Dash of Peril

by Lori Foster

  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.

  Dash transferred his load to one hand and with the other wrapped her up close. “Come on. The last thing you need is a cold on top of everything else.”

  Given her hectic work schedule, she got home at all different hours. The outdoor lights were automated, set to come on at dusk and go off again at dawn. She had plenty of mature trees that blocked the rising sun in the front, but they’d be flickering off very soon.

  “Nice place.”

  Ha. Dash hadn’t looked around; ever since the doctor had allowed him behind the curtain at the hospital, she’d felt his constant attention focused on her.

  No one had ever scrutinized her as he did; it went beyond the intimate way a man watched a woman he wanted. What it meant, she didn’t know for sure because she’d never encountered it before.

  She knew Dash was worried because he only smiled when he knew she was watching. But the emotion in his eyes held more than worry—and it unnerved her, making her uncomfortable in a very foreign way.

  They reached the front door and, knowing it’d be futile, she turned to face him. Maybe it was the pain meds or the confusion from the concussion—or even plain-old indecision. But she hadn’t been able to work up a credible way to refuse him. Not that he’d really asked for permission. Because the doctor announced she shouldn’t be alone given her concussion, Dash had volunteered himself to babysit. Now that she’d had some time to get her thoughts together, she decided he’d be safer well away from her.

  And she’d be safer...without his presence making her feel things she shouldn’t.

  Staring him in the eyes, hoping she sounded convincing, she said, “Thank you for the ride.” She lifted her chilled fingers for a handshake—and Dash grinned.

  Folding her fingers in his and drawing her hand to his chest, he asked, “Is that your way of trying to get rid of me?”

  Yes. “You don’t need to stay.”

  He shifted so that his body blocked the wind, stepped close enough that his broad shoulders shielded her from daylight. “Would you rather have Logan or Reese?”

  She shuddered at the thought. “No.” If it was truly necessary, she did have family. Albeit, not anyone she’d want around when she wasn’t 100 percent. But she had an alarm she could set, and—

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “No.” What a stupid idea. When did she have time for a committed relationship?

  “Then I’m it, right? The doc said you couldn’t be alone, so if you make me leave, I’ll have to call my brother, and he will probably call—”

  “All right!” She winced, pain slicing into her brain. Damn him, he knew she didn’t want her detectives seeing her in a debilitated state. “Do not call Logan.”

  “I won’t,” Dash soothed. He lifted her purse and spoke in a rough whisper. “Your keys are in here?”

  She was too cold, utterly fatigued and achy to debate this on the front porch. And contrary to common sense, she was also a little relieved that she wouldn’t be alone tonight. Eyes squeezed shut, she nodded. “Side zippered pocket.”

  “Hang in there, honey. I’ll have you inside in a moment.” He set down the bag of clothes, located the keys and unlocked the door.

  Immediately, Oliver stepped out, rubbing his downy white head against her shins.

  Dash went still. “You have a cat?”

  He could see that she did. “No, he must’ve broken in. Quick, call the cops.”

  “Smart-ass.” With a little more incredulity, he said, “You have a really old cat.”

  At the sound of Dash’s voice, Oliver halted, then hunched his back and hissed.

  “He’s my puppy-cat.” It hurt like hell, but Margo bent down to him. “It’s okay, Ollie.” She stroked his head, tickled under his chin. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go in.”

  It wasn’t easy to walk with the cat winding nervously in and out around her ankles. She stumbled her way to the sofa and gingerly sank onto the cushions so that Ollie could join her. He jarred her injured elbow when he leapt up beside her. She gritted her teeth and let
him butt his head on her free hand, then rub the length of his body against her uninjured arm.

  Dash closed the door and now, with him inside her home, the reality of her situation really hit. She looked at him, saw him watching her curiously, and wanted to curl up and sleep for days.

  Instead she said, “Ollie is blind.”

  Dash stayed silent, but his expressive eyes gave him away. He thought her softhearted.

  Sweet.

  He thought she was gentle, like most women.

  She should disabuse him of those notions ASAP, but she didn’t have the energy. Not right now.

