In Death 06 - Vengeance in Death

long he stood there, unable to breathe, his body rocking with shock. Then he broke, started forward, with some wild notion of ripping the ruined car to pieces to find her.
    "Goddamn it, I said I'm not going to any hospital. Just patch me up, for Christ's sake, and find me a fucking communicator before I kick your sorry ass over to the East Side."
    He whirled, his head whipping up like a wolf's scenting its mate. She was sitting on the running board of a medivan, snarling at a harassed medical technician who was struggling to coat her burns.
    She was singed, bleeding, bruised, and furiously alive.
    He didn't go to her at once. He needed a moment for his hands to stop shaking, for his heart to stop sputtering and beat normally again. Relief was like a drug, a spiked drink to make him giddy. He gulped it down, then found himself grinning like an idiot as she rammed her elbow into the MT's gut to prevent him from giving her a dose of medication.
    "Keep that thing away from me. Did I tell you to get me a communicator?"
    "I'm doing my job, Lieutenant. If you'd just cooperate -- "
    "Cooperate hell. Cooperate with you guys and I'll end up drooling and strapped to a gurney."
    "You need to go to a hospital or health center. You have a concussion, second-degree burns, contusions, lacerations. You're shocky."
    Eve reached up and grabbed him by the band collar of his uniform coat. "One of us is going to be shocky, ace, if you don't get me a goddamn communicator."
    "Well, Lieutenant, I see you're in your usual form."
    She looked over, up, and, seeing Roarke, wiped the back of her hand over her bruised and sooty face. "Hi. I was just trying to get this jerk to find me a communicator so I could call you. Let you know I'd be late for dinner."
    "I figured that out for myself when we heard your explosion." He crouched down until they were eye to eye. There was a nasty scrape on her forehead, still seeping blood. Her jacket was gone, and the shirt she wore was ripped and singed. Blood stained the sleeve of her left arm from a six-inch gash. Her slacks were literally tatters.
    "Darling," he said mildly, "you're not looking your best."
    "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