Dash of Peril

“About?” She glanced at the illuminated clock. If she didn’t get home soon she may as well plan on staying up. Her shift would start in less than five hours.

Before she realized his intent, Dash moved toward her, leaning over the console and stealing the breath in her lungs.

She frowned—and his mouth brushed hers.

In a rough whisper, he said, “This.”

Margo couldn’t deny that it felt good to be near a man, this man, soaking up his heat, hearing the husky timbre of his voice, feeling the restrained power innate in all good men.

He put scant space between their mouths and waited.

When she didn’t pull away, Dash leaned in again, nudging her lips apart with his own. She relaxed at the damp touch of his tongue, first tracing her lips and then dipping inside.

God, he tasted good, like a man should. Her heart pumped faster. More so than the average guy, Dash was muscular from work in his construction company. Tall, handsome, friendly...and sexy.

What would it hurt if she gave in? If she took the brief pleasure he offered? It wouldn’t last, and in some ways it’d only make her want more, things she couldn’t have.

Unreasonable things.

Twisted things.

Margo flattened her hands on his chest and levered him away. “That’s enough.”

His forehead rested against hers. “Our definitions of enough are further apart than our motivations.”

“I...can’t.”

Remaining close, frowning just a little, Dash studied her face, her eyes...her soul. “Tell me why.”

She couldn’t. “I’m sorry.” Did she have to sound so breathless? “You should go now.” Before she changed her mind and complicated her life horribly. It wouldn’t be fair to him...and it wouldn’t be fair to her.

Dash didn’t press her, but his tension increased. One hand still on the side of her face, he brushed his thumb over her temple. “You’ve been as clear as you can be, you know? Not interested. I hear you say it and I believe you. I see you like this, and I’m convinced.”

She couldn’t get enough oxygen to relieve the restriction in her chest. “But?”

“But I’m getting mixed signals all the same.”

So damned astute. Maybe he had a few things in common with Logan after all. God knew his brother rarely missed even the most subtle clue. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s it?” He dropped back to his seat, his eyes glittering in the darkness. “That’s the explanation?”

She shook her head. “I don’t explain myself. It was only an apology.” Without meaning to, she licked over her bottom lip—and saw the heat in his dark eyes increase. “I don’t owe you anything, Dash.” And no way would she tell him she did want him—just not enough to overcome the problems. Sex with Dash would be like bungee jumping when she wanted to skydive.

“No,” he said softly, “I don’t suppose you do.” His expression flat, all his natural humor squashed, Dash buttoned up his coat again, opened the door and stepped out. A blast of wintery air slapped her heated face—but it couldn’t compete with the sudden frigidness of his mood. “Drive safely, Margo.”

He was one of the few people other than family who called her that. To the rest of the world she was Margaret, a rigid, by-the-books, untouchable lieutenant.

He didn’t slam the door, just calmly closed it—and walked away, his shoulders hunched against the relentless sleet.

* * *

STANDING BENEATH THE overhang of the bar with snow and sleet trying to blind his view, the chill of the winter storm reaching down deep to his bones, Saul Boyle watched the man exit her car. Must’ve been a short convo. His brother, Curtis, would be pleased.

“She’s all alone now,” he said into the cell.

“The roads are shit,” Curtis mused, and then added, “I’d feel better about this if Toby was with you.”

That made Saul bunch up in jealous anger. “He won’t be available until tomorrow, and then we might miss our chance.”

“There would be other chances.”

He clenched his teeth. “I don’t need Toby. I told you. I got someone to help me.”

“Yes, that pathetic dopehead who needs the cash for his next fix.”

Why did Curtis have to ridicule every decision he made? “He’ll be solid, Curtis. I swear.”

The lengthy pause had Saul sweating before finally, his tone gentle, Curtis said, “I’m trusting you with a lot, Saul.”

“I know.” It made him giddy, the idea of proving himself to Curtis. He was as good as anyone. He was better than Toby. “I got this.”

“Make sure, Saul. I need the police off my ass, not digging deeper into my business.”

“She’s the one leading the dig, so once she’s gone, the others will back off.” Saul started walking toward the van, where his disposable hired hand waited. “After tonight, she’ll be a distant memory.”

