Dash of Peril. Lori Foster
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I hope you don’t mind too much.”
“If you weren’t here...” she whispered, then stopped, swallowed, stared at him some more before starting over. “If you weren’t here, I would be dead.”
“No.” He wouldn’t even consider that possibility. He kissed her head, tucked her face against his throat.
“I can handle almost any situation.”
“I know.” Even now, her stubborn pride showed through.
“But I won’t lie to myself. I’m still a little disoriented. My head feels like it’s splitting in two and even though it’s not my gun arm injured, I’m not sure I could have shot straight enough to hit anyone.”
“So? My shots were off, too, but they still didn’t like their odds.” He was incredibly proud of her, and he needed her to know it. “They wanted you completely disabled after the wreck.”
“I was.”
“No.” He tipped up her face. Her eye was swelling, her forehead bruised, and blood ran down her cheek. And still he wanted to kiss her. Why not? He brushed his mouth so very gently over hers, then whispered against her lips, “Instead, your first instinct was to grab for your gun.”
“It’s ingrained,” she said just as quietly.
“Because you’re a cop through and through. According to Logan, one of the best he’s ever known.”
“He said that?”
“You don’t realize how he and Reese admire you? Why do you think they don’t see you as a woman? The cop in you is too dominant.”
“I guess that’s a good thing.”
For Logan and Reese, sure. But Dash wasn’t one of her subordinates. Eventually—if she’d give in just a little—he’d get her under the sheets and law enforcement would be the last thing on her mind. “If those miserable fucks had walked up to you, you would have shot them, Margo. I know that.”
She continued to look at him until her eyelids grew heavy again. She gave in, closing her eyes and snuggling close again. “It’s not easy for me to admit, but I’m so glad I’m not alone.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He had no problem admitting it.
She swallowed, let a few seconds of silence pass. “What I hate is that now you’re stuck in this mess.”
“I know.” He understood the ramifications. His truck sat out there where the goons could have easily read his plates. If they wanted to uncover his identity, they would.
But he was here with Margo, holding her, protecting her, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Because he couldn’t stop kissing her, he put another soft peck to the top of her head. He had a million questions, but they’d all have to wait. Now that he’d thought of license plates, he said, “E-K-B 8-9-3-2.”
“What is that?” she asked.
“Plates for the van. I’m just making sure I don’t forget.”
She stirred. “You noticed them?”
“They rammed you. Hell, yeah, I noticed.” The sound of the sirens swelled louder, closer, and finally dimmed as the squad cars arrived. The reflection of red-and-blue lights bounced off ice everywhere.
Logan bellowed his name.
“Here!” He kept Margo close to his side, aware of her limp against him again, her eyes remaining closed. “We’re in the alley.”
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.”