Читать книгу Dash of Peril - Lori Foster - Страница 9
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
THE VAN BARRELING toward Margo’s driver’s-side door snapped away Dash’s brooding annoyance.
She was about to get ambushed.
Fear and rage slammed into him, but neither of those emotions would help the situation, so he went on autopilot. Slowing his truck to keep from sliding on the slick roads, he locked his hands on the wheel and said a quick, silent prayer that she wouldn’t be hurt.
Thanks to the shitty weather, he’d made the decision to follow her home to ensure she got there safely. He hadn’t planned on her ever knowing about it, but subterfuge no longer mattered.
His guts twisted when the bulky van rammed headlong into her petite Lexus. Heart hammering, he half-assed parked his truck at the side of the road and, keeping one eye on the van, launched out the door. Knowing he had to reach her, he moved fast, sliding every other step of the way.
Her car careened sideways, spun once and collided with a telephone pole. The air bags released and glass shattered. From overhead wires, clumps of accumulated snow and ice dropped hard.
Even before the sound of the crash faded away on the dark night, Dash reached her. Seeing her demolished door buckled in, the glass everywhere, sent fear jamming into his throat.
“Jesus.” The obscene sound of grinding gears and a revving engine told Dash the driver of the van was okay—and desperate to disengage from the snowbank.
Dash reached for Margo’s door handle.
He jerked at it twice, pulling with all his strength until finally with a sharp screech of bent metal, it wrenched open. Margo lay slumped over the steering wheel and deflated air bags, her small body lifeless.
Carefully, Dash put his fingertips to her throat...and blew out a breath when he felt her steady pulse. Thank God.
How much time did he have before the van freed itself from the snowbank?
And once it did, what would happen?
“Margo? Come on, honey, talk to me.” In case she had neck or spinal injuries, he didn’t want to move her. He pulled out his cell phone and almost by rote dialed his brother instead of 911.
Logan answered with “What’s up?”
“Margo was just in a wreck. Bad. We’re at...” He looked around and found the street signs. “Corner of Second and Main. She’s unconscious.”
Calm and commanding, Logan asked, “Any other cars involved?”
Dash could hear Logan moving and knew he was already on his way. “An old cargo van.” Except for the glare of headlights off Margo’s car and the van, inky darkness blanketed the empty streets. Tension prickled along his spine—he could almost smell the sense of danger.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, but...” Dash could barely believe it, but he knew what he’d seen. “She was rammed, Logan.”
“You mean deliberately?”
Sure looked that way to him. With the roads like an ice rink it was possible the idiot behind the wheel just didn’t know how to drive.
But Dash wasn’t willing to take chances. “That’s my bet.”
A new urgency entered Logan’s tone. “If she’s out, don’t move her unless you have to. But if you get any vibes at all, grab her up and take cover. You got me?”
Fuck. He looked again at the van still trying to rock out of the packed snow. “Yeah.”
“Take her gun if you have to.”
Funny that Logan didn’t even ask if Margo was armed. He knew she went nowhere without a weapon. “Got it.”
Suddenly Margo sat back with a heart-wrenching moan. Blood trickled from her temple down her ear and jaw. Her short, dark hair glittered with chunks of glass from the shattered windshield.
Gasping, she opened her eyes, flinched and gave a weak, muffled curse.
Dash crouched down beside her outside the car door. “She’s awake.”
“Tell her backup and an ambulance are on the way. And Dash? Watch your ass.”
“’Course.” Dash disconnected the phone and dropped it into his pocket. “Sit still, honey. Logan is sending help.”
“Dash?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” Was she concussed? He smoothed back her hair and winced at the gash he found near her hairline. He didn’t want to alarm her, but if at all possible, he’d prefer to get her in his truck so they had a way out if it became necessary. “You hit your head. Anything else hurt?”
“Everything.” As if personal injuries didn’t matter at all, she whispered, “The other car?”
“A cargo van.” He glanced that way but behind the windshield all he saw was darkness. “They’re stuck for now.”
Instead of being reassured, she drew her gun and tried to turn toward him—probably to leave the car. The seat belt caught her and she sucked in a painful breath.
“Let me help.” She hadn’t yet moved her left arm, so he used extra care as he reached in around her, gently opened the latch on the seat belt and freed her.
Looking past him, Margo swallowed hard, blinked twice and rasped, “Move.”
Her voice was so weak he barely heard her—but he didn’t try to disarm her. Looking back, he asked, “Any idea who that is?”
“Yeah.” Stark pain narrowed her eyes. “Trouble.”
The wheels of the van finally found purchase. It shot forward a few feet, slewed to the side and, oddly enough, did a U-turn to face them again.
“Ah, hell.” His first instinct had been right. “We have to go. Now.”
Margo clenched her teeth and slid one leg from her car.
Not fast enough. The van barreled toward them again, so Dash did the expedient thing and hefted Margo up against his chest. On a short cry, her body shuddered before going deliberately still.
So brave. So damned stoic.
