Dash of Peril

“Sexist.”

“Guilty.” He tried a small smile to counter the possible insult. “Under the circumstances I hope you don’t mind too much.”

“If you weren’t here...” she whispered, then stopped, swallowed, stared at him some more before starting over. “If you weren’t here, I would be dead.”

“No.” He wouldn’t even consider that possibility. He kissed her head, tucked her face against his throat.

“I can handle almost any situation.”

“I know.” Even now, her stubborn pride showed through.

“But I won’t lie to myself. I’m still a little disoriented. My head feels like it’s splitting in two and even though it’s not my gun arm injured, I’m not sure I could have shot straight enough to hit anyone.”

“So? My shots were off, too, but they still didn’t like their odds.” He was incredibly proud of her, and he needed her to know it. “They wanted you completely disabled after the wreck.”

“I was.”

“No.” He tipped up her face. Her eye was swelling, her forehead bruised, and blood ran down her cheek. And still he wanted to kiss her. Why not? He brushed his mouth so very gently over hers, then whispered against her lips, “Instead, your first instinct was to grab for your gun.”

“It’s ingrained,” she said just as quietly.

“Because you’re a cop through and through. According to Logan, one of the best he’s ever known.”

“He said that?”

“You don’t realize how he and Reese admire you? Why do you think they don’t see you as a woman? The cop in you is too dominant.”

“I guess that’s a good thing.”

For Logan and Reese, sure. But Dash wasn’t one of her subordinates. Eventually—if she’d give in just a little—he’d get her under the sheets and law enforcement would be the last thing on her mind. “If those miserable fucks had walked up to you, you would have shot them, Margo. I know that.”

She continued to look at him until her eyelids grew heavy again. She gave in, closing her eyes and snuggling close again. “It’s not easy for me to admit, but I’m so glad I’m not alone.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He had no problem admitting it.

She swallowed, let a few seconds of silence pass. “What I hate is that now you’re stuck in this mess.”

“I know.” He understood the ramifications. His truck sat out there where the goons could have easily read his plates. If they wanted to uncover his identity, they would.

But he was here with Margo, holding her, protecting her, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because he couldn’t stop kissing her, he put another soft peck to the top of her head. He had a million questions, but they’d all have to wait. Now that he’d thought of license plates, he said, “E-K-B 8-9-3-2.”

“What is that?” she asked.

“Plates for the van. I’m just making sure I don’t forget.”

She stirred. “You noticed them?”

“They rammed you. Hell, yeah, I noticed.” The sound of the sirens swelled louder, closer, and finally dimmed as the squad cars arrived. The reflection of red-and-blue lights bounced off ice everywhere.

Logan bellowed his name.

“Here!” He kept Margo close to his side, aware of her limp against him again, her eyes remaining closed. “We’re in the alley.”

Logan was the first in, his gun drawn until he spotted them. His gaze scanned the alley for any threats, then shifted to search over Dash’s body before locking on his face.

Logan held himself perfectly still. “You’re hit?”

“No, I’m fine. It’s Margo’s blood from her head. Her elbow is dislocated and she probably has a concussion, too.”

Some of the stiffness eased from Logan’s rigid shoulders and he began giving orders. Even now, in the thick of it, Dash had to smile at how easily his brother took control of any situation.

Pride was there, but fear for Margo overshadowed it.

Reese, dressed in jeans and a pullover sweatshirt, walked in ahead of the paramedics. His messy hair and casual clothes were proof that he’d left his bed to join Logan. Whistling when he saw them huddled together there on the ground, Reese hunkered down in front of Dash. He nodded at the Glock. “The lieutenant’s gun?”

“Yeah.”

Reese retrieved it from him.

“She said she has more weapons in her trunk.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Resolute and calm, he said, “You need to come with me.”

Dash turned his head to look at Margo. “She’s hurt.”

Reese’s gaze shifted to his lieutenant. Without an ounce of sympathy, he said, “Peterson, you hanging in there?”

“Yes.”

At her faint voice, Reese cocked one brow but said nothing about it. He eyed the blood everywhere, noted how Dash held the compress to her temple, as well as how he cradled her close. “The EMTs are getting a stretcher.”