“Perfect. Let me know when it’s done.” And with that Curtis hung up.

Anticipation building, Saul grinned as he trod through the accumulating snow. Curtis loved the slow torment inherent in their playtime, but Saul lived for the brutality of a surprise attack—as long as it wasn’t directed at him. Curtis could be unpredictable...but no. His brother was fair. Vicious when necessary, but he knew what he was doing.

Curtis was the brains. It was his money and power that made it all possible. Saul enjoyed being the muscle.

Together, they made an unstoppable team.

* * *

WITH HURT COILING around her, Margo watched Dash go until he disappeared into the darkness. For reasons she couldn’t understand, defeat burned her eyes.

Damn him, why did he need to confuse things?

She turned on her headlights, fastened her seat belt and put the car in gear. With no other cars on the road, she pulled out of the lot and onto the icy street, going slow to accommodate the worsening weather.

The defroster and her wipers couldn’t quite counteract the ever-forming ice on her windshield. Twice she felt her tires slipping and slowed even more. Before the night was over the station would be bombarded with calls. The wrecks would pile up. Hopefully none of them would be too severe.

Lost in deep thought, she’d traveled a little over a mile when suddenly from her left, bright headlights emerged from the obsidian night. Blinded, she threw up a hand to shield her eyes...and several realities crashed through her mind.

She was about to be T-boned; given the speed of the approaching car it had to be deliberate. The impact was going to hurt her, maybe even kill her.

Damn it, now she’d never know what it was like to sleep with Dash Riske.

The last thought had barely formed when metal hit metal with a great grinding crash. The force of the impact jarred every bone in her body. Her forehead connected with the steering wheel...and as a great blackness slowly swallowed her up she didn’t see or hear anything else.

CHAPTER TWO

THE VAN BARRELING toward Margo’s driver’s-side door snapped away Dash’s brooding annoyance.

She was about to get ambushed.

Fear and rage slammed into him, but neither of those emotions would help the situation, so he went on autopilot. Slowing his truck to keep from sliding on the slick roads, he locked his hands on the wheel and said a quick, silent prayer that she wouldn’t be hurt.

Thanks to the shitty weather, he’d made the decision to follow her home to ensure she got there safely. He hadn’t planned on her ever knowing about it, but subterfuge no longer mattered.

His guts twisted when the bulky van rammed headlong into her petite Lexus. Heart hammering, he half-assed parked his truck at the side of the road and, keeping one eye on the van, launched out the door. Knowing he had to reach her, he moved fast, sliding every other step of the way.

Her car careened sideways, spun once and collided with a telephone pole. The air bags released and glass shattered. From overhead wires, clumps of accumulated snow and ice dropped hard.

Even before the sound of the crash faded away on the dark night, Dash reached her. Seeing her demolished door buckled in, the glass everywhere, sent fear jamming into his throat.

“Jesus.” The obscene sound of grinding gears and a revving engine told Dash the driver of the van was okay—and desperate to disengage from the snowbank.

Dash reached for Margo’s door handle.

He jerked at it twice, pulling with all his strength until finally with a sharp screech of bent metal, it wrenched open. Margo lay slumped over the steering wheel and deflated air bags, her small body lifeless.

Carefully, Dash put his fingertips to her throat...and blew out a breath when he felt her steady pulse. Thank God.

How much time did he have before the van freed itself from the snowbank?

And once it did, what would happen?

“Margo? Come on, honey, talk to me.” In case she had neck or spinal injuries, he didn’t want to move her. He pulled out his cell phone and almost by rote dialed his brother instead of 911.

Logan answered with “What’s up?”

“Margo was just in a wreck. Bad. We’re at...” He looked around and found the street signs. “Corner of Second and Main. She’s unconscious.”

Calm and commanding, Logan asked, “Any other cars involved?”

Dash could hear Logan moving and knew he was already on his way. “An old cargo van.” Except for the glare of headlights off Margo’s car and the van, inky darkness blanketed the empty streets. Tension prickled along his spine—he could almost smell the sense of danger.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, but...” Dash could barely believe it, but he knew what he’d seen. “She was rammed, Logan.”

