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Finale, Chapter Six
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jlk
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06 October 2012
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Peabody reached her first. Her eyes took in the still form of Commander Winslett, half dressed, face down on the floor with arms and ankles neatly zip tied, unmoving, the shambles of the blood-sprayed room, and Dallas sitting on the disordered bed petting her cat. She hugged Dallas hard, quickly, then let her go to look her over. She was bleeding good from a gash on the side of her head, looked like she’d gone a round with a gorilla, but fine. Pissed off, but fine. “How come he didn’t bring a friend for me,” she managed to get out the question to her friend, not quite getting the whine right.
Dallas’ eyes, glassy diamond bright, glinted in appreciation. “We were waiting for you to join us. Summerset, help Peabody get this fuckhead out of here before Roarke gets here and kills him.” They heard the commotion and shouting from the lower floor, feet hitting the stairs at a fast pace, the elevator doors being forced open across the room. “Now you all get here,” she muttered wryly, still petting Galahad. “Someone drugged him. Probably Zeus with a kicker,” she told her partner and Davidson calmly, strangely unsurprised to see him coming toward her through the crippled elevator doors with a crowbar. She rested her head back against the headboard, eyes closing, and passed out.
Eve didn’t think she’d been out long when she heard Roarke’s voice saying her name. She sighed, snuggled into his tight hold, then slapped at whoever was bothering her sore head. “Leave it alone. I’m fine.” She wasn’t quite ready to open her eyes yet. Her head hurt.
“You’re going to need stitches, kid,” Feeney’s voice was gently amused. “And you’re bleeding all over the Irish sheets.”
“How do you know they’re Irish?” She tried prying her eyes open, found Roarke’s sun-hot blue gaze locked on her. “HI, ace.”
He forced a grin, seeing she needed lightness from him. “Lieutenant, we’re going to have a long talk about you having strange men in our bedroom.” He swallowed the lump in his throat as she reached up and brushed hair away from his face.
“But it would be fine with you if it was strange women,” Eve said, taking a deep breath, letting it out shakily. “Don’t let the MTs near me.”
“Too late, Dallas. Got one here,” Peabody told her, hiding her grin as she led the medic into the room.
Since Roarke would only hold her down and make a fuss, Eve let the medic check her out. “Report, Peabody.” She kept a hold on Roarke’s warm, large, secure hand. While she’d been unconscious she’d been moved into a different bedroom. It was a relief.
“Commander Winslett is being transferred via a Medical Shuttle back to Earth, charges pending, under guard. The master suite is a mess. Galahad’s on his second dish of caviar. McNab and I are back on track. Thank you for asking, Sir!” Peabody grinned now.
Eve glared at her. Switched her attention to the MT who had finished with the suture wand. “Report,” snapped at him.
“Ten stitches, concussion, wrenched shoulder, you’ll be sore” he responded calmly. He looked at Roarke, nodded, rose to his feet. “Sir.”
“Thank you.” Roarke slid onto the bed beside his wife, enfolding her in his arms.
Peabody slipped from the room, closing the doors behind her and firmly motioning the lineup of people in the hallway back to the lower level. "Darcia, you’re not getting anything out of her until tomorrow. It’s not up for discussion. We can do the team briefing for the games without them," she announced calmly, firmly. "Suzette, why don’t you get Dallas’ notes from the meeting today and ready for a power point presentation.”
Eve let her husband hold her, held him back. “It’s your entire fault, you know.”
“What is?” Roarke kissed her head.
“Peabody and McNab having that fight. You should have told Tibble that McNab couldn’t go since he’d already had a turn to play.”
“Your Chief of Police didn’t seek my input when he put this team together” Roarke protested mildly. He wanted to tell her to rest, sleep, but knew in his aching heart that this attack would make bring the nightmares back, terrify her of slumber. Best to talk out the violence now, not let the memory close over quickly then fester. “Davidson says Winslett was using Illegals?”
“I think someone drugged him.” She had no doubt of it. The man may have tried making a heavier move on her, but he was like Roarke: raping a woman wasn’t in his makeup. “I don’t even want to figure out who’s got jurisdiction over this.” Technically Roarke’s suite was the Earth government’s jurisdiction, specifically New York City, since that was where he claimed his home. She frowned. “NYC is your residence of record, right?”
“Ah. Well.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
Eyebrows raised, Eve remained silent. She didn’t protest when he slid the robe off her body, carried her into the adjoining bathroom and ordered the shower on. With great care he washed the blood from her hair and body, then dried her with fluffy warmed towels. He left her for a few minutes to give her privacy, returned with robes for them both. She understood he needed to tend her as he carried her to the bedroom’s attached privacy screened balcony. It was a different view than the master, she thought to the right end of the hotel. Darkness had fallen. She’d been unconscious longer than she’d thought. Something about his easy strength as he settled them on the double lounger made her feel safe, protected. She needed that, just for a little while, just for tonight. She could be strong again tomorrow, Eve promised herself.
“Taxes and so on. I may be Canadian at the minute.” Roarke spoke into her mussed hair as he finally answered her question. He breathed in her unique smell, closed his eyes. “Tell me, aghra.”
Eve smelled his scent as well. She wanted to ask him to stay with her, but knew already he would. She didn’t want to be alone now. “I would have gotten him down, but he was so hyped up … then I hit my head. I think he might have” she stopped, forced the words out “raped me, if Galahad hadn’t distracted him. I’m not sure how high the stunner was on when I fired. Then Peabody and Summerset broke down the doors and Davidson destroyed the elevator to get to me. And then you were here with me.” Her voice broke, hot tears covered his throat as he cradled her to him. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” Eve protested, more to herself than him. “I’m fine.”
“Of course you are, darling Eve. You’re strong and capable and you saved yourself. You always will. But for right now, I think my beautiful warrior needs to be held. Let me hold you, Eve. My Eve. Forever my Eve,” Roarke whispered. Who else but this woman would use a handful of simple sentences to describe such an assault? He held her. Held her until she slept, then carried her to their bed, wherever they lay together was their bed he now knew, and held her until the nightmare came.
She’d been free of them for so long, Eve thought, staring sightlessly at the wall across the room. Weeks of nightmare-free sleep, only bad dreams that could in no way be compared to the horrors of those nightmares. Now they were back. Now. Roarke had woken her, chased the nightmare away. But sleep wouldn’t come again, Eve knew. Good sleep was gone for a long time to come.
+++++++++++++++++++
Roarke and Feeney addressed the issue with the War Games Committee, gliding over the facts, allowing that much wasn’t known, that the future would depend on what was discovered in the days to come. It was a military group. Set up to deal with such incidents through decades, centuries, the history of warfare, to push beyond such incidents. The US Army immediately dispatched a new Commander. The games would go on.
Of Eve’s team, only a few knew the entire situation. The rest knew that Winslett had attacked her in her suite, she’d received a head wound, that she was recovered in her usual quick fashion. A few suspected more, but would never ask. Those who did know would never have said more.
