"If this guy would just patch me up enough so I could—hey, hey, hey!" She jerked, slapped out, but wasn't quick enough to prevent the pressure syringe from shooting into her arm. "What was that? What'd you give me?"
"Just a pain blocker. This is going to hurt some."
"Ah shit, that's going to make me goofy. You know that stuff makes me goofy," she said, appealing to Roarke. "I hate when that happens."
"I rather enjoy it myself." He tipped her chin up as the MT went to work on her arm. "How many devoted husbands do you see?"
"Just you. I don't have a concussion."
"Yes, she does," the MT said cheerfully. "This gash is plenty dirty—got lots of street grit in it—but we'll clean her right up and close it."
"Make it snappy then." She was starting to shiver—part cold, part shock—but didn't notice. "I've got to follow this up with the fire team and the explosive unit. And where the hell's Peabody, because I… shit, shit, shit, it's happening. My tongue's getting thick." Her head lolled, and she shook it back into place. She felt a snort of laughter building and fought to suppress it. "Why don't they just give you a couple shots of Kentucky bourbon?''
"It isn't cost-effective. And you don't like bourbon." Roarke sat on the running board beside her, took her free hand to examine the scrapes and burns himself.
"Yeah well, I don't like this either. Chemicals make you all otherwise." She stared dully as the medic guided a suturing wand over her ripped flesh, neatly mending it. "Don't you take me to the hospital. I'll be really pissed."
He didn't see her beloved leather jacket anywhere and made a mental note to replace it. For now he stripped his own off and tucked it over her shoulders. "Darling, in about ninety seconds you're not going to know what I do with you, or where I take you."
Her body began a lovely slow float to nowhere. "I will when I come out of it. Why, there she is. Hey, Peabody. And McNab, too. Don't they make a cute couple?"
"Adorable. Put your head back, Eve, and let the nice MT bandage it for you."
"Okay, sure. Hiya, Peabody, you and McNab out on the town?"
"He drugged her," Roarke explained. "Tranqs always do this to her."
"How bad are you hurt?'' White-faced and shaken, Peabody knelt down. "Dallas, how bad?"
"Oh." She gestured widely, and managed to slap the long-suffering MT. "Bumps and stuff. Boy, did I fly. Let me tell you, the up part can be pretty cool, but those landings suck space waste. Wham!" To demonstrate she attempted to slam her fist on her knee, missed and caught the medic in the crotch. "Oops, sorry," she said when he folded. "Hey, Peabody, how's my vehicle?"
"It's a dead loss."
"Damn. Well, good night." She wrapped her arms around Roarke, nestled into him, and sighed.
The MT sucked his breath back then got shakily to his feet. "That's the best I can do for her here. She's all yours."
"Indeed she is. Come on, darling, let's go."
"Did you save me some pizza? I don't want you carrying me, okay? It's embarrassing. I can walk fine."
"Of course you can," he assured her and hefted her into his arms.
"See, told you." Her head dropped on his shoulder like lead. "Mmm. You smell good." She sniffed at his throat like a puppy. "Isn't he pretty?" she said to no one in particular. "He's all mine, too. All mine. Are we going home?"
"Mmm-hmm." There was no need to mention the detour he intended to take to the nearest hospital.
"I need Peabody to stay for… I need her to stay for something. Yeah, for follow-up, get those bomb guys to spill it, Peabody."
"Don't worry about it, Dallas. We'll have a full report for you in the morning."
"Tonight. 'S only the shank of the evening."
"Tomorrow," Roarke murmured, shifting his gaze from Peabody to McNab. "I want to know everything there is to know."
"You'll have it," McNab promised. He waited until Roarke carried Eve through the crowd, then turned to study the car. "If she'd been inside when it went up…"
"She wasn't," Peabody snapped. "Let's get to work."