Dash of Peril. Lori Foster
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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