“He wasn’t yet twenty when he took those emeralds. I worried then, but never thought I would worry now. As you are.”
“He covered his tracks.”
“I have no doubt. And yet. You’ll tell him about this, of course, but he doesn’t have to see you covered in blood. Take the elevator.”
The cat, scenting the blood, wound around her legs and meowed in a way that seemed both concerned and pissed off.
He went with her into the elevator, where she just leaned back against the wall. She thought she’d take Peabody’s advice on that big drink.
Then she stepped out, into the bedroom, just as Roarke came in.
“It’s not my blood. None of it’s mine. I’m not hurt.”
He was across the room before the first words came out, and his hands searched her for wounds.
“I’m not hurt. I swear. Let me clean up and I’ll—”
But he caught her against him. She felt him shudder once, then pull her closer yet.
“You’ll get it on you. Let me—”
“Shut up. Just shut up.” He took care of that by covering her mouth with his. “I need this,” he murmured. “Give me this.”
“Okay.” Running her hands over his hair, she repeated, “Okay. It’s okay. I’m okay.”
“You’ll tell me what happened.”
“Yes. I just want to get out of these clothes, shower it all off.”
“All right.” He unhooked her weapon harness himself. “Do you need to go back out?”
“I hope to hell not.”
“Then I’ll get you a change and take your clothes down to Summerset.”
“He said to put them in the elevator, send them down.” She stripped off the shirt, saw the blood had soaked through and onto her support tank. “He didn’t want you to see before I could explain. Neither did I.”
“The sentiment’s appreciated, but I don’t need protection.”
“I wasn’t hurt.” She pulled off her boots, her belt, emptied her pockets. “I wanted you to know that first.”
When she’d stripped down, he handed her a sweater and lounge pants so light and soft they might have been woven from vapor.
“I’ll send the rest down.”
“Roarke, I’m—”
“Don’t say you’re sorry to me.” The words snapped out. Then he touched a hand to her cheek and softened the tone. “Don’t even think it.”
She just nodded, but she did think it. “Give me five minutes. Maybe you could wait in the office. I’ve got to update and write this all up after I tell you. And I could really use a drink.”
“So could I. I’ll wait for you.”
He picked up her bloody clothes, retrieved the belt that carried more blood, and sent them down. Then he thanked whatever deity might listen for bringing her home to him again, safe.
When she came into the office, he had the fire on low and a glass of wine waiting.
“Thanks.” She took one long, slow sip. Then a second. “I’m going to start about why the blood. I can backtrack after to the rest of the day. We went to see the lawyer,” she began, and took him through it, step-by-step.