  Almost like a reminder of what they’d just endured and how proficient he’d been under pressure, Dash still wore the shirt with her dried blood all over it. Disheveled brown hair and beard shadow added a rugged edge to his good looks. Even holding a purse didn’t detract from his machismo.

  She swallowed. “When I got him, Ollie already had a long list of medical issues, but he was so affectionate, such a big loving mush, that I couldn’t turn him away.” Maybe she was softhearted after all, at least when it came to her cat. “We suit each other.”

  “Because you’re a big loving mush, too?”

  Yes. “That’s not what I meant.” But what had she meant? She shook her head.

  Dash let it go. “He lost an eye?”

  “Yes.” Ollie tilted toward her, demanding she pet him harder, wanting her to use both hands. Poor guy. No way for her to explain that he’d only be getting one-handed pets for a few days. “He can’t really see out of the other. He survived a tornado but was so damaged that his original owners couldn’t care for him anymore. They already had to rebuild and...”

  “And,” Dash said, his brows pinching down, “he was a member of their family.”

  That’s how she’d always looked at it, too, but she didn’t want to harshly judge others who’d been through so much. “He’s mine now.” And she would never abandon him.

  Dash came farther into the room. “Will it spook him if I get too close?”

  “Yes, but don’t take it personally. He still has nightmares from the horrors he went through.” Ollie pawed her thigh in time to his loud rumbling purr.

  “Nightmares?”

  “He’ll start crying at night like something is wrong. But the vet says he’s fine. Usually he just needs to wake up enough to realize he’s safe.” With me. Her arm throbbed more insistently. She needed to bathe, change her clothes and get some rest.

  But what to do with Dash?

  Her modestly-sized home shrank with him in it. Where would she put him? He would overflow the couch, and she didn’t have a guest bedroom...

  “How do you get him to settle down again?”

  She wanted to sleep, not talk, but complaints had never been accepted in her family, so she sucked it up and put on a good front. “During the bad nights, I’ll hold him a while and finally he’ll go back to his bed.”

  “He doesn’t sleep with you?”

  She drew her hand along Ollie’s back all the way to the end of his tail—just the way he liked it. “His choice. I’ve never forbidden it.”

  By small degrees Dash seated himself on the sofa. The cushions dipped with his weight. Denim stretched over his strong thighs. He brought with him the scent of man and the brisk outdoors. How could she possibly be aroused right now?

  “You called him your puppy-cat?”

  At the moment, even his deep voice seemed a turn-on. What the hell was wrong with her?

  Ollie turned his head toward Dash, sniffed the air and backed up into her side, reminding her to reply.

  “Being blind hasn’t stopped him. He’ll listen to me and follow me everywhere I go, just like a happy puppy.”

  “Cute nickname.” Carefully, Dash held out his large hand. His fingers were long, his palms calloused. A working man’s hands. “Your voice and presence must reassure him.”

  “Yes.” Those hands had touched her gently in the alley, brushing back her hair, skimming over her bruises—taking her gun from her. Sexy, competent, compassionate.

  What would it be like to feel those hot palms firmly moving over her naked body?

  “Margo?”

  She struggled to get her gaze up to his face. “Ollie doesn’t take well to strangers.” But Ollie didn’t strike out with his claws. He sniffed Dash’s palm for the longest time, and when Dash slowly turned his hand over, Ollie butted his head into him for a pet.

  Her traitorous cat liked him!

  And there was Dash’s beautiful smile. That particular tilt of his mouth affected her like a touch in secret places.

  She shuddered, and Dash lifted a brow. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” Maybe. She cleared her throat to remove the huskiness. “I can’t believe he’s letting you pet him.”

  “I love animals and they know it. Helps with winning them over.”

  Margo could only stare as Ollie sidled closer to Dash and began his loud, rumbling purr—the purr he saved for special moments of affection.

  “Yeah, you’re a good boy, aren’t you, Ollie?” As he’d watched her do, Dash brushed his hand over Ollie’s head to his back, all the way to the tip of his tail, while Ollie arched in bliss. “You like that, don’t you, my man?”

