Dash of Peril
Page 39
Maybe finally getting release had exhausted him. God knew the man was tireless otherwise.
She slipped out of the room and made her way in the dark down the hall. Oliver slept on. The storm had brought a steady rain that seemed soothing more than disturbing. The lightning came without thunder, so it must’ve been far off.
After ensuring the cat wasn’t disturbed, Margo slipped back to her office. She stepped in and eased the door closed behind her before flipping on the desk lamp.
Even now, with work on her mind, she couldn’t completely set aside Dash’s effect on her. Little reminders got in her way, like his scent on her skin, the unfamiliar ache of muscles she seldom used.
The smile that kept trying to play over her mouth.
Sitting in her desk chair, she turned on her laptop and pulled up the internet for a search of car-part dealers in the area.
She recalled seeing the brightly colored, expensive-looking rims on the truck they’d followed. They were unlike any others she’d seen—that had to mean a custom job, right?
If she could research them she could maybe find out where the creep had bought them—and ultimately where he lived. Concentrating, she tried to remember exactly what they looked like. Time ticked by unnoticed.
The search was made more difficult by her stupid splint. Typing was awkward and she had to resort to one-finger pecking to avoid typos.
Later, after the sun rose, she’d also check with Yvette to see if the guy who showed up had those wheels then.
With single-minded focus, she checked every possibility.
For as long as she could remember, she’d had great gut instinct—and right now she had a feeling that something monumental was about to happen.
She would solve this case—or maybe irrevocably lose her heart to Dashiel Riske.
Either way it went, it would be on her terms.
* * *
DASH SAW THE LIGHT under her office door. How long had she been up? He stood there a few minutes, undecided, before finally approaching. The rain came harder and flashes of light continually split the dark sky. The once distant storm moved closer.
Only the sound of muted tapping on a keyboard came from inside her office.
He didn’t knock, only opened the door and saw her sitting there in deep concentration, the blue glow of the computer screen reflected in her dark eyes. Her lashes, long and curling, left shadows on her high cheekbones. He loved her hair, how the wispy little curls touched her cheeks, her forehead, the nape of her neck.
Was she upset that he hadn’t used protection? He still couldn’t believe it. He never forgot. Never.
And truthfully, with Margo, he still hadn’t. He’d known he should stop her, that he should take over and move her aside so he could roll on a condom.
But even before her small hand had wrapped firmly around his dick, he’d been resenting the need for protection. He wanted nothing between them, and so...he’d just given in.
He’d conveniently pushed aside his responsibilities and taken her bareback, and God, nothing had ever felt so good. Electric, hot, emotional and physical and consuming.
Concerned, feeling a little guilty—and oddly horny— he stepped up behind her, putting one hand on her shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep?”
For only a brief moment she rested her cheek against his hand, without losing her focus. “I slept—until the storm woke me.” She glanced back. “You’re like a powerful drug. That’s the best rest I’ve had in a long while.” She turned back to the computer.
Relief, that she wasn’t angry or upset, eased some of his tension. He looked at the screen. “What are you doing now?”
“Researching those rims.”
“From the truck that followed us?”
“Yes. I can’t remember the exact design, but I know they were colorful and unique.”
He’d noticed them, too. “It’s important?” Important enough to drive you out of the bed in the middle of the night?
“If I can find the exact rims, I can maybe find out information on our guy.” Again she looked at him over her shoulder—then down his body, focusing on his semi-erection. “Whoever sold him those rims might have his address.”
Not much he could do about getting hard. He was near her, and that was pretty much all it took. But he could offer some help.
Dash tipped up her chin, bent to kiss her and said, “Be right back.”
She watched him go. He felt her gaze until he’d completely left the room.
A few seconds later, after pulling on his boxers and grabbing his cell phone, he returned and showed her the photo opened up on the screen.
“I took a pic,” he explained with a shrug. “Just in case.”
Eyes widening, Margo took the phone. She kept staring at it with disbelief.
Dash couldn’t resist smoothing his hand over those dark curls, rumpled from sleep. She looked so pretty like this, and damned adorable, too. Not at all intimidating. Maybe...gentle. Cuddly.
It was a good look for her.
But then, he also liked it when the shrewd gleam came into her eyes. “You, Dash Riske, are a genius.”
Her enthusiasm made his heart feel full. “I was worried. I wanted to make sure we could find the truck again if he managed to nab you.”
“For once I’m glad you worried.” She quickly emailed the photo to herself so she could see it on a much bigger screen. Once there, she zoomed in, looking at the rims in better detail.
Dash took her arm. “Why don’t you let me type for you?”