“You mean deliberately?”

Sure looked that way to him. With the roads like an ice rink it was possible the idiot behind the wheel just didn’t know how to drive.

But Dash wasn’t willing to take chances. “That’s my bet.”

A new urgency entered Logan’s tone. “If she’s out, don’t move her unless you have to. But if you get any vibes at all, grab her up and take cover. You got me?”

Fuck. He looked again at the van still trying to rock out of the packed snow. “Yeah.”

“Take her gun if you have to.”

Funny that Logan didn’t even ask if Margo was armed. He knew she went nowhere without a weapon. “Got it.”

Suddenly Margo sat back with a heart-wrenching moan. Blood trickled from her temple down her ear and jaw. Her short, dark hair glittered with chunks of glass from the shattered windshield.

Gasping, she opened her eyes, flinched and gave a weak, muffled curse.

Dash crouched down beside her outside the car door. “She’s awake.”

“Tell her backup and an ambulance are on the way. And Dash? Watch your ass.”

“’Course.” Dash disconnected the phone and dropped it into his pocket. “Sit still, honey. Logan is sending help.”

“Dash?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Was she concussed? He smoothed back her hair and winced at the gash he found near her hairline. He didn’t want to alarm her, but if at all possible, he’d prefer to get her in his truck so they had a way out if it became necessary. “You hit your head. Anything else hurt?”

“Everything.” As if personal injuries didn’t matter at all, she whispered, “The other car?”

“A cargo van.” He glanced that way but behind the windshield all he saw was darkness. “They’re stuck for now.”

Instead of being reassured, she drew her gun and tried to turn toward him—probably to leave the car. The seat belt caught her and she sucked in a painful breath.

“Let me help.” She hadn’t yet moved her left arm, so he used extra care as he reached in around her, gently opened the latch on the seat belt and freed her.

Looking past him, Margo swallowed hard, blinked twice and rasped, “Move.”

Her voice was so weak he barely heard her—but he didn’t try to disarm her. Looking back, he asked, “Any idea who that is?”

“Yeah.” Stark pain narrowed her eyes. “Trouble.”

The wheels of the van finally found purchase. It shot forward a few feet, slewed to the side and, oddly enough, did a U-turn to face them again.

“Ah, hell.” His first instinct had been right. “We have to go. Now.”

Margo clenched her teeth and slid one leg from her car.

Not fast enough. The van barreled toward them again, so Dash did the expedient thing and hefted Margo up against his chest. On a short cry, her body shuddered before going deliberately still.

So brave. So damned stoic.

The van sped forward and he knew he’d never make it to his truck in time. Instead he headed for the sidewalk and ducked toward the questionable safety between two brick buildings. Fuck. No outlet.

Margo groaned raggedly, shifted to take aim and a loud blast sounded far too damn close to his ear.

He nearly dropped her.

Seconds later he heard return fire and hunkered down with her, trying to shield her with his body until he could get them both behind a heavy metal trash bin.

She locked her jaw as he set her on the dirty, icy ground behind the hulking steel bin. A thick layer of ice covered every surface. Her breath frosted in front of her.

“Are you okay?”

Small, wounded, dazed, she still pulled it together and gave him a stiff nod.

He could tell she had extreme pain. From her head—or somewhere else? What could he do about it anyway? More blood ran down her jaw, her neck. An overhead utility light showed the whiteness of her face.

They both heard the van’s engine idling right outside the alley. Not liking their odds, Dash put his shoulder to the giant grimy bin and scooted it catty-corner to provide a few more inches of cover. He eyed the windows in the two buildings sandwiching them. One had bars and was too high to reach anyway. The other would leave them exposed. No way would they get through it without getting shot.

“Dash?”

Absently, not wanting her to worry, he said, “Help will be here soon.” Reassurance and the physical protection of his body was the best he could give. In the refuse, he located a long thick pipe and lifted it. It’d make an adequate weapon if it came to that. He glanced back at Margo. “Don’t suppose you have a second gun with you?”

“No. Extra magazine and handcuffs...but those were in my purse.”

“Still in the car?”

“Yes.”

“Any other weapons in there?”

