“Do me a favor,” he said as he took her arm and led her through the squad room. “Just shut up.”

She obliged him, though she was sorely tempted to tell him how foolish it was to indulge in a cab for the few blocks to her building. It was better if she didn’t talk, she realized. Not only did it hurt, but she was also afraid her voice would begin to shake as much as her body wanted to.

She’d be alone in a few minutes, she reminded herself. Then she’d be able to indulge in a nice bout of trembling and weeping if she wanted to. But not in front of Zack. Not in front of anybody.

With a drunk’s exaggerated care, she stepped out of the cab and onto the sidewalk. Mild shock, she deduced. It would pass. She’d make it pass.

“Thanks,” she began. “I’m sorry…”

“I’m taking you up.”

“Look, I’ve already ruined your morning. It isn’t necessary to—” But he was already half carrying her to the door.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” He pulled open her briefcase to look for her keys himself. White-hot rage had his fingers fumbling. Didn’t she know how pale she was? Couldn’t she understand what it did to him inside to hear the way her voice rasped?

He pulled her through the door, into the elevator, and jabbed his finger on the button.

“I don’t know what you’re so mad about,” she muttered, wincing a little as she swallowed. “You lost a couple of hours, sure, but do you know what I paid for this suit? And I’ve only worn it twice.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously as he dragged her down the hall to her apartment. “A PD’s salary isn’t exactly princely.” She rubbed ice-cold hands together as he unlocked her door. “I had to eat yogurt for a month to afford it, even on sale. And I don’t even like yogurt.”

The first tear spilled out. She dashed it away as she walked inside. “Even if I could get it cleaned, I wouldn’t be able to wear it after—” She broke off and made an enormous effort to pull herself back. She was babbling about a suit, for God’s sake. Maybe she was losing her mind.

“Okay.” She let out what she thought was a slow, careful breath. It hitched a sit came out. “You got me home. I appreciate it. Now go away.”

He merely tossed her briefcase aside, then tugged the coat from her shoulders. “Sit down, Rachel.”

“I don’t want to sit down.” Another tear. It was too late to stop it. “What I want is to be alone.” When her voice broke, she pressed her hands to her face. “Oh, God, leave me alone.”

He picked her up, moving to the couch to hold her in his lap. Stroking her back through the tremors, feeling her tears hot and damp on his neck. He forced his hands to be gentle, even as the rage and fear worked inside him. As she curled up against him, he closed his eyes and murmured the useless words that always seemed to comfort.

She cried hard, he realized. But she didn’t cry long. She trembled violently, but the trembling was soon controlled. She didn’t try to push away. If she had, he wouldn’t have allowed it. Perhaps he was comforting her. But holding her, knowing she was safe, and with him, brought him tremendous comfort.

“Damn it.” When the worst was over, she let her head lie weakly on his shoulder. “I told you to go away.”

“We had a deal, remember? You’re spending the day with me.” His hands tightened once, convulsively, before he managed to gentle them again. “You scared me, big-time.”

“Me, too.”

“And if I go away, I’m going to have to go back down there, find a way to get to that son of a bitch, and break him in half.”

It was odd how a threat delivered so matter-of-factly could seem twice as deadly as a shout. “Then I guess you’d better hang around until the impulse fades. I’m really all right,” she told him, but she left her head cuddled against his shoulder. “This was just reaction.”

There was still an ice floe of fury in his gut. That was his reaction, and he’d deal with it later. “It may be his blood, Rachel, but they’re your bruises.”

Frowning, she touched fingers gingerly to her cheek. “How bad does it look?”

Despite himself, he chuckled. “Lord, I didn’t know you were that vain.”

She bristled, pulling back far enough to scowl at him. “It has nothing to do with vanity. I have a meeting in the morning, and I don’t need all the questions.”

He cupped her chin, tilted her head to the side. “Take it from someone who’s had his share of bruises, sugar. You’re going to get the questions. Now forget about tomorrow.” He touched his lips, very gently, to the bruise, and made her heart stutter. “Have you got any tea bags? Any honey?”

“Probably. Why?”

“Since you won’t go to the hospital, you’ll have to put up with Muldoon first aid.” He shifted her from his lap and propped her against the pillows. Their vivid colors only made her appear paler. “Stay.”

Since the bout of weeping had tired her, she didn’t argue. When Zack came out of the kitchen five minutes later, tea steaming in the cup in his hands, she was out like a light.

She awakened groggy, her throat on fire. The room was dim and utterly quiet, disorienting her. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she saw that the curtains had been drawn. The bright afghan her mother had crocheted years before had been tucked around her.

Groaning only a little, she tossed it aside and stood up. Steady, she thought with some satisfaction. You couldn’t keep a Stanislaski down.

But this one needed about a gallon of water to ease the flames in her throat. Rubbing her eyes, she padded into the kitchen, then let out a shriek that seared her abused throat when she spotted Zack bending over the stove.

“What the hell are you doing? I thought you were gone.”

“Nope.” He stirred the contents of the pot on the stove before turning to study her. Her color was back, and the glazed look had faded from her eyes. It would take a great deal longer for the bruises to disappear. “I had Rio send over some soup. Do you think you can eat now?”

“I guess.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. She was starving, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to manage getting anything down her throbbing throat. “What time is it?”

“About three.”