Down the Rabbit Hole

“No prob. Hey, asshole.”


“You’re not the White Queen.”

“No. I’m an e-bitch goddess. Illegals coming in, McNabber. I’m bringing in the wagon for this group.”

“Yeah, good.” He was on the floor, cuddling Peabody, who patted his cheek and smiled dreamily.

“Hi, sweetie! Want to have lots and lots of sex?”

“Yeah, that’d be frosty. How about we get you some air first? What the hell’s in that stuff?” he asked Roarke.

“A wild trip, I’d say, but hardly fatal, as the three of these had their share. Best call in the MTs.”

“Aw, man, don’t call them.” Eve waved the idea away with her stunner; Roarke gently took it from her. “I’m fine, we’re all fine. Got the bad guys. Somebody oughta do something with the lady over there. She is out of it.”

“The MTs will see to her.” But his wife was Roarke’s priority.

“Okay, good. She prolly thinks she’s talking to a dead relative.”

Roarke put a supporting arm around her waist and led her out.

“I gotta secure the scene and investigate.”

“The Illegals detectives can handle that part now.” He thought about telling her to mind the stairs, then just solved it by picking her up.

“You’re so pretty. The mouse kicked me in the shin.” Giggling, she kicked her feet. “I fell down the rabbit hole.”

“So it would seem.”

“I didn’t like it. I like being here with you better.”

She was placid enough sitting on his lap while an MT examined her. And perfectly cooperative when he bundled her into the car. As he drove, he could see her start to come back by the way her body lost that pliancy and her eyes started to clear.

“And there you are. Take this.”

“What. Jesus.” She shoved at her hair, and the raging headache under her skull, knocking off the snowflake hat she knew she hadn’t put on for the trip to Bright’s.

“It’s for the headache the medicals promised you’d have when you started coming down. And drink this.” He passed her a bottle of water as he continued to drive downtown. “Just water. You’ll be dehydrated a bit.”

Her throat felt as though she’d swallowed sand. She took the stupid pill, guzzled the water. “Bright.”

“In custody. All three of them. You dealt with it, Lieutenant, impaired or not. That’s the cop in you.”

“What impaired me?”

“It’s quite a cocktail, according to the lab—as it’s the same, assuredly, as what Darlene Fitzwilliams inhaled. Fortunately, you and Peabody didn’t have more than a whiff or two.”

“Peabody.”

“She’s right here.”

Eve turned around at McNab’s voice, saw her partner curled up with her head on his lap, sleeping. “She’s okay?”

“They said she’d just sleep it off, and a single exposure like the two of you had wouldn’t have any lasting effects.” He stroked Peabody’s hair as he spoke. “But . . .”

“I contacted Louise—as you’d want her to know what happened,” Roarke continued. “She’s on her way into Central, as we are, and she’ll have a look at both of you.”

“I’m fine. I’m starving. I want . . .”

Roarke activated the AutoChef, which produced a large bag of soy chips.

“Oh yeah. Fucker drugged me,” she said with her mouth full of chips. “I hate that. He’s going to . . . Oh, Jesus Christ, there was a woman. In the chair.”

“Andrea Melton,” Roarke told her. “The MTs transported her to the hospital. She was heavily dosed, and likely routinely dosed. But they know what he used, and they’ll treat her.”

“I need to talk to her.”

“Tomorrow, at least, for that.”

“Not for Bright, or whatever his name is. That’s for tonight.”

“And good luck with it.” Roarke pulled into Central. “Want a hand with her, Ian?”

“No, I— Well, maybe.”

Together, they got Peabody out, on her feet, where she smiled cheerfully. “Hi! Did we get ’em?”

“Yeah.” Eve led the way to the elevator. “We got them.”

“Yay! I feel really wooshy.”