Rescue Me

by Kira Sinclair

  “I wasn’t talking about your staff. I was talking about how well you took that punch. He was one hulking dude and put everything he had behind that hit.”

  “My cheekbone is throbbing with the proof of that.”

  “I know some pretty badass women, and I don’t think any of them could have taken that hit and still been coherent enough to hold a conversation with me right now. Why isn’t your brain rattled?”

  She shrugged. “Not the first punch I’ve ever taken.”

  Shit. For the second time tonight, Finn wanted to knock someone on their ass—preferably anyone who’d ever given Tucker bruises.

  She must have registered where his brain had gone because she quickly said, “No. Not that way.” She scoffed, the rough sound scraping through her throat. “I’ve been involved in martial arts and self-defense off and on for years. I was raised by a single dad who believed in making sure his little girl could take care of herself.”

  “Smart man.”

  “He is. But that’s all I meant by not the first time I’ve taken a punch.”

  Satisfied she was showing no signs of concussion, Finn turned away long enough to snag the arm of a passing waitress and request she bring him a towel or bag filled with ice.

  He might not know her well, but even Finn realized it was a testament to just how much her cheek must be hurting that Tucker didn’t make some snide comment about him ordering her staff around. Or that after the waitress returned with some ice wrapped in a towel, she didn’t protest when Finn moved close, sliding his hip against hers, to place it against her cheek.

  But she did hiss and jerk back in response to the pain and cold.

  Finn wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, holding her in place.

  “That hurts,” she grumbled.

  What was wrong with him? He wanted to pick her up, plop her down into his lap and do whatever it took to make the pain go away. Even though he knew that wasn’t possible.

  The only person Finn ever worried about taking care of was Duchess—and she wasn’t technically a person.

  “I’m sorry, but something tells me you’d rather keep the swelling and bruising to a minimum.”

  With a sigh, she settled against the wall, the warmth of his palm cupping her head. The soft rain of her hair brushed across the back of his hand.

  His gaze snagged on her lips. He wanted to taste them. Wanted to know if the taste of her would be just as spicy as her attitude, or if that prickly outer shell hid a sweetness designed to bring a man to his knees.

  But he didn’t get the chance. He could feel the presence behind him long before the man spoke.

  “Boss, problem’s all taken care of.”

  “Great. Thanks, Wyatt.”

  “You okay?”

  “She’s good. Looks like she’ll have one hell of a bruise tomorrow, though.”

  The toe of her shoe connected with his hip. “I can speak for myself, thank you very much.” Her gaze shifted to the man standing just over his shoulder. “I’m fine. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be back out on the floor.”

  “Take your time. The guys and I have everything in hand.”

  Finn watched Wyatt disappear. Beside him, Duchess stirred. She moved to follow and Finn was too preoccupied to notice or call her back. He wasn’t worried about her—she was better behaved than the morons they’d just thrown out.

  “Hey, how the hell did you get back in, anyway? I’m pretty sure I said you and your dog weren’t welcome.”

  “And yet we weren’t the ones who just tried to start a riot in the middle of your bar.”

  “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

  Finn shrugged. “I’m not the one sitting here with an ice pack on his cheek.”

  She shoved at him. Finn moved so Tucker could slide out of the booth. He figured asking her to sit still a little longer wouldn’t have made any difference. He could have stonewalled and kept her in, but he wouldn’t put it past her to duck under the table.

  The minute she stood she let out a loud hiss and her entire body buckled again.

  Jolting forward, Finn caught her around the waist, not bothering to wait before depositing her back onto the bench.

  Kneeling in front of her, he asked, “What’s hurting?” even as his gaze swept over her looking for apparent signs of injury.

  “My ankle. I must have twisted it when I got knocked on my ass.”

  His mouth tugged into a frown. “It’s no wonder with these death traps you seem to think are shoes.”

  Slipping one of the heels from her left foot, he dropped it onto the floor, not caring when it clattered with a resounding bang.

  “Hey!” She jerked forward, trying to dive after the shiny black heel. “Those cost eight hundred dollars.”

  Finn wrapped his fingers around her ankle, the smooth warmth of her skin registering somewhere deep inside. “Excuse me?”

  “They’re couture.”

  “Did you just tell me that you spent almost as much as my mortgage payment on an impractical pair of heels?”

  For the briefest moment, Tucker looked a little sheepish. But the expression didn’t last long, quickly replaced with bravado and a no-nonsense stare that threatened to cut straight through him.

  God, there was something about this woman that lit up everything inside him. She was infuriating and adorable at the same time. Intriguing and tempting.

  “I don’t need to justify my spending habits to you.”

  “No, you sure don’t,” he said, tucking his chin into his chest to hide the smile he couldn’t quite stop. Probing her ankle, he moved it from side to side, testing her range of motion. So far, it wasn’t swelling, which was a good sign. “But maybe you should lay off the heels for a few days while this heals.”

  She harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest, but didn’t argue with him.