Rousing herself, Margo got her eyes open and tried to struggle up to her feet. Dash could tell she did her best to hide her pain from Reese—a pain she’d allowed Dash to see. He hurried to help her, taking extra care not to jostle her injured arm.

Suspiciously satisfied, Reese half grinned. “Gonna walk out on your own steam, huh?”

Dash scowled at Reese. “Don’t be an ass.”

He shrugged. “It’s what Logan or I would do.”

But Margo wasn’t a man, she wasn’t large and muscled or—

She pressed away from Dash’s hold. “I’m sure as hell not going to be carried.”

Reese gave Dash an I-told-you-so look.

The EMTs crowded in, and she said, “Give Reese the plate numbers,” as she limped toward them— leaving Dash behind without a word.

Dash watched two medics offer her assistance, saw her give a few whispered commands, and he felt so incredibly helpless that it enraged him. “She is the most stubborn woman.”

“Proud more than stubborn,” Reese said with a slap on Dash’s shoulder that staggered him forward a step. “Stop fretting. They’ll take good care of her.” He scooped up Dash’s coat, shook it out and offered it to him. “I need to know what happened, right now before you forget any of the little details.”

Shoving his arms into the sleeves, Dash stated, “I’m going to the hospital with her.”

“I’ll drive your truck,” Reese said, “and we’ll all go to the hospital.”

* * *

BLOOD OOZING BETWEEN his fingers, Saul held his aching head. But the pain from where he’d hit the dash was nothing compared to the dread he suffered as he waited to see how Curtis reacted to the fuckup. He’d let her get away. Rage built, but Saul kept his expression impassive.

Curtis wouldn’t need more reason to unleash his caustic temper.

At just that moment Curtis strode in, his body bunched in anger, his face florid with it.

Saul grimaced, but it was Toby who took the meaty blow on the chin. It half knocked him off his seat, and sent blood trickling into his goatee.

Slowly, Toby righted himself. His eyes squinted in fury, but he kept silent. With the back of his hand he wiped away the blood.

“You should have fucking been there.”

Without reacting to the blow, Toby pushed to his feet and kept his attention glued to Curtis.

Curtis rounded on Toby again. “You know Saul can’t handle this shit!”

Knowing better than to object to the insult, Saul inched back—out of harm’s way.

Toby worked his jaw. “You’d sent me elsewhere.”

“You took too fucking long. If you’d gotten back sooner...” His anger slipped away, filled with nothing more than rank disgust. “Find me a woman,” Curtis ordered, and Saul knew he was talking to Toby, that he wouldn’t trust him again for a very long time.

Enigmatic, Toby asked, “Personal use, or for a project?”

Saul always admired Toby’s poise under extreme circumstances; it wasn’t the first time Curtis vented on Toby to keep from assaulting his own brother.

If Curtis wanted the woman for himself, then the requirements would be far different than any woman they’d use in their playtime. Saul waited to hear the answer, hoping it’d be for a project so he could take part.

In that, he never disappointed Curtis.

His brother clenched and unclenched his fists. “A project.” He shot a mean look at Saul—but he refrained from striking him. “Looks like I’ll have to take care of that bitch cop myself.”

“Setting a trap, then.” Toby nodded. “Got it.”

Saul sat forward. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m going to do what you fucking couldn’t. That’s the plan.” Curtis turned to walk away. “Let me know when you have the woman.”

Toby caught Saul’s arm and hauled him up. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

The second they were away from Curtis, Toby turned and sank a fist into Saul’s gut.

Saul doubled over, wheezing, unable to catch his breath as the pain radiated out, making him light-headed.

Toby pulled him upright. “Your brother might spare you, but I’m not going to. Remember that.”

As Saul watched him walk away, he thought about getting even—but he dismissed the idea. In fact, he laughed.

His brother was ready for another project, and Saul could hardly wait.

CHAPTER THREE

DASH RELATED EVERYTHING to Logan, then told it again to Reese, then to the uniformed cops. Everyone wanted to know everything—repeatedly. He paced, hungry, tired, and as Reese had accused, fretting.

Because he didn’t sit, Logan got up to prowl the hallway with him. “So you met Margo at a bar?”

“Yeah.” For the fifth time. “I was looking for her and found her and...” He waved a hand. Logan knew the rest, for crying out loud.