Eve tried that day and the next, making assignments, preparing, planning, encouraging, snarling, joking and laughing with her team. But her heart was no longer in it. She thought perhaps she had hid it from them all, hoped she had, as she prepared for a last look at the game field. Roarke was handling some of his business and she declined Feeney’s offer to go with her. She just wanted to be alone. She had arranged a drone flyer to take her on an overhead flight of the field, controlling as much as she was able her fear of heights. She hadn’t wanted the sound of mechanics to interrupt her thoughts when she’d arranged for it. Now she was grateful for the silence as she floated in the balloon-type craft. The pilot was silent, busy with the controls or guessing she wanted quiet.
Eve looked over the field, fixing the features in her memory. This game was much more complex than the one she had gleefully led her team to winning less than a month ago. It may have involved the entire team to win or lose, but there was so much diversity that the feeling of a cohesive group pulling together and fighting a common enemy was lost. She felt no sense of enthusiasm, not even really of challenge. Her people were good. They would perform their tasks to the best of their abilities. She looked down at the manmade fields, hundreds of feet below her, and a thought wisped her mind. Pull it together, Dallas. Roarke’s right. You saved yourself and you always will. The nightmares returning, well, she’d known they weren’t gone forever. And no point in whining about it. You have the best husband in the universe and a team of NYPSD officers who can kick the ass of any military group seven ways to Sunday – whatever that means. Get your head in the game, Dallas. Get out of this stupid thing, go make love to your husband and get your team motivated. Now!
Eve turned to the operator. “Take me back. I’ve got what I need.”
Roarke gazed out at his accomplishment from the now restored master bedroom suite. Olympus Resort had been his dream for a decade. It was up and running successfully, and would continue to do so long after his name was forgotten. He even had more plans to enlarge on it. But now it mattered … not at all. His life, his Eve, was in pain and she was afraid. He’d called Mira. She would see Eve and he as soon as they returned on planet. But how did he make it right with Eve? He’d known Winslett was focused on her. Had seen the proof repeatedly. Had been certain of her danger enough to bring Davidson to Olympus to watch out for her when he Roarke couldn’t be with her. And then he had locked her into a cage and set that animal upon her. Because it was his security system that had failed her. He had personally designed the system, created the fail-safes, overseen its installment and upgrades. And for what? So Eve could be trapped into their bedroom fighting for her life, unable to get out and help unable to get in. She’d been saved not by him, but with her own courage and by their goddamn cat!
“Roarke?” He turned, seeing her beautiful golden brown eyes tear filled, her slender body tension-filled in the doorway.
“Christ, Eve, I am so sorry.” He didn’t know how to go on, what she needed from him to make this better again. It had been two days of not knowing and he was going mad. Then she was in his arms, twined around him and letting him know exactly what she needed from him to help her heal. It never ceased to amaze him how she could come to him when any other woman would have been repulsed, sickened by what he was, revolted by what he had done. No matter his crime this woman, the embodiment of his world, was able to forgive him, was willing to forgive him and accept him as he was. “Please forgive me, Eve.” He just needed to hear it one time, Roarke assured himself. Just once.
“I forgive you. I love you and need you and want you and I will always forgive you." She’d ask him later what she was forgiving him for, Eve thought, getting to work on his clothes. She’d had enough of violence for the moment, and was careful, not ripping, not tearing, no forcing buttons from their holes. Instead she reminded her fingers that they knew how to do this, reminded her body that there was no hurry. Roarke was a meal that would fill her whether she gobbled him down or experienced each nibble to the fullest. There was no hurry. “Just this once. I want us to go slow. Please, Roarke.”
He laughed, a smothered sound as he kissed her face. “When do I want to hurry, aghra? Tell me again.” Roarke hadn’t meant to ask it, but guilt rode him. She had come so close to harm because of him.
“I forgive you. Can we eat while we make love? I’m hungry, I think.”
Which one of them was more shocked at that, neither knew. But Roarke was a man of action, so he settled her on their new bed and programmed the Autochef, returned to strip the clothes from his ravenous wife, retrieved the food, and fed her bites between making slow love to her, hopefully fattening her up while soothing her battered psyche. And when he whispered these thoughts to her, she laughed, low and huskily, and Roarke finally knew he was forgiven.
Later, after, she was energized, renewed, and ready for a last team briefing. While she had hidden her depression well, they had all felt her lessened enthusiasm. And now they felt her rejuvenation. She strode to the head of the conference table, began her new battle plan. “Thanks to our many assistants, um, spies,” everyone grinned at the unofficial members of the team, “we know probably all of the dirty little tricks we’ll face tomorrow. I’ve come up with several of our own. Feeney, Roarke, check and see if our playmates have ever gone off the books. I want to know if it’s not specific in the regulations, can we get away with some changes.” They went to huddle over the computers in the back of the room, taking McNab with them. “Trueheart.”
“Sir!” He looked up at her, ready as a cocker spaniel to chase a thrown stick.
“Your taking over the Team Leader position.” Eve turned to the murder board.
Silence descended. In the back, almost with a sensation of shock, Roarke raised his head and intensely studied his wife. He would never be done being surprised by her, he thought. What was this about? Where had it come from?
“Sir?”
“You’re taking the tenth position. Team Leader. I’m taking a fourth.” She turned back to the board, beginning to rearrange the assignments.
“But, Dallas …” Baxter trailed off. He knew she was up to something, but he didn’t know what. He was the other member of the Fourth Position.
But Peabody had seen it. She smiled. A big, big smile that caught the others’ confused looks. “Because you can handle eighty pounds, Baxter. Leaving Dallas to run the ten miles in under an hour then help the other positions.”
Detective Trenton of Cyber Crimes wasn’t slow, just not fast. “But the rules say forty pounds each.” He shuffled through the papers, frowned. It said forty pounds for each of two team members. It didn’t designate that each member had to have his or her own forty pounds. “Ohh.”
“You’re clear, Dallas.” Feeney’s voice from the back. “Letter of the law only. If it ain’t how its written, it’s not how you gotta play it, kid.” He grinned almost as hard as Peabody.
Eve kept making changes on her board. “We gotta collect twenty of those goddamn flags however many times they blow the horn. Who wants to sit all day in the building, go collect the things, shoot everybody else, and turn them in at the end of the day?” She laughed when she turned and everyone had his or her hand up.
And she’s back, Roarke thought, eyes glowing blue lakes as he stared at the woman who had been put in this universe for him to love and treasure.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
The shuttles with his prized deliveries began to arrive at five in the morning, Olympus Standard Time. Because the Mitszu X-Ray was still out of commission, hand-held scanners and the dogs were used. If some of the older scanners typically used for passenger scanning were working off their normal shifts, no one noticed, or cared. And if the trucks the cargo were loaded on weren’t the usual delivery fare for the local hotels and restaurants, that was why unions still had an uncertain hold on the satellite. Things change. By ten o’clock, his wealth had been delivered and was being stored around the satellite like a chicken hides its eggs, a squirrel its nuts. Glorying, he tuned in to the live coverage of the Olympus War Games, as they were being billed, featuring the NYPSD. Legal betting allowed.
