A Younger Woman. Wendy Rosnau
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morning.”
Margo moaned and slowly pulled herself upward to lean against the headboard. Her head spun, her arm throbbed. She screwed up her face. “It feels like a dozen marbles are rolling around in my head.”
“And your arm?”
“Like you cut it off with a razor blade.”
“That’s what happens when you get yourself shot, then drink whiskey like a fish in a drought.”
“And this is something I volunteered for, right?” Margo leaned her head against the headboard and closed her eyes.
“I’m not going to apologize for the booze. It got you through the night.”
Margo opened her eyes, then her mouth, to offer a witty comeback. Thinking better of it, she fell silent and averted her eyes. She had already taken a quick inventory, noting that Ry was no longer bare above the waist. He looked refreshed and put together—no doubt he’d showered while she slept. He’d shaved, too. His clothes were a simple gray T-shirt and scruffy jeans. The rugged look suited him right down to his brown, street-scuffed Texas boots.
“I drank too much, too,” he admitted. “I need some head pills. You, too, by the sounds of it.”
Margo turned in time to see him grip the back of his neck and vigorously massage it. “I don’t want any of your pills, thank you.”
He stopped rubbing his neck and looked at her. “I’ve been shot before. The day after is the worst. Trust me, you need—”
“Trust you?” Margo sniffed and rolled her eyes heavenward. “I wouldn’t trust you with my library card.”
“What was that last night, then? I seem to remember you trusting me with a needle and thread. Drunk, no less.”
“You were the only cop that owed me a favor,” Margo reasoned. “I didn’t want to worry Mama. I told you that.”
He relaxed back in the chair and crossed his leg over his knee. “Still as stubborn as ever. Your mama always—”
“Complained about that flaw. Yes, I know. But where does she think I got it? She’s twice as stubborn as my father ever was. And Blu… Well, he isn’t exactly a docile kitten, now, is he?”
It had been a slip of the tongue to mention Blu. Margo saw Ry’s jaw jerk, and she decided that his opinion of her brother hadn’t changed. Ry still thought Blu was irresponsible and selfish. What he didn’t know was that Blu thought much the same thing about him.
“Speaking of the Blu Devil, have you seen him lately?”
Margo shook her head. “No, not for a few days.”
“He still docked at River Bay, living on the Nightwing?”
“You know he is, Ry. You were there a few weeks ago harassing him about some nonsense.”
“I was just doing my job, Margo.”
“I might be young, but I’m not stupid. You’re a homicide detective, remember? You don’t investigate assault charges.”
“Okay, so I volunteered for that one. Blu’s temper being what it is, most of the guys down at the precinct would prefer tangling with a copperbelly.”
Margo brushed the covers aside and slid her long, bare legs over the side of the bed. “I would really like to stay and chat about my brother’s faults with you, but I don’t have time. Would you mind getting my clothes for me?”
“You think you’re leaving?”
“I don’t think I’m leaving, I know I’m leaving.”
Last night Margo had made a decision to head back to the Nightwing if Blu hadn’t rescued her from Ry’s home first thing in the morning. Yes, this was the perfect place to hide—that is, if she could keep her mind off the past. But she’d been trying and it wasn’t working. Staying here would be emotional suicide.
She saw Ry’s stubborn jaw lock. “Well, you didn’t think I was going to stay, did you?”
“Actually, I did. Most people take a few days to recuperate after being shot.”
“And I will.”
He stood. “You’ve got nine stitches in your arm. You live alone. Who’s going to look out for you?”
“Brodie.”
“But you can’t reach him.”
“I haven’t tried yet today,” Margo argued. “Now, I’m grateful for your doctoring skills, Ry. If I forgot to mention that, it was an oversight. But now I have to go. I’ll call a cab, and—”
“Forget it. You’re not leaving.”
Margo inched her backside to the edge of the bed and stood. She didn’t feel the best, but well enough to make it out the door. She hoped. “You can’t keep me here against my will, Ry.”
“Can’t I? Look at you, you can hardly stand up straight. And since no one knows you’re here I control the situation. The way I see it, you’re a gunshot victim. A criminal is still at large. It’s my duty to protect you.”
“This is ridiculous. Do you think I won’t be missed? If I don’t show up for work tonight, or at least call, Tony will send someone out to look for me. I have friends and family who really care about me, you know. You can’t just lock me up and think no one will notice.” Margo circled back to the crux of the matter. “Keeping someone against their will is called kidnapping, Detective Archard, and that’s illegal.”
He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. “Right now the best thing for you is plenty of bedrest.”
Margo’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare chain me to this bed like a dog, Ry. You wouldn’t dare!”
“If you don’t think so, then you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
Margo eyed the portable phone on the nightstand. “I have a job. If I don’t show up for work, Tony will fire me. He’s already…” She snapped her mouth shut, aware she was about to mention how unhappy he had been when she’d called and asked him for last night off.
“Tony’s already what?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re Tony’s meal ticket. He’s not going to fire you, not after the increase in business you’ve given him over the past year. You’re the best thing that’s happened to the Toucan, and everyone knows it. I’ll have someone call and explain you’re sick.”
Margo wanted to scream. Instead, she said, “There is no reason I can’t work tonight.”
“I’ve seen you perform, baby. Your act includes playing the piano. Damn hard one-handed. Not impossible but…” He rattled the cuffs. “Back in bed, or be prepared for what happens next.”
He couldn’t do this to her. Furious, Margo shook her head. “No!”
“The cuffs or a promise to stay inside my house until I get back. That’s the deal, Margo. Choose.”
Again Margo eyed the phone, considering her options. Fine, she’d do as he said, and then once he left she would be on her way one way or another. She eased down on the bed and swung her legs back on the mattress. “I hate you.”
“Say it. Swear to me you won’t leave.”
“You’re a jerk, a creep and a sadistic—”
“Swear on your father’s grave.” He rattled the cuffs.
“I swear, okay!”
Satisfied, he stuffed the cuffs back in his pocket. “Hungry?”
“For a piece of your liver,” Margo spat.
“Seriously, you need