Portrait in Death by JD Robb

Author:JD Robb [Robb, JD]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

"They don't mean any harm," Roarke began.

"I'm not concerned about that. I'm concerned about you. You don't look well."

"I'm busy."

"You're always busy. Are you ill?"

"For Christ's sake. No, I'm not ill. Bloody hell, music off!" The blast crashed into silence. "I've a great deal to do. More as you're incapacitated."

"I'm hardly incapacitated. I'm-"

"You broke your fucking leg. So lie back and deal with it. If you've gotten yourself into the bog here with these women, you'll have to lie back and deal with that as well. I can't help you. There's no point in whining about it."

Summerset's fingers tightened on the arms of his chair. "I don't whine, nor do I tolerate being spoken to by you in such a matter."

"Don't have much choice in that, do you? I'm not a child requiring lessons in manners any longer. As long as you're in my employ, I'll speak to you as I wish. And frankly, I'm not going to stand here wasting my time arguing with a half-naked man with God knows what all over his face."

Roarke strode out, leaving Summerset blinking after him. The twist in his gut had him doing something he'd never have considered otherwise. He reached for the in-house 'link.

"What?" Eve snarled, then grimaced at the image on her screen. "Mother of God, my eyes! Block the video for sweet Jesus' sake."

"Quiet. Something's wrong with Roarke. He's not well."

"What? What do you mean? He's sick?"

"I said he's not well. I expect you to do something about it as I'm unable to."

"Where is he?"

"He's home. Find him. Fix it."

"Done" was all she said.

She did a search, located him in the gym. Switching to video scan, she watched him strip down, drag on shorts. He looked exhausted, she thought. Not just tired, which was rare enough for him, but wiped out.

He went for the weights, and Eve bided her time. Go ahead, she decided, sweat some of it out. That's what she'd have done.

It wasn't just the shadows under his eyes that worried her, but the cold set of his face as he pumped the weights. Cold and hard.

He was pushing himself. Punishing himself? God, what was going on?

While he worked, she paced her office, trying out a dozen possible approaches. After a brutal thirty minutes, he went into the pool house.

Lap after lap, fast, strong, hard. Too hard, she thought, and was on the point of going down to stop him when he rolled over on his back. Seeing him floating there, eyes closed, misery in every line of his face broke her heart.

"What is it?" she murmured and stroked her fingers over the screen. "Why are you so unhappy?"

Work? No, didn't compute. If it was trouble with work he might be pissed, but he'd be challenged by it. Even energized. It wouldn't make him miserable.

Summerset? Didn't play either. She'd checked, personally, with the medicals and had been told the skinny son of a bitch was healing perfectly, and already ahead of schedule.

Maybe it's me, she thought, with a slow, sick dread.

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