already after five,she thought. She'd had a solid three hours' sleep, and it would have to be enough. But when she started to move, Roarke's arm tightened.
"Take a few minutes more."
"Can't. It's going to take a half hour in the shower to beat my brain back into shape. I wonder if I can take a shower lying down."
"It's called a bath."
"Not the same."
"Why are you whispering?"
"I'm not whispering." She cleared her throat. And felt as if she'd swallowed splinters of glass. "Just a little hoarse."
"Lights on, ten percent." In the dim glow he nudged her onto her back. "Pale as a ghost, too," he said and laid a hand on her brow. Something like panic ran over his face. "I think you're running a fever."
"I am not." If he could feel panic at the thought of illness, she could feel fear. "I'm not sick. I don't get sick."
"You don't sleep more than a handful of hours in a week and live on coffee, you get sick. Damn it, Eve, you've sabotaged your immune system once too often."
"I have not." She started to sit up, then plopped back when the room spun. "I'm just getting my bearings."
"I ought to strap you in bed for the next month. You need a bloody keeper." He rolled off the sofa, strode to the house 'link.
"I don't know what you're so pissed off about." Her voice was perilously close to a whine, and appalled her. "I'm just a little muggy yet."
"You set a single toe off that sofa, and I'm hauling you to the doctor."
"You just try it, pal, and we'll see who needs medical attention." Since the threat came out in a wheeze, it wasn't particularly effective.
Roarke simply glared at her, and snapped into the 'link. "Summerset. Eve's ill. I need you up here."
"What? What are you doing?" She shoved herself up, nearly gained her feet before Roarke stalked back and held her down. "He's not touching me. He lays one hand on me and I'm beating you both bloody. Where's my weapon?"
"It's him or the health center."
She sucked in air. "You are not the boss here."
"Prove it," he challenged. "Take me down."
She pushed up, he shoved her back. She reared again, and this time pumped her fist into his belly.
"It's gratifying to see you have some strength left, even if that was a girl punch."
The insult nearly rendered her speechless. "The first chance, the very first chance I get, I'm tying your dick into a knot."
"Won't that be fun?" He looked over as Summerset came in. "She's running a fever."
"I am not. Don't you touch me. Don't lay a hand – " She cursed, struggled, when Roarke straddled her and pinned her arms,
"Such childishness." Summerset clucked his tongue, laid a hand on her brow. "Temperature's slightly elevated." He danced his long fingers under her jaw, along her throat. "Stick out your tongue."
"Eve." Roarke's single word was drenched in warning as she pressed her lips tightly together. She stuck out her tongue.
"Do you have any pain?" Summerset asked her.
"Yeah, in my ass. I call it Summerset."
"I see your droll wit hasn't suffered. Just a bit of a bug," he said to Roarke. "Due, I imagine, to exhaustion, stress, and juvenile eating habits. We can ward it off, and treat the symptoms. I'll go get what she needs. She'll do best with a day or two in bed."
"Get off me," she said in a low, clear voice when Summerset went out. "Right now."
"No." Her arms were trembling under his grip, and he didn't think it was all from temper. "Not until we've dealt with this. Are you cold?"
"No." She was freezing. And the pitiful struggle she'd put up had awakened aches everywhere.
"Then why are you shivering?" He bit off an oath, snagged a throw from the back of the couch and had it flung over her before she could push the order from brain to body to move.
"Damn it, Roarke, he's going to come back and poke at me, and try to make me drink one of his weird brews. I just need a hot shower. Let me up. Have a heart."
"I do, and it's yours." He lowered his brow to hers. "That's the problem."
"I'm feeling better. Really." It was a lie, poorly executed as her voice was beginning to tremble. "And when I close this case, I'll take a day off. I'll sleep for twenty hours. I'll eat vegetables."
He had to smile. "I love you, Eve."
"Then don't let him back in here." Her eyes wheeled as she heard the elevator doors open. "He's coming," she whispered. "In the name of everything holy, save me."
"She needs to sit up." Summerset set a tray on the table. On it was a glass of milky liquid, a trio of white tablets, and a pressure syringe.
Eve let herself go limp, and when Roarke eased back, she sprang. It was a sweaty battle, but a short one. Without batting a lash, Summerset stepped over, pinched her nose closed, dropped the tablets in her mouth, and chased them down her throat with the liquid.
He smiled at Roarke while she sputtered. "I recall having to do that to you a time or two."
"That's where I learned it."
"Get her shirt off. The vitamin booster will work fastest this way."
To save time, and his own skin, Roarke simply ripped off her sleeve. "How's that?"
"Good enough."
She'd gone past anger into weeping, humiliating herself. Everything hurt – head, body, pride. When the syringe pressed against her arm, she barely felt it.
"Shh, baby. Shh." Shaken, Roarke stroked her hair and rocked her. "It's all over now. Don't cry."
"Go away," she said even as she clung to him. "Just go away."
"Leave me alone with her." Summerset touched Roarke's shoulder, felt a pang when he saw the naked emotion on his face. "Give us a few minutes."
"All right." Roarke held her tight another minute. "I'll be in the gym."
When he set her aside, she curled into a ball. Summerset sat beside her, saying nothing until she'd sniffled herself into silence.
"What he feels for you overwhelms him," Summerset began. "There was never anyone else. The women who came and went before you were diversions, temporary interests. He might care, because despite everything that was done to him, he's a man with a large capacity for caring. And still, there was no one before you. Don't you see how he worries?"
She uncurled herself, rubbed her hands over her wet face as if she could rub away the embarrassment of the tears. "He shouldn't worry."
"He does and he will. You need rest, Lieutenant, and a few days without work and worry. And so does he. So very much does he. He won't take his without you."
"I can't. Not now."
"Won't."
She closed her eyes. "Go up to my office, look at the faces of the dead pinned to my board. Then tell me to step away."
"He wouldn't, would he? But to do what you need to do, you require your strength, energies, and wit." He leaned over, picked up the glass. "Finish it."
She frowned at the glass. She hated to admit whatever he'd given her was already working. So she wouldn't. "It's probably poison."
"Poison," he said, amused. "Why didn't I think of that? Perhaps next time."
"Har-har." She took the glass, downed the remaining contents. "There must be a way to make this taste less like sewage."
"Certainly." He set the glass back on the tray, then got to his feet. "But I'm entitled to my small pleasures. I might suggest you try some moderate exercise now."
She didn't have time, but she took it anyway and went down to the gym. He wasn't using the machines, he rarely did, but was steadily, sweatily, working his way through bench presses. He had the screen on, with the audio set to spew out the various stock reports.