He laughed.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
At 0545, twenty-one teams of twenty-four men and women stood at attention, give or take, on the Olympus Resort and Satellite, at the future site of Roarke’s Bella Eve Parkland. Cam-bots swirled around, often blackening the skies as they fought for coverage of the different teams. Off-site announcers made their networks money as they gave facts, innuendos, outright lies, suggestions, and gossip to the thrill of their audiences. Few cared about the details of the competition, but the information was thrown in every once in a while to keep the audience feeling knowledgeable. Physically motivated individuals tended to be considered more attractive and the media had over five hundred individuals to focus on and exploit. Well-prepared stations had personal interviews, specific details, fluff pieces and background stories to enhance interest. It was a Roarke event and everyone was interested. In fact, the billionaire could be seen standing with the military commanders of the twenty-one teams involved. It had been rumored that he was commanding the NYPSD Team, but that had been cut down firmly as Captain Donald Webster and Captain Ryan Feeney were introduced as being in co-commanders.
Having spent the night showing her husband that she still forgave him while satisfying a craving to lick cheesecake from his body, Eve was contentedly watching twenty Team Leaders try and figure out why Detective Troy Trueheart was suddenly standing with them. He played it up by taking out his hand-written list as the schedule and team directions were announced.
The formal protests began the minute Eve dashed across the ten mile run starting point minus her forty pound pack. Roarke actually suspected she could have beaten most if not all of the competitors with the pack, but enjoyed watching her svelte form flowing like quicksilver around the field. Feeney looking like an electrocuted frog among princes, calmly began his assurances that the NYPSD Team was in compliance with the appropriate rules and regulations of the game. Webster, relaxed, dangerous, and fashionable in the three piece suit Darcia had had made for him and insisted he wear on threat of never seeing her naked again, began the verbal tap dance that his years with the Internal Affairs Bureau had made him a master in. Having provided a few tips in the strategies best used in these form of negotiations, Roarke watched the monitors showing his team’s progress. He’d already placed his bets, anonymously via Summerset, on individuals and groupings, so could put his feet up and enjoy waiting on the outcomes. And he did make a good amount to donate to Douchas when Eve crossed the finish line in forty-five minutes and three seconds.
Eve crossed the finish line and headed for Site 8 to help her four man team figure out the hazardous crossing area. Detective Fandago out of Burglary was in his duck pond, Cartright explained to Eve. Whatever that meant, Eve evaluated he had the NYPSD Team damn well half the course ahead of their competitors. She branched off for Peabody and Carmichael, who were doing just fine. Happy as a lark, she headed off to bother McNab and Calendar, figuring they’d work faster if she threatened to help them.
++++++++++++++++
My deliveries are complete. Time to lob my grenade.
++++++++++++++++
The horn blew.
Team NYPSD, their mocked up pictures (by Feeney) of Roarke and Eve holding Galahad in a Christmas photo in their pockets, stepped out to defend their turf.
Most military organizations hardwire their members into obeying an order without question. It was necessary to have utter obedience, compliance, with orders in their view. If it had been one of those organizations holding the area, the bloodshed would have been much greater. As it was, the NYPSD Team killed two and wounded thirteen of the other participants before they discovered their ammunition wasn’t red paint inside of plastic balls. Then they had one hell of a time convincing the other teams that it wasn’t a trick. Having the same mixed supply or paintballs with real old-fashioned ammunition, another forty-eight participants were killed and sixty injured in the flag area.
At the same time, a heavy fog signaling a start to Number Nine began to fill the field’s lower quadrant, where the target course was being used. When the cluster bombs were released from an innocently looking cam-bot their descent was effectively hidden. The sounds of their explosions, each covering approximately two hundred meters, were assumed to be target fire. Their effectiveness wasn’t seen until the fog lifted. Eight soldiers lay dead, ten wounded.
It was like an explosion in the Command Center. The sheer noise of over two hundred voices announcing “emergency”, “distress”, “man down”, “misadventure”, “predicament” and a multitude of other words and phrases filled the room. Monitors seemed to show the scenes of carnage all at once, like a flash of lightning. And as that was occurring, the IEDs and landmines went active. The media caught it all – producers mentally orgasmic in unparalleled pleasure. Explosions began to occur in rapid succession.
Roarke didn’t hear the sounds around him. He searched the monitors for Eve, spotted her and sent up a prayer of thanks. Before the relief had a chance to settle Roarke realized she was in the middle of the minefield and they were in trouble.
+++++++++++++++++++
Eve knew about explosives. Sort of. She’d filed the information she had learned in the Police Academy in her brain under OH SHIT! She had several mental files like that. She knew they had a power supply, trigger, detonator, main charge, and the container. A ten dollar link from a street vendor could be a trigger for an IED. The signal could be transmitted for a mile, give or take. The power source supplied electricity to the trigger and the detonator, the trigger activated the detonator and initiated the explosion sequence, the detonator explodes, and that provided energy for the main explosive, the main charge explodes, producing a high-pressure shock wave or blast wave, and may propel shrapnel, toxic chemicals or fire-starting chemicals.
So as she stood in the middle of the hazardous crossing field, and took in what was happening, she opened that file and said, “Oh Shit!” Then she froze and tried to make a decision how to proceed. Her communicator appeared to be jammed and useless. She looked around, saw several teams including her own standing equally shocked and still, and began to swear. “SweetJesusgoddamndamnfuckassholeChrisstonacracker what is with crazy people and how do I just know that Roarke is going to say I was trying to destroy this satellite on purpose” she screamed, pulling her hair, hurt her head where the sutures were still healing, started to stamp her feet, remembered movement and vibrations could set off these things, and froze again. Then she wondered if the satellite had been damaged and they were going to crash to Earth in the next five or ten minutes. Or hours. What did she know?
Not seeing much choice in the matter, Lieutenant Eve Dallas began to silently swear.
++++++++++++++++++
Detective Troy Trueheart was meant to be a cop. His mother even said it had been stamped on his birth certificate. He’d worked hard almost every day of his life to get to where he was now. He had one claim to Fate, and that was the day Lieutenant Eve Dallas had come onto a crime scene and eventually taken him under her wing. So now, as uproar began, he put himself to work.
“Step one, people. Let’s get things coordinated. You four.” He pointed.
“Step two, we need analysis. You four.” He selected them.
“Step three, search mode. You four get started.” This time four men held up their hands.
“Step four, rescue operation. I want you four to work on that with Roarke, get to the Command building.” He sent his selections off.
“Step five, closure. Dead bodies,” he gave the hint at the puzzled looks. Obviously they didn’t teach these military men as much as they thought. “That’s you four.”
