Lori Foster - Dash of Peril

“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.

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?”