“AR-15 in the trunk.”

Dash chewed his upper lip, considering his odds of making it to the car and back....

“No.” Margo shifted, winced. “Don’t even think it.”

Given her condition, he wanted her gun—but no way would he take it from her. The way she held it he knew it gave her comfort. His brother was the same. Logan had often said he felt naked without his sidearm.

A sudden barrage of gunshot blasted the metal bin and ricocheted off the brick building. Cursing, Dash dropped over Margo, doing his best to cover her with his chest and arms, protecting her head from the flying debris of brick and mortar. They were so close they shared breath.

When the bullets stopped flying, he sat back and looked her over, smoothed his hands over her face, her hair. No new injuries, thank God.

Moving away from his touch, she swallowed audibly. “I have vertigo.”

From her head wound. A strange combustible mix of rage and worry left him taut. Margo had ability and experience, so he’d happily take direction from her. “What can I do to help?”

With the wrist of her gun hand, she swiped blood from her face. Even that movement made her clench with agony. She bit her bottom lip, sucked in two slow shallow breaths. “I need to return fire but my coordination is blown.”

He brushed her hair back to eye her injury again. “Logan is on his way.”

“Until he gets here, we’re sitting ducks and they’re determined.”

Meaning if they didn’t fire back, the goons would press forward. “Why don’t I return fire?”

Face stiff, she held her breath, peeked around the bin and ducked back again. Slumping against him, she stated, “They want me dead.”

Like hell. Dash kept his voice calm with supreme effort. “That’s not happening.”

As if he hadn’t spoken she carried on an internal debate, gripping the Glock in her right hand while trembling uncontrollably. “I can’t steady my arm.”

“I can shoot,” Dash said again. He stripped off his coat and tucked it around her legs.

She wavered in indecision. “Are you any good?”

“Logan taught me.” And that said a lot. “I’m good enough to fend them off until he gets here.”

Out on the street, the low drone of voices carried on the turbulent night. The bastards thought they had them. They were making plans.

“It’s now or never, babe.”

Margo gave one small nod. “You’ll have to take it from me.”

Dash didn’t at first understand, but when she just sat there, bloodied and battered, her hand locked tight on the weapon, he realized what she meant. “Easy now.” He gently pried the heavy black weapon from her stiff, cold fingers.

“Don’t you dare hit an innocent bystander.”

Given the dark of the night, the lousy weather and the obvious firefight, there shouldn’t be any innocents hanging around. “It wouldn’t be my first plan.” Keeping the gun at the ready, he eased forward a little bit at a time...and spotted one man taking aim from the driver’s-side window of the van.

It took only that split second for him to mentally record the man’s face, his features.

Shots came their way, the noise unsettling. Dash felt Margo flinch, and rage calmed his frantic heartbeat.

He let out a slow breath, braced as he eased forward and squeezed off three rapid rounds before taking cover again.

Watching him with something like blurry admiration, Margo asked, “Hit anything?”

“The van.” Maybe. He was a decent shot, unless compared to Logan and Reese...and probably Margo.

Using only her right arm, with her left held at a strange angle, she scooted farther back to the brick wall to give him more space. “Keep shooting.” Dash saw her every shallow breath, and he felt her unwavering strength.

Damn, she needed medical care. But first things first.

Creeping forward again, he put two more shots into the van. This time he knew for certain that he’d hit a tire and the grille. Curses filled the air.

“Next one is through your window, assholes!”

Unbelievably, Margo snickered.

Maybe realizing that their position out in the open—especially since their victims were willing to fight back—wasn’t the best place to be, the attackers gave up. The van accelerated, and even with one tire demolished, it managed to flee the scene.

Peeking out, Dash watched until they disappeared from sight. “Stay put.”

She made a small sound that he chose to take as affirmation.

Standing, he crept along the brick wall to the open street and glanced out again. Nothing but empty buildings and shining ice. The wind howled, reminding him that he was without a coat. He ignored the bitter cold because that was all he could do.

The taillights of the van disappeared into the night, and still Dash watched until the flop-flop-flop of the destroyed tire faded away to nothingness.

When he returned to Margo, he found her slouched against the wall, her eyes sinking shut. Her utter stillness scared him.