He looked at his monitors. “Let’s get started.”
+++++++++++++++++
Webster knew the others wouldn’t accept him or Feeney’s help. They weren’t military and none of the various commanders of the military organizations knew them personally. He turned to Roarke. Roarke was the natural choice for leadership, but he’d just come off of the near deadly assault and attempted rape of his wife, and that same wife was in mortal danger now. “I’m going to have a list of supplies and people we’ll need,” Webster told Roarke. “Who should I coordinate through?” He held the other man’s gaze, seeing that he was already pulled together, ready to act.
“Pentemen, Davidson, Summerset, Suzette,” Roarke listed, trying to remember who else would be key. Some part of him raged that Webster had stepped in, another part was thankful because he could barely stop from screaming Eve’s name and beating his fists on the walls. He transferred the link information to Webster, ordering them to work with the other man.
Feeney was working his PPC. “Trueheart’s got the Team Leaders functioning. Initial needs list now.” He sent it to Webster. Webster ordered Summerset to coordinate the other three Roarke had identified, shot him the list. “Roarke, can you talk to the press? I want those cameras out of here before they set more of those ordinances off.” When Roarke finally nodded, he went on, “Coordinate the media conference with these idiots. I want to see you on in fifteen minutes if at all possible.” He turned away, tagged Darcia. “You got disaster plans in your files, baby?”
“Initiating now. I’m staying at the station to coordinate. You need something, text. Gotta go, love you.” Darcia ended transmission.
Webster didn’t wonder he had fallen for the woman. She was perfect. “Feeney, let’s get someone who can deactivate whatever is exploding out there.”
“On it. Spranton’s an idiot, but he’s got the electronics we need. And the manpower.” Feeney turned away, working.
+++++++++++++++++++++
About an hour into the situation, it began to occur to Eve that she needed to have better patience than a mid-sized ground hog. She thought that because for some reason Roarke had imported ground hogs from Earth, she was assuming that was what they were and where he’d gotten them from, because one of the animals came up out of the ground about thirty yards from her and set off one of the landmines. There wasn’t enough of it left to get its lucky foot, she thought. Over the next three hours, eight more of the stupid beasts met their maker near her. From the sounds of things, a lot of the beasts were lining up at the pearly gates. She was also sick and tired of standing. Inaction wasn’t her long suit. She was assuming they were starting deactivation of the explosives along the perimeters and working inward. Eve estimated she was about dead center, so two and a half miles in. No way was she standing up all night long. Her head was hurting worse, and she was getting hot and needed to pee. Hunger and thirst didn’t particularly bother her, she’d been that route before. To entertain herself, she began to list all the times she’d caught Peabody and McNab patting, touching, squeezing, pinching, kissing, and other. That took her a good hour to organize. Then she moved on to how many different outfits she could remember Mira wearing.
It was a long day. By nightfall, Eve was glad to pull her fatigue pants down and relieve herself. Then she decided to risk it and lay down on the ground to get some sleep. Since she didn’t join all the little brown furry creatures in pieces, she offered a prayer up before getting some sleep.
++++++++++++++++++++
Roarke arrived the next morning. Eve had remained seated on the ground, watching him approach with some handheld gizmo that obviously was telling him where the landmines were under the ground. He looked tired and irritable and perfectly beautiful. It was just good bone structure, she thought grouchily. He had good bone structure in his face and society just happened to deem his features were handsome. A millennium or so ago, he was probably outright ugly by societal standards. And those eyes … all right, they were fabulously blue, a color that was rare enough that a contact lens color had been patented after him. And they did change to reflect his mood some. But again, there had to have been a time when that color would be considered evil and he’d have been stoned.
“What are you pissed about,” he called to her, stopping to fiddle with some buttons, then knelt and pulled out a tool kit. He flashed her a killer smile, eyes gently asking what was wrong with her when he was coming to her rescue as fast as he could.
“I want chocolate” Eve told him. No way he had any with him. And she didn’t know why she was so grouchy. Maybe because she wanted some cheesecake with that chocolate. The thought made her smile.
“That’s my girl,” he commented, catching the smile. He stood, kept coming toward her. “Do you have any idea how much this clusterfuck is going to cost me?”
“I knew it.” Eve jumped to her feet, crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring Roarke’s horrified expression and motion to hold still. “I knew you would blame me for this.”
“Well, who else would I blame? You can’t seem to take a step onto this satellite without trying to take out a sizeable bit of real estate." He knelt again, barely ten feet from her. “They’ll get together and vote to ban you soon.” He began to use the tools to deactivate it.
“Do you have chocolate or not?” But she was holding her breath, letting it out only when he stood and casually stepped over the spot.
And then he had his arms around her and was kissing her cheeks, eyes, forehead, chin, nose and finally her mouth. Then he held her tight to him, face in her hair. “I’ve got you, aghra. I’ve got you.”
“Chocolate,” Eve reminded him, holding tight. A thought occurred to her. “You rescued Peabody first, didn’t you?”
“Ian can be pretty insistent,” Roarke agreed. “I can’t seem to let you go, sweetheart. Can you bear a few more minutes on this field?” His voice was raw, choked. His arms weren’t moving, clamped tight. Shudders coursed his body several times. “Ah, Eve.”
“Yeah,yeah, yeah” she sighed, held on. “Did I lose anyone?”
“Two injured, both from the flag site. Nothing that will keep them off the rolls more than a few weeks.” He sighed, his hold loosening a bit. “I suppose we could start back.”
“How much work is left to clear the field?” Eve made herself put her arms down at her sides, offered her mouth for a kiss.
“Probably months for us to be sure. I’ll have to hire a team to come up, I guess. Otherwise by the time I can build a theme park up here, Bella will be too old to enjoy it.” He kissed her, quickly, firmly, then pulled out his scanner. “Just follow behind me, darling Eve.”
“Gotcha.” She dutifully followed behind him, trying to remember some saying about thin ice and horseshoes?
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Peabody stretched her neck, left, right, felt the muscles relax. Sighed, put her head back on her desk chair. Then opened her eyes as Dallas came out of her office. Eyes lighting up, she stood, poised, expectant.
Dallas glanced at her, eyes cold, flat, cop. “Peabody, with me. We’ve got one.”
“Yes, Sir! Bad news for someone. Good news for us.” She winced, wishing she hadn’t said that last part.
Dallas gave her a glance, started walking in that ground eating stride toward the glides. Peabody sprang after her. Could have sworn she heard …
“You got that right.”
End.
Dallas’ eyes, glassy diamond bright, glinted in appreciation. “We were waiting for you to join us. Summerset, help Peabody get this fuckhead out of here before Roarke gets here and kills him.” They heard the commotion and shouting from the lower floor, feet hitting the stairs at a fast pace, the elevator doors being forced open across the room. “Now you all get here,” she muttered wryly, still petting Galahad. “Someone drugged him. Probably Zeus with a kicker,” she told her partner and Davidson calmly, strangely unsurprised to see him coming toward her through the crippled elevator doors with a crowbar. She rested her head back against the headboard, eyes closing, and passed out.
