Dash of Peril

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Why did she keep pushing him? “Don’t worry about it.” Ruined clothes were the least of his concerns.

Her slim brows pinched down. “You followed me.”

“Instinct,” he said without apology. “I know you’re a cop, and I know you can take care of yourself. But I’m a man and I couldn’t help seeing you as a woman alone leaving a bar late at night.”

“Sexist.”

“Guilty.” He tried a small smile to counter the possible insult. “Under the circumstances 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.”