  Her parents disdained her cat, or disdained her for loving him, yet Dash seemed pleased to have the cat’s approval.

  It had to be the meds, but damn it, her eyes grew wet. “You haven’t yet been exposed to his bad habits.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “He sometimes misses the cat box.”

  That turned Dash’s smile into a soft chuckle.

  A chuckle. Oh, God, how she liked the sound of that. She squirmed in her seat.

  Dash gently rubbed Ollie’s ear...leaving her mesmerized. “Given he’s blind, I’d say if he’s hitting it fifty percent of the time, he’s doing pretty good.”

  Not understanding her reaction to him, Margo said in distraction, “I put a large rubber mat under the box. When he misses, it doesn’t hurt anything.”

  “He looks like he’s going to nod off.” Dash treated the cat to another long stroke. “Soft fur.”

  “He’s a rag doll.” To divert her concentration from Dash’s gentle touch, Margo looked away at the clock on the wall. Nearing 7:00 a.m. “He was probably frightened when I didn’t come home, so he hasn’t slept as much as usual. Before he goes to sleep, I need to feed him.”

  “Why don’t I take care of that for you?”

  How easy would it be to let him take over? Too easy. “I can do it.” Now that her arm was encased in the splint, she could walk without jarring it. But even the smallest movement amplified the ache in her head.

  Dash moved around in front of her, caught her under her arms and easily brought her to her feet—without causing her any more pain.

  So tall and leanly muscled. Other than the ruined shirt and beard shadow, no one would know that Dash had been up all night with her. The comparison to her present pathetic state made her want to throw up. Or maybe that was the concussion, too.

  She could not be this pitiful.

  Not with him. Not ever. “You don’t need to stay.”

  He followed her sluggish path to the kitchen. “We already sang this tune, remember?”

  “You can’t treat me like an invalid.”

  “Trust me, Margo, that’s not how I see you.” When she stopped and stared at him, he held up his hands. “Sorry, but I can’t help it. Even wounded, you’re impressive.”

  Her back teeth clenched. “That’s a joke, right?”

  He lowered his hands—and his eyes. Taking her in from breasts to thighs, he said roughly, “No.” He looked up at her face. “It can be frustrating as hell, but overall I like it that you’re not the average woman.
”

  She absolutely could not have this conversation right now. “Fine. Suit yourself.” She pointed to a cabinet. “The cat food is in there. Open him up a can, but put it on a big plate by his water fountain.”

  Dash looked at the gurgling water bowl. “That makes enough noise for a...” Realization dawned. “A blind cat to find.”

  She turned away from his admiration. “I need a shower.”

  “No.”

  Disbelieving, she stared at him.

  “You aren’t supposed to get the splint wet.”

  Here we go again. “But I can’t sleep with blood in my hair.”

  He stepped up behind her. “It’s not as bad now that the nurse cleaned you up, but...” He touched his fingertips to her short hair, skimmed those rasping fingertips down her throat to her shoulder. “How about I run a bath for you?”

  “I can’t wash my hair in the bath.”

  “You’ll ruin the splint in the shower, and you’re not supposed to get the stitches wet.”

  “I’ll take the splint off.”

  “No.” He quickly amended that with, “Be reasonable. You could end up back at the hospital. Three days, the doc said. Wear it three days and then maybe they’ll move you into a brace.”

  It annoyed her that he was right. “Oliver is impatiently waiting to be fed.”

  She felt Dash’s hesitation, then he said, “Sorry, boy.”

  Already missing the heat of his body, Margo turned to watch as he took a can out of the cabinet and peeled off the lid.

  He glanced her way. “If you take a bath, I could wash your hair.”

  “In your dreams.”

  Ollie smelled the food and began an impatient meow, winding in and around her legs.

  “I have dreamed about it. At least the part where you’re naked and wet.”

  Her breath strangled in her chest. She was already on the ragged edge. She didn’t need Dash adding to her confusion.

  As if he hadn’t just said something so outrageous, Dash opened three cabinets before finding the plates. He dumped out the food and put it down for the cat. “C’mon, Ollie. Here you go, kitty.”