Eve didn’t think she’d been out long when she heard Roarke’s voice saying her name. She sighed, snuggled into his tight hold, then slapped at whoever was bothering her sore head. “Leave it alone. I’m fine.” She wasn’t quite ready to open her eyes yet. Her head hurt.
“You’re going to need stitches, kid,” Feeney’s voice was gently amused. “And you’re bleeding all over the Irish sheets.”
“How do you know they’re Irish?” She tried prying her eyes open, found Roarke’s sun-hot blue gaze locked on her. “HI, ace.”
He forced a grin, seeing she needed lightness from him. “Lieutenant, we’re going to have a long talk about you having strange men in our bedroom.” He swallowed the lump in his throat as she reached up and brushed hair away from his face.
“But it would be fine with you if it was strange women,” Eve said, taking a deep breath, letting it out shakily. “Don’t let the MTs near me.”
“Too late, Dallas. Got one here,” Peabody told her, hiding her grin as she led the medic into the room.
Since Roarke would only hold her down and make a fuss, Eve let the medic check her out. “Report, Peabody.” She kept a hold on Roarke’s warm, large, secure hand. While she’d been unconscious she’d been moved into a different bedroom. It was a relief.
“Commander Winslett is being transferred via a Medical Shuttle back to Earth, charges pending, under guard. The master suite is a mess. Galahad’s on his second dish of caviar. McNab and I are back on track. Thank you for asking, Sir!” Peabody grinned now.
Eve glared at her. Switched her attention to the MT who had finished with the suture wand. “Report,” snapped at him.
“Ten stitches, concussion, wrenched shoulder, you’ll be sore” he responded calmly. He looked at Roarke, nodded, rose to his feet. “Sir.”
“Thank you.” Roarke slid onto the bed beside his wife, enfolding her in his arms.
Peabody slipped from the room, closing the doors behind her and firmly motioning the lineup of people in the hallway back to the lower level. "Darcia, you’re not getting anything out of her until tomorrow. It’s not up for discussion. We can do the team briefing for the games without them," she announced calmly, firmly. "Suzette, why don’t you get Dallas’ notes from the meeting today and ready for a power point presentation.”
Eve let her husband hold her, held him back. “It’s your entire fault, you know.”
“What is?” Roarke kissed her head.
“Peabody and McNab having that fight. You should have told Tibble that McNab couldn’t go since he’d already had a turn to play.”
“Your Chief of Police didn’t seek my input when he put this team together” Roarke protested mildly. He wanted to tell her to rest, sleep, but knew in his aching heart that this attack would make bring the nightmares back, terrify her of slumber. Best to talk out the violence now, not let the memory close over quickly then fester. “Davidson says Winslett was using Illegals?”
“I think someone drugged him.” She had no doubt of it. The man may have tried making a heavier move on her, but he was like Roarke: raping a woman wasn’t in his makeup. “I don’t even want to figure out who’s got jurisdiction over this.” Technically Roarke’s suite was the Earth government’s jurisdiction, specifically New York City, since that was where he claimed his home. She frowned. “NYC is your residence of record, right?”
“Ah. Well.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
Eyebrows raised, Eve remained silent. She didn’t protest when he slid the robe off her body, carried her into the adjoining bathroom and ordered the shower on. With great care he washed the blood from her hair and body, then dried her with fluffy warmed towels. He left her for a few minutes to give her privacy, returned with robes for them both. She understood he needed to tend her as he carried her to the bedroom’s attached privacy screened balcony. It was a different view than the master, she thought to the right end of the hotel. Darkness had fallen. She’d been unconscious longer than she’d thought. Something about his easy strength as he settled them on the double lounger made her feel safe, protected. She needed that, just for a little while, just for tonight. She could be strong again tomorrow, Eve promised herself.
“Taxes and so on. I may be Canadian at the minute.” Roarke spoke into her mussed hair as he finally answered her question. He breathed in her unique smell, closed his eyes. “Tell me, aghra.”
Eve smelled his scent as well. She wanted to ask him to stay with her, but knew already he would. She didn’t want to be alone now. “I would have gotten him down, but he was so hyped up … then I hit my head. I think he might have” she stopped, forced the words out “raped me, if Galahad hadn’t distracted him. I’m not sure how high the stunner was on when I fired. Then Peabody and Summerset broke down the doors and Davidson destroyed the elevator to get to me. And then you were here with me.” Her voice broke, hot tears covered his throat as he cradled her to him. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” Eve protested, more to herself than him. “I’m fine.”
“Of course you are, darling Eve. You’re strong and capable and you saved yourself. You always will. But for right now, I think my beautiful warrior needs to be held. Let me hold you, Eve. My Eve. Forever my Eve,” Roarke whispered. Who else but this woman would use a handful of simple sentences to describe such an assault? He held her. Held her until she slept, then carried her to their bed, wherever they lay together was their bed he now knew, and held her until the nightmare came.
She’d been free of them for so long, Eve thought, staring sightlessly at the wall across the room. Weeks of nightmare-free sleep, only bad dreams that could in no way be compared to the horrors of those nightmares. Now they were back. Now. Roarke had woken her, chased the nightmare away. But sleep wouldn’t come again, Eve knew. Good sleep was gone for a long time to come.
+++++++++++++++++++
Roarke and Feeney addressed the issue with the War Games Committee, gliding over the facts, allowing that much wasn’t known, that the future would depend on what was discovered in the days to come. It was a military group. Set up to deal with such incidents through decades, centuries, the history of warfare, to push beyond such incidents. The US Army immediately dispatched a new Commander. The games would go on.
Of Eve’s team, only a few knew the entire situation. The rest knew that Winslett had attacked her in her suite, she’d received a head wound, that she was recovered in her usual quick fashion. A few suspected more, but would never ask. Those who did know would never have said more.
Eve tried that day and the next, making assignments, preparing, planning, encouraging, snarling, joking and laughing with her team. But her heart was no longer in it. She thought perhaps she had hid it from them all, hoped she had, as she prepared for a last look at the game field. Roarke was handling some of his business and she declined Feeney’s offer to go with her. She just wanted to be alone. She had arranged a drone flyer to take her on an overhead flight of the field, controlling as much as she was able her fear of heights. She hadn’t wanted the sound of mechanics to interrupt her thoughts when she’d arranged for it. Now she was grateful for the silence as she floated in the balloon-type craft. The pilot was silent, busy with the controls or guessing she wanted quiet.