“Hey.”

She didn’t bother to look at him. Maybe she couldn’t. “Gone?”

Relief nearly took out his knees. “For now.” He hoped like hell they wouldn’t circle around and come back again, but he’d stay alert just in case.

It felt like an hour had passed, but it was probably less than five minutes. Surely backup would arrive soon.

He placed the Glock on the ground between them, lifted his thermal shirt and ripped away a section of his white undershirt.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s okay. I’ll only be a second.” He ducked out of the alley, cautiously approached the main street and found it still empty. All around him, ice sparkled beneath stars and moonlight. Like muted wind chimes, the continuing fall of sleet made a faint tinkling sound. The air was so cold, so crisp, that it hurt his lungs to breathe.

It would be a beautiful sight if goons weren’t trying to kill them.

As far as the van had gone, it’d take the shooters at least a few minutes to sneak back on foot, but he doubted they would. They had to know the police had been called.

Stepping through the deep snow, grateful that he’d worn his boots, Dash gathered packed snow and ice into the ripped cloth and tied it shut. After one last look around, he returned to Margo with his makeshift ice pack.

He went to his knees beside her, impressed by her fortitude, worried about her lethargy and exploding with protective instincts. “Keep your eyes closed.” With tender care, he brushed the chunks of gravel-like glass out of her short dark hair and off the shoulders of her black wool coat before pressing the ice to her head.

Pain drew her brows together, but she said not a word.

He held the pack in place and looked her over. “Are you hurt anywhere other than your head?”

With exaggerated effort she opened her eyes to look up at him. “Afraid so.”

His heartbeat jumped. Dreading her answer, he asked, “Where?”

A slow, deep breath expanded her chest. Her colorless lips parted for faster breaths until she almost panted. “It’s unfortunate, but my left elbow is dislocated.”

* * *

WHAT THE FUCK? Dash looked at how she held her left arm slightly out from her body in such an awkward way. His brows flattened. Her right hand—the hand that had gripped her gun so tightly—was bare, but she wore a leather glove on her left. “You’re sure?”

Her red eyes mocked him. “Quite sure.”

Anger ignited. “Why didn’t you say something?”

She again closed her eyes, almost like she couldn’t help herself. “What could you have done about it?”

No idea, but she still should have told him. “When I took you from your car—” God, he’d thrown her half over his shoulder then literally jogged with her in that position.

“It hurt like hell, but being shot would have been worse.” Pale with pain, Margo added, “You did great, Dash. Better than I’d expected.”

What had she thought? That he’d fall apart? Maybe hide behind her—the big, bad lieutenant?

More anger simmered to the surface, and that really pissed him off. He never got angry. He was the easygoing one, damn it, the one who enjoyed life and all its vagaries. He didn’t get riled, and why should he? He’d been blessed in too many ways to count.

He had parents who adored him and a brother that would make anyone proud.

Most would call him wealthy, but because the money didn’t mean that much to him, he preferred the term financially secure.

Inherited genes gave him height and strength, a fit body that he’d honed in his construction company—a body that appealed to women.

That brought him back around to his disgruntlement toward Margo...the one woman who rebuffed him at every opportunity. Now he knew she considered him a wimp.

In the face of more pressing problems, he decided to work that out with her later. He could hear her teeth chattering—when she didn’t have them clenched in pain—so he settled back against the wall beside her and carefully drew her to his side to both support her and share heat.

She sighed and sank closer, wedging into his shoulder. “Mmm, you are so warm.”

Her voice sounded drowsy, and that, too, bothered him. “I’m sorry, but you can’t go to sleep yet.” She surely had a concussion to go with her other injuries. God, he couldn’t believe this. He wrapped himself around her as much as he could. “The ambulance should be here soon.”

Even as he said it, they heard the distant whine of approaching sirens. He probably had only a minute more alone with her. Shaking out his coat, he tucked it around both their legs, trapping his warmth in with hers. “You’ll be able to rest soon.”

“I don’t need to be babied.”

“I know,” he soothed. He looked beneath the ice pack at her bruised but beautiful face. “I think the bleeding has stopped.”