“All right.”
“We think it might be corporate espionage.” Whitestone spread his hands as Newton sighed at him. “That’s what we’ve been talking about since we heard about the break-in at Brewer’s,” he insisted. “It sounds like somebody hired somebody to access all those files, and maybe the Dickenson woman was part of it. I know she’s dead, and that’s terrible. But we’ve been told several files were taken. It sounds like a big operation looking to access and analyze data, trying to undermine competitors.”
“That’s a theory.”
“But not yours,” Whitestone said.
“No, not mine. Just taking the two companies I asked you about, they’re not in the same businesses or areas. They’re not competitors. They don’t have anything in common, except you and Brewer. So . . . Thanks for your time.”
She’d done what she needed to do, Eve thought—and did limp a little once she got down to the lobby. She’d planted seeds of doubt and unease, at least in the mind of the guilty.
And now she was going home, soaking her aching ass.
• • •
She bore down again as she maneuvered her body out of the car at the base of the steps of home. Just had to get by Dr. Doom, up the stairs, into the tub. A solid soak would do the trick.
Breathing carefully, she stepped inside.
Summerset scanned her, top to toe. “I suppose it couldn’t last forever.”
“What?” Just had to get up the stairs that, right that minute, looked like the towering side of an alp.
“Getting through the day without injury.”
“Who says I’m injured?”
“Slamming into the ground as you did would jar the body, bruise the points of impact.”
She imagined that was his delicate way of referring to her ass, but she still didn’t like it. When the cat wound his pudgy way through her legs, she realized she’d probably whimper out loud if she tried bending to pet him.
“There was a lot of grass.”
“Regardless. Oh, don’t be an idiot,” he snapped at her. “Take the elevator.”
“I’m fine. Just a little stiff.” She started for the steps, gave up. Crawling up them lost more pride points than just walking past him to the damn elevator.
“I assume you refused any medical attention. You want ice and heat, on and off. And a blocker.”
He was probably right, but she wanted that damn tub like she wanted to breathe. “I’m fine,” she repeated.
“You’re young, fit, quick, and have excellent reflexes,” he said as she walked to the elevator. “Because of that a child is being pampered and spoiled by his parents right now instead of lying in a hospital. Or worse. Take a blocker. He’ll only make you when he gets home, and he’s on his way.”
Summerset held out a little blue pill. “Take it now, and I can tell him you did.”
Simpler to just take it, she decided, because he was right again. Roarke would shove one down her throat if she didn’t. And that was stupid all around.
“Fine.” She took it, swallowed it.
“Ice,” he repeated.
“I don’t want ice unless it’s in a really big drink.” She stepped into the elevator.
“Master bedroom,” Summerset ordered before she could do so herself.
So she just closed her eyes, leaned against the wall, and let it take her where she wanted to go.
She’d been hurt worse, she reminded herself. A hell of a lot worse. Despite that dubious qualifier, she felt as if every muscle, bon