“What?” she teased. “You want to be my naked secretary?”
“I put on boxers.”
With a playful frown, she said, “I noticed. Such a spoilsport.” She stood and indicated the chair. “Okay, be my guest.”
Dash seated himself, but hesitated before typing. “About earlier—”
Leaning over his shoulder, she kissed his ear. “You’re a stud. But for now, let’s deal with this.”
“I didn’t use anything.”
“I know.” Her br**sts rested against his back and shoulder. “Open that tab on the right. Check out their rims.”
Avoidance. Okay, he could deal with his slipup later, when she wasn’t so focused on work. He opened the tab and clicked to see a special customizable rim. Going back and forth from the photo, he used site settings to create a rim that looked exactly like those on the truck.
“So it’s possible.” Calculating, she straightened again. “Print out the name and number of that place.”
“It’s close,” Dash told her. “Totally within range.”
“Good. Print out a few copies of the truck and rims, too. I want to make sure Rowdy, Reese and Logan all have—”
Suddenly Margo went still, then alert. She kept her gaze on the wall, but Dash felt her sharpening vigilance.
“What is it?”
She breathed in, her eyes narrowing. “Probably nothing. It’s just that—”
They both heard the awful screech of her bedroom closet door.
Someone was in her house.
Dash was out of his chair in a heartbeat, but Margo caught his arm above his elbow. Motioning him to be silent, she opened a desk drawer and retrieved a gun.
Realizing she meant to go out of the room ahead of him, Dash struggled with himself—but only briefly. “Sorry, honey,” he whispered. He bodily moved her aside and stepped out.
Margo said not a single word, but he felt the anger pulsing off her as she followed right on his heels. Putting a hand back, he signaled her to wait, prayed that she would, and began inching toward the bedroom.
He’d only take two small steps when they heard the abrupt thunk—and smelled the awful scent of...kerosene.
* * *
THEY WERE BOTH flattened to the hallway wall, and Margo had to admit, Dash utilized as much stealth as she did. For a big man he moved without making a sound. But he wasn’t armed, or trained, or official. She was, and no way would she let him play the caveman.
“Call 911.”
Instead, he started forward.
In a low hiss, she said, “Damn it, Dash,” and everything seemed to happen at once. Oliver screeched as he shot out of the bedroom, his fur clumpy and wet. Another crash sounded in her bedroom, accompanied by a whispered curse.
And Dash charged in.
Gun in hand, Margo followed, but it was too shadowy to see until the lightning flickered. At the same time the bodies stumbled into her before falling out into the hallway.
Her splinted arm banged into a wall, making her clench with pain. Furious, she snapped on the hall light, took aim...and saw that Dash had completely subdued a masked, armed man. The panicked fellow’s gun lay a few feet away on the floor, and Dash—who was much taller than their intruder, and far more muscular—had the man pinned on the ground with a knee in his back. He’d taken the thug’s right arm and twisted it severely back and up, levering it almost to his shoulders.
“Move,” Dash said low, “and I promise she will shoot you.”
Behind the stocking mask, wild eyes widened more. “I ain’t movin’! I ain’t movin’!”
Dash jerked off the man’s mask, revealing a pasty-faced middle-aged goon with faded blond hair and loose jowls. Doing a quick search of the man’s pockets, Dash found a lighter, but nothing else.
Retrieving the other gun, Margo dropped it into her housecoat pocket. Never did she shake over doing her job, but she was shaking now. Suppressed rage made it difficult to speak normally. “Can you hang on to him?”
Dash gave her a longer, searching look. “The prick isn’t going anywhere I don’t want him to go.”
“Okay.” She located her cell phone and, keeping an eye on Dash and the intruder, called it in.
Right after that, she dialed Logan.
He answered with a grumpy, somewhat breathless, “What the f**k?”
Hmmm. It was five in the morning, and yet she’d interrupted...something. “Your brother has detained a masked man who broke into my house and dumped kerosene in my bedroom.”
With a new surge of energy, Logan asked, “Anyone hurt?”
Margo lowered the phone. “Dash,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the quiver in her voice, “were you hurt?”
He snorted.
“No,” she said to Logan. “Not hurt.” Her jaw ached from grinding her teeth. “I already called it in. I just figured, with Dash here, you’d want to—”
“Definitely. Reese, too. I’ll pick him up on the way.” She heard the rustle of hurried movement, presumably Logan dressing. “And Margaret? I’d have wanted you to call whether Dash was there was not.”
She’d just disconnected the call when sirens sounded nearby. “Hold him tight, Dash. I’ll be right back.”
“No worries.”