  Slipping the other shoe off, this time carefully setting it onto the floor beside them, Finn grasped her by the arms and gently pulled her up, taking as much of her weight as she’d let him.

  “Try putting some weight on it.”

  Gingerly, she did, only grimacing slightly, before shaking his hands away. “I’m fine.”

  His fingers tingled where they’d touched her skin.

  Scooping her shoes up, she limped away.

  Shaking his head, Finn debated whether to let her go or try to help. It was obvious which she wanted. But before he could make up his mind, a commotion snagged his attention.

  Several feet away, Duchess was raising a ruckus, barking and pawing at the floor.

  Finn stilled. There was only one thing that would cause the dog to react that way.

  “What the hell?” Tucker flashed him a glare. “If she leaves so much as a scratch on my floor I’m sending you the repair bill.”

  “Darlin’,” Finn said. “You’ve got a bigger problem than a scuffed floor. Duchess only reacts that way to one thing.”

  “I hardly think she’s found an IED buried beneath the floorboards, soldier.”

  “No. Duchess isn’t trained to scent bombs.”

  Pushing ahead of her, Finn stalked over to where Duchess was going crazy. A couple of tables had been pushed out of the way during the fight, and right there, tucked halfway beneath the leg of one of them was a plastic bag filled with a decent amount of crystal meth. Not the kind of baggie sold for a single hit of fun...this was a big enough score that it would be broken up and sold.

  “Drugs. Duchess is trained to find drugs.”

  * * *

  SONOFABITCH. THAT’S WHAT she wanted to say, but she managed to not let the word out. Not because she particularly cared what the man standing beside her thought of her vocabulary—she’d been raised by a soldier and she owned a bar. Her dictionary
of curse words was understandably intense. But giving in to that urge would probably lead to a serious meltdown that she didn’t have the luxury of indulging in right now.

  Tucker stared at the little baggie dangling from the soldier’s fingers. Twice in one night. Her teeth ground together. Taking a deep breath, she dragged her gaze up.

  “Well, that’s a problem.”

  A big one. Finding that bag in the bathroom was one thing. Sure, she did what she could to keep drugs out of her bar, but it was inevitable that some might slip through.

  But him finding a sizable amount on the floor, the same night, was more than a coincidence. It was a major issue, one she and Wyatt would have to address.

  “Really?” His dry tone irritated the hell out of her.

  She moved to take the bag, but he snatched it out of her reach, holding it above her. “No, you don’t.”

  So frustrating. Tucker tipped her head back and glared at the drugs dangling above her.

  “What? I wasn’t planning on using it.”

  “Sure.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she scowled at him. “I try my damnedest to keep that shit out of my place, but I’m not naive enough to think it doesn’t still get in.”

  “So you intend to turn this over to the police?”

  “Why would I do that? It isn’t like the drugs can be traced to a person. They were lying on the floor. I’ll just...flush them down the toilet.” That was exactly what she needed to do.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Look...” Tucker’s voice trailed off and she realized that she didn’t even know his freakin’ name. He’d picked her up off the floor, sent her blood pressure spiking as his palm cupped the back of her head, held an ice pack to her throbbing cheek and she didn’t even know his name.

  Maybe she should keep it that way.

  “Finn McAllister.”

  “And Duchess.” She knew the dog’s name. The dog she didn’t like to even glance at because it sent a zing of apprehension through her chest. “Look, Finn, I appreciate you sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Gee, what an amazingly passive aggressive expression of appreciation.”

  Tucker let out a sigh. “Fine. Thank you for stepping in and helping with our little problem. And for making sure I was okay.” Even she heard the reluctance in her words.

  “Wow,” he said, a smile stretching across his gorgeous mouth. No man should have lips like that, perfect and lush, the thin white scar running through the right edge only making him more dangerously tempting. “That might have been even worse.”

  “No, I really mean it.”

  She did. While it grated that she’d needed the help, she was big enough to realize it was the truth. No doubt she’d get another lecture from Wyatt when this was all over. He was constantly telling her not to get in the middle of altercations and just let him and the guys do their jobs.

  But she had a hard time taking a step back and watching anyone protect what she’d worked so hard to build.

  Her father had raised her to be self-reliant and independent. She could still hear his voice in her head, telling her she was a big girl and needed to be strong, right before he left her by herself for months. She hadn’t disappointed him then and she had no intention of starting now.

  Even if there were days she felt...alone.

  Despite the sense of family she tried to build within her team, they came and went. As much as she hated it, she was used to a fluid train of people moving in and out of her life. Moving around a lot as a kid, she’d become adept at being friendly with everyone, but not actually forming friendships because it always tore her heart out when those bonds were inevitably broken.

  She’d built those old, protective walls pretty strong and high. Now, she wasn’t sure she knew how to find a door—or even a crack—to let someone in. Not really.

  Her cheek throbbed, her ankle and ass hurt, and her head was starting to pound, from stress, the punch, whatever. She was done dealing with this mess.

  And this man.

