Dash of Peril

by Lori Foster

  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.