Eve looked over the field, fixing the features in her memory. This game was much more complex than the one she had gleefully led her team to winning less than a month ago. It may have involved the entire team to win or lose, but there was so much diversity that the feeling of a cohesive group pulling together and fighting a common enemy was lost. She felt no sense of enthusiasm, not even really of challenge. Her people were good. They would perform their tasks to the best of their abilities. She looked down at the manmade fields, hundreds of feet below her, and a thought wisped her mind. Pull it together, Dallas. Roarke’s right. You saved yourself and you always will. The nightmares returning, well, she’d known they weren’t gone forever. And no point in whining about it. You have the best husband in the universe and a team of NYPSD officers who can kick the ass of any military group seven ways to Sunday – whatever that means. Get your head in the game, Dallas. Get out of this stupid thing, go make love to your husband and get your team motivated. Now!
Eve turned to the operator. “Take me back. I’ve got what I need.”
Roarke gazed out at his accomplishment from the now restored master bedroom suite. Olympus Resort had been his dream for a decade. It was up and running successfully, and would continue to do so long after his name was forgotten. He even had more plans to enlarge on it. But now it mattered … not at all. His life, his Eve, was in pain and she was afraid. He’d called Mira. She would see Eve and he as soon as they returned on planet. But how did he make it right with Eve? He’d known Winslett was focused on her. Had seen the proof repeatedly. Had been certain of her danger enough to bring Davidson to Olympus to watch out for her when he Roarke couldn’t be with her. And then he had locked her into a cage and set that animal upon her. Because it was his security system that had failed her. He had personally designed the system, created the fail-safes, overseen its installment and upgrades. And for what? So Eve could be trapped into their bedroom fighting for her life, unable to get out and help unable to get in. She’d been saved not by him, but with her own courage and by their goddamn cat!
“Roarke?” He turned, seeing her beautiful golden brown eyes tear filled, her slender body tension-filled in the doorway.
“Christ, Eve, I am so sorry.” He didn’t know how to go on, what she needed from him to make this better again. It had been two days of not knowing and he was going mad. Then she was in his arms, twined around him and letting him know exactly what she needed from him to help her heal. It never ceased to amaze him how she could come to him when any other woman would have been repulsed, sickened by what he was, revolted by what he had done. No matter his crime this woman, the embodiment of his world, was able to forgive him, was willing to forgive him and accept him as he was. “Please forgive me, Eve.” He just needed to hear it one time, Roarke assured himself. Just once.
“I forgive you. I love you and need you and want you and I will always forgive you." She’d ask him later what she was forgiving him for, Eve thought, getting to work on his clothes. She’d had enough of violence for the moment, and was careful, not ripping, not tearing, no forcing buttons from their holes. Instead she reminded her fingers that they knew how to do this, reminded her body that there was no hurry. Roarke was a meal that would fill her whether she gobbled him down or experienced each nibble to the fullest. There was no hurry. “Just this once. I want us to go slow. Please, Roarke.”
He laughed, a smothered sound as he kissed her face. “When do I want to hurry, aghra? Tell me again.” Roarke hadn’t meant to ask it, but guilt rode him. She had come so close to harm because of him.
“I forgive you. Can we eat while we make love? I’m hungry, I think.”
Which one of them was more shocked at that, neither knew. But Roarke was a man of action, so he settled her on their new bed and programmed the Autochef, returned to strip the clothes from his ravenous wife, retrieved the food, and fed her bites between making slow love to her, hopefully fattening her up while soothing her battered psyche. And when he whispered these thoughts to her, she laughed, low and huskily, and Roarke finally knew he was forgiven.
Later, after, she was energized, renewed, and ready for a last team briefing. While she had hidden her depression well, they had all felt her lessened enthusiasm. And now they felt her rejuvenation. She strode to the head of the conference table, began her new battle plan. “Thanks to our many assistants, um, spies,” everyone grinned at the unofficial members of the team, “we know probably all of the dirty little tricks we’ll face tomorrow. I’ve come up with several of our own. Feeney, Roarke, check and see if our playmates have ever gone off the books. I want to know if it’s not specific in the regulations, can we get away with some changes.” They went to huddle over the computers in the back of the room, taking McNab with them. “Trueheart.”
“Sir!” He looked up at her, ready as a cocker spaniel to chase a thrown stick.
“Your taking over the Team Leader position.” Eve turned to the murder board.
Silence descended. In the back, almost with a sensation of shock, Roarke raised his head and intensely studied his wife. He would never be done being surprised by her, he thought. What was this about? Where had it come from?
“Sir?”
“You’re taking the tenth position. Team Leader. I’m taking a fourth.” She turned back to the board, beginning to rearrange the assignments.
“But, Dallas …” Baxter trailed off. He knew she was up to something, but he didn’t know what. He was the other member of the Fourth Position.
But Peabody had seen it. She smiled. A big, big smile that caught the others’ confused looks. “Because you can handle eighty pounds, Baxter. Leaving Dallas to run the ten miles in under an hour then help the other positions.”
Detective Trenton of Cyber Crimes wasn’t slow, just not fast. “But the rules say forty pounds each.” He shuffled through the papers, frowned. It said forty pounds for each of two team members. It didn’t designate that each member had to have his or her own forty pounds. “Ohh.”
“You’re clear, Dallas.” Feeney’s voice from the back. “Letter of the law only. If it ain’t how its written, it’s not how you gotta play it, kid.” He grinned almost as hard as Peabody.
Eve kept making changes on her board. “We gotta collect twenty of those goddamn flags however many times they blow the horn. Who wants to sit all day in the building, go collect the things, shoot everybody else, and turn them in at the end of the day?” She laughed when she turned and everyone had his or her hand up.
And she’s back, Roarke thought, eyes glowing blue lakes as he stared at the woman who had been put in this universe for him to love and treasure.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
The shuttles with his prized deliveries began to arrive at five in the morning, Olympus Standard Time. Because the Mitszu X-Ray was still out of commission, hand-held scanners and the dogs were used. If some of the older scanners typically used for passenger scanning were working off their normal shifts, no one noticed, or cared. And if the trucks the cargo were loaded on weren’t the usual delivery fare for the local hotels and restaurants, that was why unions still had an uncertain hold on the satellite. Things change. By ten o’clock, his wealth had been delivered and was being stored around the satellite like a chicken hides its eggs, a squirrel its nuts. Glorying, he tuned in to the live coverage of the Olympus War Games, as they were being billed, featuring the NYPSD. Legal betting allowed.
He laughed.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
At 0545, twenty-one teams of twenty-four men and women stood at attention, give or take, on the Olympus Resort and Satellite, at the future site of Roarke’s Bella Eve Parkland. Cam-bots swirled around, often blackening the skies as they fought for coverage of the different teams. Off-site announcers made their networks money as they gave facts, innuendos, outright lies, suggestions, and gossip to the thrill of their audiences. Few cared about the details of the competition, but the information was thrown in every once in a while to keep the audience feeling knowledgeable. Physically motivated individuals tended to be considered more attractive and the media had over five hundred individuals to focus on and exploit. Well-prepared stations had personal interviews, specific details, fluff pieces and background stories to enhance interest. It was a Roarke event and everyone was interested. In fact, the billionaire could be seen standing with the military commanders of the twenty-one teams involved. It had been rumored that he was commanding the NYPSD Team, but that had been cut down firmly as Captain Donald Webster and Captain Ryan Feeney were introduced as being in co-commanders.