“I thought you were done with that.”

On a humorless laugh, he said, “No.” He’d tried, damn it. He’d spent the holidays visiting his folks with Logan and Pepper. Of course their parents adored Pepper. She was unique, beautiful, blunt and a perfect match for Logan. Unfortunately, his mom had seen Logan all happily married...and wanted the same for Dash.

“So you’re still interested in her?”

Logan didn’t sound happy about it. Thanks to his mother’s attempts at hooking him up, he’d taken to hiding out in his cabin on the lake. The solitude hadn’t been as peaceful as usual. He’d given up, and instead gone through a string of one-night stands.

But that ended up a waste of time because none of the women measured up to Margo. So he’d started shopping anew for a retreat cabin. One without memories of Logan and Pepper.

“She’ll need some help for the next few days.”

Logan frowned. “Who?”

Pushing past him, Dash headed back to the waiting room. “Margo.”

“Peterson can take care of herself and she won’t appreciate you trying to coddle her.” Logan kept pace beside him.

“Wrong.” Dash shoved his hands in his pockets to keep his fists from showing. “She wouldn’t appreciate you coddling her.”

“But you’re different?”

“Damn right.” He had to believe that. “Now stop needling me.”

“I wasn’t,” Logan said in that ultracalm tone that for some reason had Dash on a ragged edge tonight. “What can I do to help? Want me to go grab you a few things? Your shirt is a mess.”

With Margo’s blood. Jesus. What the hell was taking so long? “A shirt, socks, maybe a razor—I’d appreciate it.”

“No problem. My house is closer to the hospital than yours. I should be able to get back before you and Peterson leave here.”

Dash was taller, so he couldn’t share Logan’s jeans, but he said, “Throw in a pair of sweatpants or something, will you? I’ll do some laundry in the morning.”

“If Peterson lets you hang around that long.”

When Dash glared at him, Logan bit back a smile and raised his hands in surrender.

“I’m sure she’ll welcome you with open arms.”

Standing in the doorway to the waiting room, Reese asked, “Who? Peterson? Is that a joke?”

Dash shouldered past him, almost making Reese spill the coffee he’d just refilled. Normally he could take their jokes about Margo having ice for blood and balls to rival any guy.

But not tonight.

A minute later, Reese came in and sat across from him. “Logan headed off to get some stuff. Said he’d be right back.”

Had they found something more wrong with her? Was that the holdup? Was she even now headed in to surgery? Would someone let them know if that was the case?

Reese’s phone rang and for the next few minutes, Dash had to listen to his muted conversation with his wife. Until recently, Dash hadn’t envied his brother or Reese for their marital status.

But now... He got up to pace again but got only as far as the door when Reese spoke.

“Alice said if there’s anything she can do to help, let her know.”

Dash nodded. “Thanks.” He propped himself against the wall. “How’s the kid?”

“Doing good.” Reese sat back in his seat and sprawled out his long legs, then started rubbing his left thigh where an old bullet wound still pained him during times of fatigue. “Finally over the flu, poor little guy.”

So that’s why Reese looked so beat. “Few sleepless nights?”

“Alice is a wonderful mother hen. And Marcus... Well, it still breaks my heart to look at him.”

Meaning both Alice and Reese had stayed attentive to Marcus’s needs.

Dash said only, “Yeah,” because there were no other words adequate enough to cover it all. At only nine, Marcus had seen a world of hurt. His dad was now behind bars, where he belonged, and his junkie mother had died from an overdose.

But if anyone could make Marcus whole again, it was Reese and Alice.

Silence filled the waiting room for a few minutes, and then they both heard the squeak-squeak-squeak of rubber-soled shoes approaching. Dash met the guy halfway—but that didn’t stop the doctor. Still walking, he asked, “You’re with Margaret Peterson?”

“Yes.” Dash trailed him back into the waiting room, where Reese had sat forward in anticipation.

“I’m Dr. Westberry.” He held out a hand, so Dash took it.

“Dash Riske. I’m a...friend.”

The doctor looked at him over his glasses, sized him up, then turned to Reese.

“Detective Bareden. Peterson is my lieutenant.”

“I see. There’s no family present?”

Dash shook his head. “No.”