The van sped forward and he knew he’d never make it to his truck in time. Instead he headed for the sidewalk and ducked toward the questionable safety between two brick buildings. Fuck. No outlet.
Margo groaned raggedly, shifted to take aim and a loud blast sounded far too damn close to his ear.
He nearly dropped her.
Seconds later he heard return fire and hunkered down with her, trying to shield her with his body until he could get them both behind a heavy metal trash bin.
She locked her jaw as he set her on the dirty, icy ground behind the hulking steel bin. A thick layer of ice covered every surface. Her breath frosted in front of her.
“Are you okay?”
Small, wounded, dazed, she still pulled it together and gave him a stiff nod.
He could tell she had extreme pain. From her head—or somewhere else? What could he do about it anyway? More blood ran down her jaw, her neck. An overhead utility light showed the whiteness of her face.
They both heard the van’s engine idling right outside the alley. Not liking their odds, Dash put his shoulder to the giant grimy bin and scooted it catty-corner to provide a few more inches of cover. He eyed the windows in the two buildings sandwiching them. One had bars and was too high to reach anyway. The other would leave them exposed. No way would they get through it without getting shot.
“Dash?”
Absently, not wanting her to worry, he said, “Help will be here soon.” Reassurance and the physical protection of his body was the best he could give. In the refuse, he located a long thick pipe and lifted it. It’d make an adequate weapon if it came to that. He glanced back at Margo. “Don’t suppose you have a second gun with you?”
“No. Extra magazine and handcuffs...but those were in my purse.”
“Still in the car?”
“Yes.”
“Any other weapons in there?”
“AR-15 in the trunk.”
Dash chewed his upper lip, considering his odds of making it to the car and back....
“No.” Margo shifted, winced. “Don’t even think it.”
Given her condition, he wanted her gun—but no way would he take it from her. The way she held it he knew it gave her comfort. His brother was the same. Logan had often said he felt naked without his sidearm.
A sudden barrage of gunshot blasted the metal bin and ricocheted off the brick building. Cursing, Dash dropped over Margo, doing his best to cover her with his chest and arms, protecting her head from the flying debris of brick and mortar. They were so close they shared breath.
When the bullets stopped flying, he sat back and looked her over, smoothed his hands over her face, her hair. No new injuries, thank God.
Moving away from his touch, she swallowed audibly. “I have vertigo.”
From her head wound. A strange combustible mix of rage and worry left him taut. Margo had ability and experience, so he’d happily take direction from her. “What can I do to help?”
With the wrist of her gun hand, she swiped blood from her face. Even that movement made her clench with agony. She bit her bottom lip, sucked in two slow shallow breaths. “I need to return fire but my coordination is blown.”
He brushed her hair back to eye her injury again. “Logan is on his way.”
“Until he gets here, we’re sitting ducks and they’re determined.”
Meaning if they didn’t fire back, the goons would press forward. “Why don’t I return fire?”
Face stiff, she held her breath, peeked around the bin and ducked back again. Slumping against him, she stated, “They want me dead.”
Like hell. Dash kept his voice calm with supreme effort. “That’s not happening.”
As if he hadn’t spoken she carried on an internal debate, gripping the Glock in her right hand while trembling uncontrollably. “I can’t steady my arm.”
“I can shoot,” Dash said again. He stripped off his coat and tucked it around her legs.
She wavered in indecision. “Are you any good?”
“Logan taught me.” And that said a lot. “I’m good enough to fend them off until he gets here.”
Out on the street, the low drone of voices carried on the turbulent night. The bastards thought they had them. They were making plans.
“It’s now or never, babe.”
Margo gave one small nod. “You’ll have to take it from me.”
Dash didn’t at first understand, but when she just sat there, bloodied and battered, her hand locked tight on the weapon, he realized what she meant. “Easy now.” He gently pried the heavy black weapon from her stiff, cold fingers.
“Don’t you dare hit an innocent bystander.”
Given the dark of the night, the lousy weather and the obvious firefight, there shouldn’t be any innocents hanging around. “It wouldn’t be my first plan.” Keeping the gun at the ready, he eased forward a little bit at a time...and spotted one man taking aim from the driver’s-side window of the van.
It took only that split second for him to mentally record the man’s face, his features.
Shots came their way, the noise unsettling. Dash felt Margo flinch, and rage calmed his frantic heartbeat.
He let out a slow breath, braced as he eased forward and squeezed off three rapid rounds before taking cover again.
Watching him with something like blurry admiration, Margo asked, “Hit anything?”
“The van.” Maybe. He was a decent shot, unless compared to Logan and Reese...and probably Margo.
Using only her right arm, with her left held at a strange angle, she scooted farther back to the brick wall to give him more space. “Keep shooting.” Dash saw her every shallow breath, and he felt her unwavering strength.
Damn, she needed medical care. But first things first.
Creeping forward again, he put two more shots into the van. This time he knew for certain that he’d hit a tire and the grille. Curses filled the air.
“Next one is through your window, assholes!”
Unbelievably, Margo snickered.