Having spent the night showing her husband that she still forgave him while satisfying a craving to lick cheesecake from his body, Eve was contentedly watching twenty Team Leaders try and figure out why Detective Troy Trueheart was suddenly standing with them. He played it up by taking out his hand-written list as the schedule and team directions were announced.
- McNab and Calendar were assigned to the computer challenge, able to join the field when finished
- Rabinowitz and Esperanza were assigned to the target course, unable to join the field when finished
- Santiago and Detective Trenton were assigned to the hand-to-hand challenge, able to join the field when finished
- Baxter and Eve were assigned to the weighted distance run, able to join the field when finished
- Peabody and Carmichael were assigned to the obstacle course, had to finish together, then were able to join the field when finished
- All team members were required to complete individual hand-to-hand demonstration
- Jenkinson and Captain Kauger were assigned to the strength and conditioning test, unable to join the field as they would continue their test until all others were finished
- Cartwright, Detectives Powell, Pouncer, and Fandago were assigned to the hazardous site crossing, able to join the field when finished (Eve had threatened them with sudden space walks if one of them should be left behind)
- All team members were subject to the hazardous conditions as they may appear during the war game
- Trueheart was assigned as Team Leader to participate in written scenario tests, able to join the field when finished
- Twenty flag pick up, to occur whenever a horn was blown across the field, twenty flags to be presented for every time the horn was blown. Eve had assigned every last one of her people who didn’t have another assignment, all six, to guard those flags with their paintball weapons like it was her cat. She made sure Summerset and Suzette introduced them to Galahad last night. Suzette accomplished one of her personal goals of impressing Eve by letting slip how, since they didn’t have children, Roarke and Lieutenant Dallas treated the cat like their much loved son.
The formal protests began the minute Eve dashed across the ten mile run starting point minus her forty pound pack. Roarke actually suspected she could have beaten most if not all of the competitors with the pack, but enjoyed watching her svelte form flowing like quicksilver around the field. Feeney looking like an electrocuted frog among princes, calmly began his assurances that the NYPSD Team was in compliance with the appropriate rules and regulations of the game. Webster, relaxed, dangerous, and fashionable in the three piece suit Darcia had had made for him and insisted he wear on threat of never seeing her naked again, began the verbal tap dance that his years with the Internal Affairs Bureau had made him a master in. Having provided a few tips in the strategies best used in these form of negotiations, Roarke watched the monitors showing his team’s progress. He’d already placed his bets, anonymously via Summerset, on individuals and groupings, so could put his feet up and enjoy waiting on the outcomes. And he did make a good amount to donate to Douchas when Eve crossed the finish line in forty-five minutes and three seconds.
Eve crossed the finish line and headed for Site 8 to help her four man team figure out the hazardous crossing area. Detective Fandago out of Burglary was in his duck pond, Cartright explained to Eve. Whatever that meant, Eve evaluated he had the NYPSD Team damn well half the course ahead of their competitors. She branched off for Peabody and Carmichael, who were doing just fine. Happy as a lark, she headed off to bother McNab and Calendar, figuring they’d work faster if she threatened to help them.
++++++++++++++++
My deliveries are complete. Time to lob my grenade.
++++++++++++++++
The horn blew.
Team NYPSD, their mocked up pictures (by Feeney) of Roarke and Eve holding Galahad in a Christmas photo in their pockets, stepped out to defend their turf.
Most military organizations hardwire their members into obeying an order without question. It was necessary to have utter obedience, compliance, with orders in their view. If it had been one of those organizations holding the area, the bloodshed would have been much greater. As it was, the NYPSD Team killed two and wounded thirteen of the other participants before they discovered their ammunition wasn’t red paint inside of plastic balls. Then they had one hell of a time convincing the other teams that it wasn’t a trick. Having the same mixed supply or paintballs with real old-fashioned ammunition, another forty-eight participants were killed and sixty injured in the flag area.
At the same time, a heavy fog signaling a start to Number Nine began to fill the field’s lower quadrant, where the target course was being used. When the cluster bombs were released from an innocently looking cam-bot their descent was effectively hidden. The sounds of their explosions, each covering approximately two hundred meters, were assumed to be target fire. Their effectiveness wasn’t seen until the fog lifted. Eight soldiers lay dead, ten wounded.
It was like an explosion in the Command Center. The sheer noise of over two hundred voices announcing “emergency”, “distress”, “man down”, “misadventure”, “predicament” and a multitude of other words and phrases filled the room. Monitors seemed to show the scenes of carnage all at once, like a flash of lightning. And as that was occurring, the IEDs and landmines went active. The media caught it all – producers mentally orgasmic in unparalleled pleasure. Explosions began to occur in rapid succession.
Roarke didn’t hear the sounds around him. He searched the monitors for Eve, spotted her and sent up a prayer of thanks. Before the relief had a chance to settle Roarke realized she was in the middle of the minefield and they were in trouble.
+++++++++++++++++++
Eve knew about explosives. Sort of. She’d filed the information she had learned in the Police Academy in her brain under OH SHIT! She had several mental files like that. She knew they had a power supply, trigger, detonator, main charge, and the container. A ten dollar link from a street vendor could be a trigger for an IED. The signal could be transmitted for a mile, give or take. The power source supplied electricity to the trigger and the detonator, the trigger activated the detonator and initiated the explosion sequence, the detonator explodes, and that provided energy for the main explosive, the main charge explodes, producing a high-pressure shock wave or blast wave, and may propel shrapnel, toxic chemicals or fire-starting chemicals.
So as she stood in the middle of the hazardous crossing field, and took in what was happening, she opened that file and said, “Oh Shit!” Then she froze and tried to make a decision how to proceed. Her communicator appeared to be jammed and useless. She looked around, saw several teams including her own standing equally shocked and still, and began to swear. “SweetJesusgoddamndamnfuckassholeChrisstonacracker what is with crazy people and how do I just know that Roarke is going to say I was trying to destroy this satellite on purpose” she screamed, pulling her hair, hurt her head where the sutures were still healing, started to stamp her feet, remembered movement and vibrations could set off these things, and froze again. Then she wondered if the satellite had been damaged and they were going to crash to Earth in the next five or ten minutes. Or hours. What did she know?
Not seeing much choice in the matter, Lieutenant Eve Dallas began to silently swear.
++++++++++++++++++
Detective Troy Trueheart was meant to be a cop. His mother even said it had been stamped on his birth certificate. He’d worked hard almost every day of his life to get to where he was now. He had one claim to Fate, and that was the day Lieutenant Eve Dallas had come onto a crime scene and eventually taken him under her wing. So now, as uproar began, he put himself to work.