“Okay, then.” The doctor opened a clipboard to peruse notes. “The good news is that she’ll be fine. No nerve or bone damage. No surgery needed. But we had to reduce—that is, put back in place—her elbow.”

“I’ve heard that hurts like hell,” Reese said.

“Very painful, yes.” The doctor scowled. “She refused a sedative, but we gave her something for the pain both before and after. She’s still going to be in very real discomfort for a few days at the least.”

“Why did it take so long?” Dash asked. “Her head was bleeding, too, and she might have other injuries—”

Looking back at that damn clipboard, the doctor said, “On top of the tests to check for injury to the arteries and nerves in the arm, and the possibility of broken bones, we also evaluated her head injury.”

“And?” Reese asked.

“We didn’t find any other damage. We stitched her head, and a nurse cleaned up some of the blood.” He looked at each of them. “She has a concussion. It would be best if someone could stay with her tonight.”

Dash took a step forward. “Me.”

One brow lifted, Reese looked at him.

Gaining steam, Dash said, “I’ll be staying with her. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“Yes, well, if she agrees for you to be there, you’ll need to monitor things. Every two hours while she’s awake, every three hours while sleeping, do a neuro-check—ask for her name, the date, make sure she knows where she is. Make sure her pupils are equal.”

Dash listened as the doctor gave more details, ready to do whatever needed to be done.

“I gave her a prescription to control the pain, so if you can, make sure she uses it. It’ll help her to rest.”

Dash had no idea how she was supposed to rest if he had to wake her every few hours, but he’d do it all the same.

Tiredly, the doctor sank down to a seat and finally closed the clipboard. “She’s in a splint to keep her elbow bent and to prevent her from moving it. The sling is to help her support her arm, but she can remove that when it’s more comfortable for her. However, she has to wear the splint, she cannot move her elbow and she should keep it elevated as much as possible. Ice every couple of hours during the day for swelling.”

“Got it.”

Somewhat skeptically, the doctor said, “It’s important that she not be too active for the next few days. We don’t want to risk a new injury.” Then half under his breath, he added, “Not sure how you’ll manage that one, but I wish you luck with it.”

Reese grinned. “Did she give you hell?”

“Let’s just say she has a very strong will.”

Dash didn’t see any humor in the situation. “Anything else?”

“She’s been given instructions to follow up with an orthopedist in three days. Overall we prefer to keep immobilization limited otherwise we see too much stiffness in the joint. She’ll be told then when she can remove the splint entirely and start light exercises to regain range of motion.”

“Is she going to be out of commission for long?”

“Most achieve full activity in four to six weeks.”

Reese whistled. “She’s not going to like that.”

Dash knew it was true—and dreaded the frustration she’d feel.

The doctor pushed back to his feet, his clipboard tucked to his side. “Overall, she should be fine.”

Dash again shook his hand. “When can I see her?”

“The nurse will let you know. Shouldn’t be too much longer now.”

After the doctor left, Reese scrutinized him. “You need some rest, too, you know.”

“Says the guy who’s been up with a sick kid.” Now that Dash knew Margo would be okay, the exhaustion sank in. He dropped into the chair beside Reese.

It didn’t make any sense for him to be this invested. Okay, sure, he hated to see anyone hurt, especially a woman. He would always do what he could to help someone in her situation.

But he felt so much more than mere concern for another person. Only family had ever engendered this much caring.

But Margo wasn’t family. She wasn’t even a casual date.

If she got her way, they’d be acquaintances and nothing else.

Dash didn’t plan to let her have her way.

Reese snorted. “I was going to suggest you let your brother take her home so you can catch a few hours sleep before you start playing Florence Nightingale —”

“No.”

“—but given your expression, I think I’ll save my breath.”

“Good plan.” Margo would kick Logan out, and then she’d never let Dash in. Dash had to take advantage of her current vulnerability because once she had a chance to catch her breath, she wouldn’t admit to needing help. “Don’t worry about it, Reese. I’ve got it covered.” He pulled out his cell phone and called his foreman. Owning a company meant he could take days off when needed.

And though Margo might not realize, it also meant he was used to calling the shots. She might run roughshod over most men, and intimidate others, and she probably mistook his good humor for weakness—but very soon, Lieutenant Margaret Peterson would get to know him better.

