Page 69 of Obsession in Death

“I did. Do we still have it?”

“Yeah. Well, it said it needed to do an internal diagnostic.” She rubbed and rolled her shoulder.

“And you?”

“It’s got a hell of a punch. And it bleeds, blooms bruises, too. I have to give you the frosty on that. It threw me off some, and he got by my guard a couple times.”

“It’s a prototype. Or was.”

“I probably shouldn’t have stomped on its face, but maybe you shouldn’t bring really expensive toys around for me to break.”

“What fun would that be?” He opened the first-aid kit he had ready, took out a healing wand. “Over here.”

“I need a shower.”

“You do, yes, but this first.” He cupped her chin, ran the wand over her swollen lip. “Feel better now that you’ve kicked droid ass?”

She grinned, hissed at the sting. “Yeah, some. Mostly the day blew wide.”

He broke open an ice patch, laid it against her cheek. “Hold that there,” he told her, and did a second pass with the wand. “You know, you could’ve taken an hour with Master Wu, holographically, if you couldn’t manage a personal session.”

She thought of the martial arts master—and her Christmas present from Roarke. “Wrong mood. I just needed a fight, down and dirty. Needed to punch something, and since Summerset’s all bone and would likely crack in half with a couple good shots—”

“Don’t be so sure of that.”

She shrugged, regretted the movement as her shoulder sang a little tune. “Maybe. And you weren’t around to punch.”

“From the look of the droid, I can be grateful for that.”

She winced, but not from physical pain. “You saw?”

“A glimpse. There, that’s better.”

“It’s not so bad.” She tapped her lip. “Droid’s outfitted with gel gloves, so they cushion it some. Listen, I know they’re supposed to start work on the new dojo in a few days, but—”

“You’re concerned,” he interrupted, “with having anyone who’s not us, or ours, in the house. You needn’t be on this. I know everyone who’ll be on the crew, and have already contacted the job boss, told him no substitutes unless I clear them, personally.”

“Still...”

“The men and women who’ll start after the first of the year depend on the job and the pay. Why don’t I give you their names and data, a list of them? You can run them all, satisfy yourself.”

“Which you already have. All screened.”

“I have, yes. But you’d feel better about it doing the same yourself.”

“I would, yeah. On that same note, I’m hoping to use your comp lab later.”

“You?”

She deserved that, Eve thought, considering her comp skills. “Potentially we, but I can handle what I’ve got in mind. But I want that shower first.” She started toward the bathroom, glanced over her shoulder. “You should come wash my back.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“I call it finishing off some physical therapy—and you getting lucky.”

In the bath she peeled out of her tank, wriggled out of her shorts, then stepped into the enormous open shower. She ordered jets on full—and the temperature at 102.

She’d boil his balls, Roarke thought, resigned. Then again, his hot, wet, willing wife would be worth it.

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