Connections in Death (In Death 48)

She went in to fill the tub, started to strip down. Roarke brought her a glass of wine, then took a glass jar from a shelf. He tossed a couple of scoops of pale blue salts into the water.

“It’ll help with the bruising.” While she stood watching him, he fixed ice patches to the worst of the damage to her face. “And so will that.”

“Are you going to use one on your knuckles wh

ere you powed the finger-snapper?”

“He had a jaw like a marshmallow. Keep the jets on low.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

He kissed her lightly, and would have left her alone, but the cat leaped onto a stool, apparently to stand guard.

Eve finished stripping off, took a survey in the full-length mirror. A few got past her guard, as Nadine had said, a little bruising along the ribs, some on the arms from blocking. Definitely the face got the worst of it.

She met Galahad’s eyes in the mirror. “I’ve had worse. You’ve been around when I’ve had worse. They called her Tank, get it? She had arms like steel beams. And a bat,” she added when he seemed unimpressed.

“Screw it.”

She slid into the tub, ordered the jets on low, and picked up the wine.

* * *

When she came out, Roarke had changed into what she thought of as rich-guy knock-around clothes: high-end sweatpants of cotton so soft clouds were jealous and a thin, roomy sweater.

He sat with his wine and his PPC, no doubt catching up on work. He looked up, gave her a close study, nodded. “All right, better. Let’s finish it off.”

After patting the cushion beside him, he took the healing wand out of the medical kit on the table.

“She had a bat. I might not have mentioned she had a bat.”

“And biceps, as I recall, like concrete.”

“That’s no bullshit. I can show you her mug shot.”

“I saw her on your board. And considering that, I believe you deserve another glass of wine.”

He poured it for her, then began to stroke the wand over her face. “I’m very fond of this face,” he said as he worked, “so I very much hope tonight’s mug shot shows the wrath of my cop.”

“I busted her nose. Had to be on Zeus because she just shook off the first couple of streams I hit her with.”

“Concrete biceps, a bat, and Zeus. Turn a bit. There you are.”

“Magic coat’s magic. Jones hit me with a stream—and on full, I checked. That’s going to be attempted murder of a police officer—maybe pled down to assault with a deadly, but we start with the high note. If Reo plays it right, when you add it all up, he could do the next seventy-five in a cage. More,” she calculated. “He’ll never turn that around.”

“No tropical breezes for him.”

“No.”

After setting the wand down, Roarke cupped her chin. “Darling Eve, talk to me.”

“I’m talking to you. Words are coming out of my mouth. I hear them.”

He simply kept his eyes on hers, and the inexplicable sadness in them. “You put together two operations, successful ones, that may very well have broken the backs of two gangs. Multiple members will do time, and as you said, Jones himself could spend over three-quarters of a century in prison. I have no doubt that tomorrow you’ll also break the three remaining who are responsible for Lyle Pickering, and Duff. And Aimes.

“Why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad. I’m … I don’t know what I am.”