So damned cocky. Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs. The intruder had a gun. He could have shot Dash. He could have killed him.
She slipped out of the room and made her way in the dark down the hall. Oliver slept on. The storm had brought a steady rain that seemed soothing more than disturbing. The lightning came without thunder, so it must’ve been far off.
After ensuring the cat wasn’t disturbed, Margo slipped back to her office. She stepped in and eased the door closed behind her before flipping on the desk lamp.
Even now, with work on her mind, she couldn’t completely set aside Dash’s effect on her. Little reminders got in her way, like his scent on her skin, the unfamiliar ache of muscles she seldom used.
The smile that kept trying to play over her mouth.
Sitting in her desk chair, she turned on her laptop and pulled up the internet for a search of car-part dealers in the area.
She recalled seeing the brightly colored, expensive-looking rims on the truck they’d followed. They were unlike any others she’d seen—that had to mean a custom job, right?
If she could research them she could maybe find out where the creep had bought them—and ultimately where he lived. Concentrating, she tried to remember exactly what they looked like. Time ticked by unnoticed.
The search was made more difficult by her stupid splint. Typing was awkward and she had to resort to one-finger pecking to avoid typos.
Later, after the sun rose, she’d also check with Yvette to see if the guy who showed up had those wheels then.
With single-minded focus, she checked every possibility.
For as long as she could remember, she’d had great gut instinct—and right now she had a feeling that something monumental was about to happen.
She would solve this case—or maybe irrevocably lose her heart to Dashiel Riske.
Either way it went, it would be on her terms.
* * *
DASH SAW THE LIGHT under her office door. How long had she been up? He stood there a few minutes, undecided, before finally approaching. The rain came harder and flashes of light continually split the dark sky. The once distant storm moved closer.
Only the sound of muted tapping on a keyboard came from inside her office.
He didn’t knock, only opened the door and saw her sitting there in deep concentration, the blue glow of the computer screen reflected in her dark eyes. Her lashes, long and curling, left shadows on her high cheekbones. He loved her hair, how the wispy little curls touched her cheeks, her forehead, the nape of her neck.
Was she upset that he hadn’t used protection? He still couldn’t believe it. He never forgot. Never.
And truthfully, with Margo, he still hadn’t. He’d known he should stop her, that he should take over and move her aside so he could roll on a condom.
But even before her small hand had wrapped firmly around his dick, he’d been resenting the need for protection. He wanted nothing between them, and so...he’d just given in.
He’d conveniently pushed aside his responsibilities and taken her bareback, and God, nothing had ever felt so good. Electric, hot, emotional and physical and consuming.
Concerned, feeling a little guilty—and oddly horny— he stepped up behind her, putting one hand on her shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep?”
For only a brief moment she rested her cheek against his hand, without losing her focus. “I slept—until the storm woke me.” She glanced back. “You’re like a powerful drug. That’s the best rest I’ve had in a long while.” She turned back to the computer.
Relief, that she wasn’t angry or upset, eased some of his tension. He looked at the screen. “What are you doing now?”
“Researching those rims.”
“From the truck that followed us?”
“Yes. I can’t remember the exact design, but I know they were colorful and unique.”
He’d noticed them, too. “It’s important?” Important enough to drive you out of the bed in the middle of the night?
“If I can find the exact rims, I can maybe find out information on our guy.” Again she looked at him over her shoulder—then down his body, focusing on his semi-erection. “Whoever sold him those rims might have his address.”
Not much he could do about getting hard. He was near her, and that was pretty much all it took. But he could offer some help.
Dash tipped up her chin, bent to kiss her and said, “Be right back.”
She watched him go. He felt her gaze until he’d completely left the room.
A few seconds later, after pulling on his boxers and grabbing his cell phone, he returned and showed her the photo opened up on the screen.
“I took a pic,” he explained with a shrug. “Just in case.”
Eyes widening, Margo took the phone. She kept staring at it with disbelief.
Dash couldn’t resist smoothing his hand over those dark curls, rumpled from sleep. She looked so pretty like this, and damned adorable, too. Not at all intimidating. Maybe...gentle. Cuddly.
It was a good look for her.
But then, he also liked it when the shrewd gleam came into her eyes. “You, Dash Riske, are a genius.”
Her enthusiasm made his heart feel full. “I was worried. I wanted to make sure we could find the truck again if he managed to nab you.”
“For once I’m glad you worried.” She quickly emailed the photo to herself so she could see it on a much bigger screen. Once there, she zoomed in, looking at the rims in better detail.
Dash took her arm. “Why don’t you let me type for you?”
“What?” she teased. “You want to be my naked secretary?”