“Step one, people. Let’s get things coordinated. You four.” He pointed.
“Step two, we need analysis. You four.” He selected them.
“Step three, search mode. You four get started.” This time four men held up their hands.
“Step four, rescue operation. I want you four to work on that with Roarke, get to the Command building.” He sent his selections off.
“Step five, closure. Dead bodies,” he gave the hint at the puzzled looks. Obviously they didn’t teach these military men as much as they thought. “That’s you four.”
He looked at his monitors. “Let’s get started.”
+++++++++++++++++
Webster knew the others wouldn’t accept him or Feeney’s help. They weren’t military and none of the various commanders of the military organizations knew them personally. He turned to Roarke. Roarke was the natural choice for leadership, but he’d just come off of the near deadly assault and attempted rape of his wife, and that same wife was in mortal danger now. “I’m going to have a list of supplies and people we’ll need,” Webster told Roarke. “Who should I coordinate through?” He held the other man’s gaze, seeing that he was already pulled together, ready to act.
“Pentemen, Davidson, Summerset, Suzette,” Roarke listed, trying to remember who else would be key. Some part of him raged that Webster had stepped in, another part was thankful because he could barely stop from screaming Eve’s name and beating his fists on the walls. He transferred the link information to Webster, ordering them to work with the other man.
Feeney was working his PPC. “Trueheart’s got the Team Leaders functioning. Initial needs list now.” He sent it to Webster. Webster ordered Summerset to coordinate the other three Roarke had identified, shot him the list. “Roarke, can you talk to the press? I want those cameras out of here before they set more of those ordinances off.” When Roarke finally nodded, he went on, “Coordinate the media conference with these idiots. I want to see you on in fifteen minutes if at all possible.” He turned away, tagged Darcia. “You got disaster plans in your files, baby?”
“Initiating now. I’m staying at the station to coordinate. You need something, text. Gotta go, love you.” Darcia ended transmission.
Webster didn’t wonder he had fallen for the woman. She was perfect. “Feeney, let’s get someone who can deactivate whatever is exploding out there.”
“On it. Spranton’s an idiot, but he’s got the electronics we need. And the manpower.” Feeney turned away, working.
+++++++++++++++++++++
About an hour into the situation, it began to occur to Eve that she needed to have better patience than a mid-sized ground hog. She thought that because for some reason Roarke had imported ground hogs from Earth, she was assuming that was what they were and where he’d gotten them from, because one of the animals came up out of the ground about thirty yards from her and set off one of the landmines. There wasn’t enough of it left to get its lucky foot, she thought. Over the next three hours, eight more of the stupid beasts met their maker near her. From the sounds of things, a lot of the beasts were lining up at the pearly gates. She was also sick and tired of standing. Inaction wasn’t her long suit. She was assuming they were starting deactivation of the explosives along the perimeters and working inward. Eve estimated she was about dead center, so two and a half miles in. No way was she standing up all night long. Her head was hurting worse, and she was getting hot and needed to pee. Hunger and thirst didn’t particularly bother her, she’d been that route before. To entertain herself, she began to list all the times she’d caught Peabody and McNab patting, touching, squeezing, pinching, kissing, and other. That took her a good hour to organize. Then she moved on to how many different outfits she could remember Mira wearing.
It was a long day. By nightfall, Eve was glad to pull her fatigue pants down and relieve herself. Then she decided to risk it and lay down on the ground to get some sleep. Since she didn’t join all the little brown furry creatures in pieces, she offered a prayer up before getting some sleep.
++++++++++++++++++++
Roarke arrived the next morning. Eve had remained seated on the ground, watching him approach with some handheld gizmo that obviously was telling him where the landmines were under the ground. He looked tired and irritable and perfectly beautiful. It was just good bone structure, she thought grouchily. He had good bone structure in his face and society just happened to deem his features were handsome. A millennium or so ago, he was probably outright ugly by societal standards. And those eyes … all right, they were fabulously blue, a color that was rare enough that a contact lens color had been patented after him. And they did change to reflect his mood some. But again, there had to have been a time when that color would be considered evil and he’d have been stoned.
“What are you pissed about,” he called to her, stopping to fiddle with some buttons, then knelt and pulled out a tool kit. He flashed her a killer smile, eyes gently asking what was wrong with her when he was coming to her rescue as fast as he could.
“I want chocolate” Eve told him. No way he had any with him. And she didn’t know why she was so grouchy. Maybe because she wanted some cheesecake with that chocolate. The thought made her smile.
“That’s my girl,” he commented, catching the smile. He stood, kept coming toward her. “Do you have any idea how much this clusterfuck is going to cost me?”
“I knew it.” Eve jumped to her feet, crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring Roarke’s horrified expression and motion to hold still. “I knew you would blame me for this.”
“Well, who else would I blame? You can’t seem to take a step onto this satellite without trying to take out a sizeable bit of real estate." He knelt again, barely ten feet from her. “They’ll get together and vote to ban you soon.” He began to use the tools to deactivate it.
“Do you have chocolate or not?” But she was holding her breath, letting it out only when he stood and casually stepped over the spot.
And then he had his arms around her and was kissing her cheeks, eyes, forehead, chin, nose and finally her mouth. Then he held her tight to him, face in her hair. “I’ve got you, aghra. I’ve got you.”
“Chocolate,” Eve reminded him, holding tight. A thought occurred to her. “You rescued Peabody first, didn’t you?”
“Ian can be pretty insistent,” Roarke agreed. “I can’t seem to let you go, sweetheart. Can you bear a few more minutes on this field?” His voice was raw, choked. His arms weren’t moving, clamped tight. Shudders coursed his body several times. “Ah, Eve.”
“Yeah,yeah, yeah” she sighed, held on. “Did I lose anyone?”
“Two injured, both from the flag site. Nothing that will keep them off the rolls more than a few weeks.” He sighed, his hold loosening a bit. “I suppose we could start back.”
“How much work is left to clear the field?” Eve made herself put her arms down at her sides, offered her mouth for a kiss.
“Probably months for us to be sure. I’ll have to hire a team to come up, I guess. Otherwise by the time I can build a theme park up here, Bella will be too old to enjoy it.” He kissed her, quickly, firmly, then pulled out his scanner. “Just follow behind me, darling Eve.”
“Gotcha.” She dutifully followed behind him, trying to remember some saying about thin ice and horseshoes?
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Peabody stretched her neck, left, right, felt the muscles relax. Sighed, put her head back on her desk chair. Then opened her eyes as Dallas came out of her office. Eyes lighting up, she stood, poised, expectant.
Dallas glanced at her, eyes cold, flat, cop. “Peabody, with me. We’ve got one.”
“Yes, Sir! Bad news for someone. Good news for us.” She winced, wishing she hadn’t said that last part.
Dallas gave her a glance, started walking in that ground eating stride toward the glides. Peabody sprang after her. Could have sworn she heard …
“You got that right.”
End.
