Grant snorted. “Since when did I have any say over Kane?”
He steered Domi over to the examination table. “She mentioned her shoulder was bothering her. Maybe the brace needs adjustment.”
“I’m not surprised,” replied DeFore irritably. “Ever since I released her, she’s done nothing but pace around.”
“Get bored,” Domi declared, allowing Grant to help her up on the table. She wasn’t overly fond of DeFore, suspecting that the medic had her sights set on Grant. As far as Grant knew, it was a completely unfounded suspicion.
As DeFore busied herself unbuckling the canvas body brace, she said broodily, “I told Kane that he’s on the verge of burnout. I told you and Baptiste the same thing so one or the other of you could talk to him about it.”
Grant shrugged. “He wouldn’t have reacted any differently to us than to you. Forcing him to stay behind while there’s a mission to perform wouldn’t help him.”
DeFore peeled the brace off, noting how Domi momentarily sank her teeth into her lower lip. “Does that hurt?”
“Think I tell you?” Domi snapped.
DeFore made a wordless utterance of annoyance. “Did everybody get together and decide that would be the standard Cerberus response to my questions?”
Neither Domi nor Grant responded. As DeFore care-fully unzipped the girl’s bodysuit, she said, “From what I heard, Kane royally screwed the New York op.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Grant replied defensively. “He did what he always doesturning disadvantage to advantage.”
“AH he did was solve the Salvo problem.” DeFore frowned, examining the heavy padded bandage swathing Domi’s right shoulder. She lifted up an edge to peer beneath. “Big deal. That wasn’t the objective.”
Harshly Grant said, “Stick to medical matters, DeFore. Leave the armchair generaling to Lakesh.”
DeFore turned angry eyes toward him. Domi repressed a grin, enjoying the heated exchange between them. “I intend to lodge a formal protest to Lakesh,” DeFore stated. “I’ll recommend Kane be confined to quarters until I can do a full psych workup. If necessary, I’ll arrange for him to be placed in a holding cell, under armed guard if it comes to that.”
Grant folded his arms over his broad chest. He didn’t speak for a long, tense moment. When he did, his tone of voice far exceeded hers in frosty resolve. “Recommend away, DeFore. But ask yourself one question before you do.”
“What?”
“Which asshole will volunteer to die trying to lock him up?”
The small pool on the second level had only recently been made functional again, and Brigid was eager to try it out. She hadn’t been swimming in a very long time, and she didn’t count her near drowning in the Irish Sea a few weeks ago as an enjoyable pastime.
She passed through an open area filled with weights, stationary exercise cycles and workout mats. The pool and exercise rooms had been built to provide the original inhabitants of Cerberus with a means of sweating off the stress of being confined for twenty-four hours a day in the installation. After the nukecaust, just staying alive was probably just as much exercise as they needed.
She pushed through the double doors into the pool room. Round and curve walled like an upside-down bowl, it was dimly illuminated by overhead track lighting. Brigid’s pace faltered when she heard the splashing of water. A little dismayed, she saw someone swimming toward her, pale legs kicking languidly beneath the clear surface. She stopped at the edge as Rouch heaved herself out of the water and onto the tiled lip of the pool.
A fairly new arrival in Cerberus, from Sharpeville, Rouch had exchanged only a few words with her. Bri-gid didn’t know what position the woman had held in her barony or what crime she may have committed against it, but Rouch had to be a specialist in some area or Lakesh wouldn’t have offered her sanctuary.
Rouch looked to be a few years younger than Brigid’s twenty-seven years. Her eyes were oval, almond, true Asian and appeared in the dim lighting to be jet-black. Her mouth was wide and sensuous, her ears and nose tiny and delicate. Glistening black hair fell nearly to her waist.