“I put on boxers.”
With a playful frown, she said, “I noticed. Such a spoilsport.” She stood and indicated the chair. “Okay, be my guest.”
Dash seated himself, but hesitated before typing. “About earlier—”
Leaning over his shoulder, she kissed his ear. “You’re a stud. But for now, let’s deal with this.”
“I didn’t use anything.”
“I know.” Her br**sts rested against his back and shoulder. “Open that tab on the right. Check out their rims.”
Avoidance. Okay, he could deal with his slipup later, when she wasn’t so focused on work. He opened the tab and clicked to see a special customizable rim. Going back and forth from the photo, he used site settings to create a rim that looked exactly like those on the truck.
“So it’s possible.” Calculating, she straightened again. “Print out the name and number of that place.”
“It’s close,” Dash told her. “Totally within range.”
“Good. Print out a few copies of the truck and rims, too. I want to make sure Rowdy, Reese and Logan all have—”
Suddenly Margo went still, then alert. She kept her gaze on the wall, but Dash felt her sharpening vigilance.
“What is it?”
She breathed in, her eyes narrowing. “Probably nothing. It’s just that—”
They both heard the awful screech of her bedroom closet door.
Someone was in her house.
Dash was out of his chair in a heartbeat, but Margo caught his arm above his elbow. Motioning him to be silent, she opened a desk drawer and retrieved a gun.
Realizing she meant to go out of the room ahead of him, Dash struggled with himself—but only briefly. “Sorry, honey,” he whispered. He bodily moved her aside and stepped out.
Margo said not a single word, but he felt the anger pulsing off her as she followed right on his heels. Putting a hand back, he signaled her to wait, prayed that she would, and began inching toward the bedroom.
He’d only take two small steps when they heard the abrupt thunk—and smelled the awful scent of...kerosene.
* * *
THEY WERE BOTH flattened to the hallway wall, and Margo had to admit, Dash utilized as much stealth as she did. For a big man he moved without making a sound. But he wasn’t armed, or trained, or official. She was, and no way would she let him play the caveman.
“Call 911.”
Instead, he started forward.
In a low hiss, she said, “Damn it, Dash,” and everything seemed to happen at once. Oliver screeched as he shot out of the bedroom, his fur clumpy and wet. Another crash sounded in her bedroom, accompanied by a whispered curse.
And Dash charged in.
Gun in hand, Margo followed, but it was too shadowy to see until the lightning flickered. At the same time the bodies stumbled into her before falling out into the hallway.
Her splinted arm banged into a wall, making her clench with pain. Furious, she snapped on the hall light, took aim...and saw that Dash had completely subdued a masked, armed man. The panicked fellow’s gun lay a few feet away on the floor, and Dash—who was much taller than their intruder, and far more muscular—had the man pinned on the ground with a knee in his back. He’d taken the thug’s right arm and twisted it severely back and up, levering it almost to his shoulders.
“Move,” Dash said low, “and I promise she will shoot you.”
Behind the stocking mask, wild eyes widened more. “I ain’t movin’! I ain’t movin’!”
Dash jerked off the man’s mask, revealing a pasty-faced middle-aged goon with faded blond hair and loose jowls. Doing a quick search of the man’s pockets, Dash found a lighter, but nothing else.
Retrieving the other gun, Margo dropped it into her housecoat pocket. Never did she shake over doing her job, but she was shaking now. Suppressed rage made it difficult to speak normally. “Can you hang on to him?”
Dash gave her a longer, searching look. “The prick isn’t going anywhere I don’t want him to go.”
“Okay.” She located her cell phone and, keeping an eye on Dash and the intruder, called it in.
Right after that, she dialed Logan.
He answered with a grumpy, somewhat breathless, “What the f**k?”
Hmmm. It was five in the morning, and yet she’d interrupted...something. “Your brother has detained a masked man who broke into my house and dumped kerosene in my bedroom.”
With a new surge of energy, Logan asked, “Anyone hurt?”
Margo lowered the phone. “Dash,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the quiver in her voice, “were you hurt?”
He snorted.
“No,” she said to Logan. “Not hurt.” Her jaw ached from grinding her teeth. “I already called it in. I just figured, with Dash here, you’d want to—”
“Definitely. Reese, too. I’ll pick him up on the way.” She heard the rustle of hurried movement, presumably Logan dressing. “And Margaret? I’d have wanted you to call whether Dash was there was not.”
She’d just disconnected the call when sirens sounded nearby. “Hold him tight, Dash. I’ll be right back.”
“No worries.”
So damned cocky. Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs. The intruder had a gun. He could have shot Dash. He could have killed him.