And she’d learn that appearances seldom told the whole story.

* * *

GETTING HER CLOTHES OFF was the hardest part, especially that damn leather glove. Her fingers had swollen so badly that they had to cut it away. After that, the meds they gave her kicked in and although they didn’t obliterate the pain, they did make it more manageable.

Now if only they could medicate her frustration and worry.

By following her, Dash had become a target, same as her. Never, ever, did she want to involve him like this. He wasn’t a cop, wasn’t equipped for the danger about to come their way.

But every time that worry wormed into her mind, she recalled Dash’s quick thinking and capability in fending off two armed men. She remembered how he’d cared for her without being condescending. She recalled his concern, and how he’d deferred to her.

Such a nice surprise. And sort of...a turn-on. Thinking of Dash was easier than concentrating on her aches and pains.

Through the long process of X-rays, exams, setting her elbow and the numerous tests on her noggin, he’d stayed with her at the hospital.

Why would he do that? She wasn’t an infant in need of help. She could have taken a taxi home. It especially unsettled her when she found out Logan had brought Dash a change of clothes and toiletries because Dash planned to go home with her.

And now her two top detectives knew it.

It was so humiliating, and so...comforting, that she almost couldn’t bear it. She had not come from a family of coddlers. Pep talks, commonsense commands and a good push in the right direction were given at times of need.

Nothing else was needed or expected.

Her family knew she’d been injured, but none of them were willing to run out in the predawn hours to check on her. During a very brief phone call, her dad had asked, “You’ll be okay?”

Without a single hint of pain in her voice, she’d replied, “Yes, sir, of course.”

She could hear the approval in his voice when he said, “Good. We’ll talk later.”

That’s how mature adults treated minor injuries. Not that Dash seemed to understand the protocol. She was a lieutenant, for crying out loud—the youngest woman ever promoted to that rank in their city. She was not a frail, helpless civilian.

She didn’t need anyone fussing over her.

But he’d stayed anyway, and by the time they got out of the hospital, her head stitched and her arm snug in a splint and sling, the sun was already on the rise.

Slumping against the passenger door, her left arm cushioned by his coat, Margo kept her eyes closed. That was easier than seeing his concern.

“We’re almost there,” Dash said softly.

Red splashes of dawn glistened off every ice-covered surface of road, trees and buildings in blinding display. It amplified the ache in her head. Each small bump in the road made her elbow throb. She had more bruises than she could count. Over her entire body, a never-ending pulse of discomfort tried to claim all her concentration.

But a few minutes later, with Dash pulling into her driveway, Margo had other things on her mind, more important things.

Thanks to her, Dash was now in danger. Would he be safer away from her—or with her? More importantly, would his presence hinder her from doing what needed to be done?

What she damn well intended to do.

“Easy,” Dash told her as he parked. He circled around the hood of the truck and opened the passenger door. The ground looked a fair distance away and she dreaded the effort it would take to get back on her feet.

She half turned, and Dash carefully slid one arm under her thighs, the other behind her back so he could lift her out. He handled her weight without a single sign of strain, cradling her against his broad, warm chest.

A lesser woman would have stayed put and let him carry her in.

She had not been raised to be a lesser woman.

“Thank you.” She truly appreciated the assistance since his truck rode so high off the ground. The very prospect of hopping out made her ache all over. “I can walk from here.” I hope.

At close range, his deep brown eyes took her measure. “You’ll insist?”

“Yes.”

“Shame, since I like holding you.” He treated her to a molten look, and then slowly bent so that her feet touched the ground. He continued to hold on to her until she’d steadied herself. Tucking her coat back around her, he asked, “Okay?”

It hurt to breathe, but she nodded.

“So stubborn.” He reached in to the floor and snagged up her purse, the stuff Logan had brought him and the bag of her bloodied clothes. The clothes she would pitch, but thank God he’d had the foresight to retrieve her purse from her car.

Her brand-new ruined car.

That alone warranted a groan, but she bit it back and tried not to drag her feet along the lit walkway to her front door. Because of the splint and sling, her coat was only draped over her left shoulder and the bitter wind easily tore it away again. The borrowed scrubs were no barrier at all and the chill cut right through to her bones. Tiredly, she readjusted her coat again.