Maybe realizing that their position out in the open—especially since their victims were willing to fight back—wasn’t the best place to be, the attackers gave up. The van accelerated, and even with one tire demolished, it managed to flee the scene.
Peeking out, Dash watched until they disappeared from sight. “Stay put.”
She made a small sound that he chose to take as affirmation.
Standing, he crept along the brick wall to the open street and glanced out again. Nothing but empty buildings and shining ice. The wind howled, reminding him that he was without a coat. He ignored the bitter cold because that was all he could do.
The taillights of the van disappeared into the night, and still Dash watched until the flop-flop-flop of the destroyed tire faded away to nothingness.
When he returned to Margo, he found her slouched against the wall, her eyes sinking shut. Her utter stillness scared him.
“Hey.”
She didn’t bother to look at him. Maybe she couldn’t. “Gone?”
Relief nearly took out his knees. “For now.” He hoped like hell they wouldn’t circle around and come back again, but he’d stay alert just in case.
It felt like an hour had passed, but it was probably less than five minutes. Surely backup would arrive soon.
He placed the Glock on the ground between them, lifted his thermal shirt and ripped away a section of his white undershirt.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s okay. I’ll only be a second.” He ducked out of the alley, cautiously approached the main street and found it still empty. All around him, ice sparkled beneath stars and moonlight. Like muted wind chimes, the continuing fall of sleet made a faint tinkling sound. The air was so cold, so crisp, that it hurt his lungs to breathe.
It would be a beautiful sight if goons weren’t trying to kill them.
As far as the van had gone, it’d take the shooters at least a few minutes to sneak back on foot, but he doubted they would. They had to know the police had been called.
Stepping through the deep snow, grateful that he’d worn his boots, Dash gathered packed snow and ice into the ripped cloth and tied it shut. After one last look around, he returned to Margo with his makeshift ice pack.
He went to his knees beside her, impressed by her fortitude, worried about her lethargy and exploding with protective instincts. “Keep your eyes closed.” With tender care, he brushed the chunks of gravel-like glass out of her short dark hair and off the shoulders of her black wool coat before pressing the ice to her head.
Pain drew her brows together, but she said not a word.
He held the pack in place and looked her over. “Are you hurt anywhere other than your head?”
With exaggerated effort she opened her eyes to look up at him. “Afraid so.”
His heartbeat jumped. Dreading her answer, he asked, “Where?”
A slow, deep breath expanded her chest. Her colorless lips parted for faster breaths until she almost panted. “It’s unfortunate, but my left elbow is dislocated.”
* * *
WHAT THE FUCK? Dash looked at how she held her left arm slightly out from her body in such an awkward way. His brows flattened. Her right hand—the hand that had gripped her gun so tightly—was bare, but she wore a leather glove on her left. “You’re sure?”
Her red eyes mocked him. “Quite sure.”
Anger ignited. “Why didn’t you say something?”
She again closed her eyes, almost like she couldn’t help herself. “What could you have done about it?”
No idea, but she still should have told him. “When I took you from your car—” God, he’d thrown her half over his shoulder then literally jogged with her in that position.
“It hurt like hell, but being shot would have been worse.” Pale with pain, Margo added, “You did great, Dash. Better than I’d expected.”
What had she thought? That he’d fall apart? Maybe hide behind her—the big, bad lieutenant?
More anger simmered to the surface, and that really pissed him off. He never got angry. He was the easygoing one, damn it, the one who enjoyed life and all its vagaries. He didn’t get riled, and why should he? He’d been blessed in too many ways to count.
He had parents who adored him and a brother that would make anyone proud.
Most would call him wealthy, but because the money didn’t mean that much to him, he preferred the term financially secure.
Inherited genes gave him height and strength, a fit body that he’d honed in his construction company—a body that appealed to women.
That brought him back around to his disgruntlement toward Margo...the one woman who rebuffed him at every opportunity. Now he knew she considered him a wimp.
In the face of more pressing problems, he decided to work that out with her later. He could hear her teeth chattering—when she didn’t have them clenched in pain—so he settled back against the wall beside her and carefully drew her to his side to both support her and share heat.
She sighed and sank closer, wedging into his shoulder. “Mmm, you are so warm.”
Her voice sounded drowsy, and that, too, bothered him. “I’m sorry, but you can’t go to sleep yet.” She surely had a concussion to go with her other injuries. God, he couldn’t believe this. He wrapped himself around her as much as he could. “The ambulance should be here soon.”
Even as he said it, they heard the distant whine of approaching sirens. He probably had only a minute more alone with her. Shaking out his coat, he tucked it around both their legs, trapping his warmth in with hers. “You’ll be able to rest soon.”
“I don’t need to be babied.”
“I know,” he soothed. He looked beneath the ice pack at her bruised but beautiful face. “I think the bleeding has stopped.”
Her lashes lifted, treating him to the sight of her dazed blue eyes. “You’re a mess, Dash. You have blood everywhere.” Her gaze moved over his neck, his chest. “From me?”
“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.”
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.
