"Bad." Her head was pounding brutally. "Really bad. Don't hassle me. It was the only way."
"For you," he murmured, drawing her into the crowded elevator when the doors whisked open.
Her vision grayed at the edges. Voices from the people who jammed in with them drifted, echoed, and fell away like waves in an ocean. She lost her bearings, and herself, only dimly aware of movement, of Roarke's voice close to her ear telling her they were nearly there.
"Okay, okay." The gray spread, closed in as he guided her to the visitor's parking area. "Mira said how this was just one of the side effects. No big deal."
"What's one of the side effects?"
"Shit, Roarke. Sorry. I'm gonna pass out."
She never heard him curse as he swung her into his arms.
*** CHAPTER TWENTY ***
She was out, unconscious or asleep, for four hours. She didn't remember getting home, being put to bed. Fortunately for all parties, she didn't remember Roarke calling in Summerset, or the butler using his medical training to examine her and prescribe rest.
When she woke, the headache remained, but the sickness and the shakes had passed.
"You can take a blocker."
Still dim, she blinked her vision clear and stared at the little blue pill Roarke held out. "What?"
"There's been enough time since your treatment for you to take a blocker. Swallow."
"Not more drugs, Roarke, I—"
It was as far as she got before he squeezed her jaw, popped the pill in her mouth. "Swallow."
Scowling, she did so, more out of reflex than obedience. "I'm okay. I'm fine."
"Sure you are. Let's go dancing."
She squirmed into a sitting position and dearly hoped her head would stay in its proper place on her shoulders. "Did anyone see me go down?"
"No." The hand on her jaw gentled. "Your kick-ass rep is intact."
"That's something, anyway. Man, I'm starving."
"Not surprising. Mira said you'd probably lost everything you'd eaten in the last twenty-four hours. I called her," he added when she frowned at him. "I wanted to know what had been done."
She saw the anger in his eyes, and the worry. Instinctively, she lifted a hand to his cheek, stroked. "Are you going to give me grief about it?"
"No. You couldn't have done anything else."
Now she smiled, let her head rest on his shoulder. "I was pissed off when I saw you there, mostly because I was glad you were there."
"How long will you have to wait for the results?"
"A day, maybe two. I can't think about it. I've got enough to keep me busy until…Shit, where are my clothes? My jeans? There's a disc in the pocket."
"This?" He picked up one he'd set on the table beside the bed.
"Yeah. Mira let me steal it out of her office. It's the profile. I need to read it." She tossed the covers back. "Feeney's got the disc we sent him by now. He should have picked up Wo or be on his way to. If he's already interviewed Wo, Peabody might be able to slip me some data on how it went."
She was already up, pulling on clothes. She was still very pale, with shadows like bruises under her eyes. He imagined the headache was beginning to dull from agony to simple misery.
And there was no stopping her.