  Taking a step away, she said, “I’m assuming since your dog is trained to scent drugs that you know the best way to destroy that.” She nodded at the baggie still suspended above her head. “I’m going to trust you to take care of it, but if you decide to smoke it...”

  “Not happening.”

  “Whatever. If you decide to use it yourself I don’t want to hear about it if you OD.”

  The corners of his lips turned up slightly, not nearly a smile, but definitely humor at what she’d said. The idea that he was silently laughing at her burned.

  Slowly, he lowered his hand. Arms crossed over his chest, feet spread wide like he was king of the castle surveying his domain, his gaze ran over her. In the middle of a crowded bar he suddenly made her feel like the only person present. How the hell did he do that?

  “You know something?” he finally said. “You’re cute.”

  Tucker gave a fake gasp. “I’ve never heard that in my entire life.”

  Between her small stature, long blond curls and refined facial features, people tended to take one look at her and see sweet and soft. There was a large part of her that delighted in proving those people wrong because she was neither of those things.

  Finn, however, simply ignored her sarcasm. “And I wouldn’t touch the stuff if someone was holding a gun to my head. I’ve seen the results firsthand. It’s nasty.”

  Tucker could hear the bitterness in his words, but didn’t want to care. She definitely didn’t want to ask.

  It didn’t matter anyway. In the next five minutes he was going walk out of her bar and out of her life.

  “I have a business to run and a nasty bruise to ice. I’d appreciate it if you and your dog left my premises.”

  “Nice way to repay us for the help.”

  She shrugged. “My bar, my decisions. The sign outside the front door clearly says I have the right to refuse service to anyone I choose. Your tab’s on me. Have a good life, Finn McAllister.”

  3

  SITTING ON THE balcony off his bedroom, Finn stared at the sun rising over the flat green landscape and into the wide-open sky. He’d spent years in other places, but San Antonio had always been home. His parents still lived in the suburb he’d grown up in not far away.

  One of the main reasons he’d bought this house was for the unencumbered view. Sure, off in the distance he could see the high rises of the city, but here...he’d found some peace. Although, tonight it had done little to settle the jumble of nerves and emotions churning inside him.

  His gaze snagged on the baggie of crystal meth that sat on the table in front of him. He’d placed it inside an evidence bag. Later in the morning he’d contact Officers Dade and Simmons, members of the joint task force he and Duchess had been assigned to assist, and turn it over. If they got lucky maybe they’d get some prints and another lead.

  Eventually, they’d get back the chemical analysis, which could tie this batch to the others that had been discovered at the scenes of the deaths they were investigating.

  The fine crystalline powder stared at him. Mocked him. But he couldn’t look away.

  God, he hated that drug. Hated all of them, really, but he hated meth with a fiery passion. He wasn’t lying to Tucker when he said he’d seen the cost of the high it brought. Ultra addictive, it didn’t discriminate in the lives it destroyed.

  His sister had been beautiful, popular, intelligent. She’d been in the top of her class, well on her way to an academic scholarship at a good college. No one in her life would’ve imagined she’d become an addict and OD, dying just two months before her high school graduation.

  Finn could still see the image of her pale, lifeless body on that cold metal slab in the morgue. He’d been the one to identify her, his parents both
too devastated to do it.

  That experience had changed the trajectory of his own life. He’d already been in the Air Force, headed to the K9 training unit. When they’d offered him the chance to train with a drug dog instead of a bomb dog he’d jumped at the offer, joining a new mission that specialized in combating the increasing use of illegal drugs among soldiers.

  He’d do anything he could to get drugs off the streets and get soldiers proper help for the stress they were under.

  Now though, he and Duchess were out of active duty. Transferred to the training center so he could ensure the next crop of K9 handlers had the skills they needed to perform their jobs.

  “Duchess, heel.”

  The first soldier who’d ODed had been a tragedy. Well, truly, all of them were. But when the third one died, Finn and Duchess, because of their experience and specialized skills, had been temporarily assigned to a team from the drug enforcement unit. The General himself had given Finn a clear directive saying that stopping the flow of meth onto the base was his top priority.

  Finn already knew exactly what Dade and Simmons were going to say when he told them what had happened. It was clear someone needed to keep an eye on the Kentucky Rose, and he had every intention of volunteering for the job.

  From what Freeman had told them, they were looking for a woman. Thanks to the drugs, the man’s memory was weakened and he hadn’t been able to give them much to go on. He recalled her long hair and the fact that she was shorter than he was, but the rest of the details were fuzzy. They were hoping a couple of days’ rest would help him remember more.

  Finn had Googled the fiery blond bar owner and he’d had to wonder, given that Tucker Blackburn fit the admittedly broad description they had, if she might be involved in some way. But either she was an award-worthy actress or her reaction to drugs in her bar was genuine. He’d watched the emotions flit across her face, unguarded and unchecked—bewilderment, irritation, anger and then disgust.

  For the moment, he decided to operate under the belief she was unaware. Which, if it was true, only made him angrier. This was not going to be a picnic and there was a part of him that raged on her behalf for being dragged into this mess.