Peabody glanced up, let out a relieved breath. "I wouldn't bet on that," she commented and shifted aside as Roarke knelt down.
"What is this?" Annoyance made way for panic. "Peabody, you are cooked."
"Quiet," Roarke ordered with such casual confidence both MTs goggled at him as if he were a god. "How bad is she?" he demanded.
The run-through of injuries was a great deal more coherent and professional, ending with the recommendation that the victim be transported to the nearest hospital for treatment and evaluation.
"I'm not going."
"You are." He feathered his fingers over her battered face, and a sick anger settled in his gut. "She needs something for the pain."
"Roarke—"
"Do you think I can't see it?" he snapped out, then drew himself back and shifted tactics. "Be a brave little soldier, darling, and let the nice MTs do what they must. If you're very good, I'll buy you some ice cream."
"I'll kick your ass for this."
"I look forward to you being able to try."
She struggled, catching the glint of a pressure syringe. "I don't want that shit. It makes me stupid. I took a spill, that's all. Where's that kid? I'm going to stomp all over his little freckled nose."
Roarke leaned over until his face filled her vision. "You let a kid take you down?" He saw immediately that the question, the amused tone of it had done the job. She stopped struggling to glare at him.
"Listen, ace—damn it, damn it!" She bucked once when she felt the faint nip of the syringe.
"Relax and enjoy it," he suggested. He felt the tension spill out of the hand he held. "That's the way."
"Think you're so smart." Body and mind began to float. "But you're more pretty. So pretty. Give me a kiss. Love that mouth. Like to bite it."
He kissed her limp hand instead. "She won't give you any more trouble."
"Bet I flew ten feet. Whee." She rolled her head to the side as she was lifted onto a gurney. "Hey, Peabody! Outta uniform. You got no shoes."
"Ditched them on the run. You're going to be okay, Dallas."
"Fucking-A. But I'm not going to any lame hospital. No, sir. Going home now. Where's Roarke? We're going home now, okay?"
"Eventually."
"That's right," she said, decisively, then slid under before they'd loaded her into the ambulance.
* * *
"She's going to be really mad when she comes out of it," Peabody said as she paced the ER waiting room.
"Oh yes." Roarke tapped his fingers against the side of the coffee cup. He'd yet to drink. "You did exactly right, Peabody, by calling the MTs, and me."
"Maybe you wouldn't mind mentioning that when she's lunging for my throat later. I don't know how she got up to pursue in the first place. That guy, he was big as a gorilla, and he flattened her. Probably jammed her shoulder when she rammed it into his groin. There I am, fumbling for my off-duty in this stupid little purse, and she's already taken him down and cuffed him. I should've been faster."
"I'd say you were quick enough. How are the feet?"
She curled up her toes. She had stripped off her ruined hose in the ladies' room. "Nothing a soak and a rub won't fix. Too bad about the shoes though. They were new and totally mag. Even without them I couldn't keep up with Dallas. She's like lightning."
"Long legs," he replied and thought of the blood he'd seen staining her trousers as she'd lain on the sidewalk.
"Yeah, she'd've apprehended if it hadn't been for the kid with the airboard. You can't beat her. She's—" She broke off, jittery when the ER doctor swung out.
"You're the husband?" the doctor asked with a nod to Roarke.