by V. K. Powell
“You’ve never been much of a seamstress, so will I have a ragged pirate scar across my forehead to brag about?”
“If I do my job right, you’ll hardly notice. The laceration is pretty close to your hairline.”
“Aww, that’s too bad. The kids will be disappointed.”
Dylan finished the final stitch and cut the suture. “There. Almost good as new. The stitches will dissolve in a few days.” She wiped more cotton swabs across G-ma’s face and got as much of the dried blood off as possible. “Ready for the horde?”
G-ma nodded but caught Dylan’s hand. “Thank you, honey. You’re an excellent doctor, and I love you. Can I ask one more favor.”
“When have I ever denied you, G-ma?”
“I remember a few times I tried to set you up with some handsome young men—”
“Besides that,” Dylan said.
G-ma paused, gave Dylan a steady stare, and said, “I want everyone to carry on with the fundraiser tomorrow night. Promise me.”
“That won’t be easy without you. You’re the belle of the ball and our matriarch.”
“It’s true,” G-ma grinned, “but the show must go on. We established the Carlyle Memorial Fund for police families who’ve lost loved ones in the line of duty. Their needs don’t stop just because I fell over.”
“It’s probably too late to cancel anyway, but I’m not in the mood to act happy around a bunch of strangers, especially with you here,” Dylan said.
“You can do this, honey. You do much harder things every day. Just remember, it’s for people who really need our help.”
Dylan buried her face in G-ma’s shoulder, inhaling her familiar powdery scent, and let the tears come. “Sorry I didn’t come by this morning.”
“Oh, baby, you couldn’t have done anything to stop the magical blackout if you’d been standing beside me. You’ve been wonderful, and I’m so proud of you. I get to wear some of my granddaughter’s handiwork for a while. Thank you.” She brushed Dylan’s hair away from her face. “Now, dry your eyes and bring in the others. If I know my family, they’re pestering every nurse and doctor who passes by.”
“For sure. I’m going to set up a CT scan and another consult while the family showers you with love. We need to know why you blacked out.”
Chapter Eighteen
Morning slipped into late afternoon while Dylan checked G-ma’s CT scan, monitored her heartbeat, and waited for consults with the cardiologist and neurologist about her condition. Now she and the electrophysiologist who specialized in heart rhythm issues were back in G-ma’s room explaining their findings and care options to her and the family.
“So, young man, you’re telling me I need a pacemaker?” G-ma asked.
The EP, at least Bennett’s age with stark black hair and a slight Indian accent, nodded.
“My heart is mostly fine, but it’s not getting some kind of signal on a regular basis and makes me pass out?”
“It’s called a vasovagal or neurocardiogenic syncope. Your body reacts to certain triggers, and your heart rate and blood pressure drop suddenly, which leads to reduced blood flow to your brain, causing you to briefly lose consciousness.”
“And these triggers are why I’ve always hated the sight of blood and feel sweaty and queasy when I get shots?”
The EP nodded again. “Normally, it’s not a serious problem, but we’ve also seen irregularity in your heart rhythm, two to four seconds without a beat, which further supports the pacemaker recommendation.”
“And if I don’t want metal in my chest?”
The doctor glanced at Dylan and took another path. “This decision will have a serious impact on your life. Without a pacemaker to stabilize your heart, we can’t do surgery to set your wrist. No surgeon will chance having a cardiac event while you’re under anesthesia. And you’ll never be able to drive a car again. What happens if you pass out at the wheel?”
G-ma looked around at her family and then met the doctor’s gaze. “Well, guess I’m getting a pacemaker then.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Mama said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Nothing keeps Norma Carlyle from burning up the streets of Greensboro in her little purple Toyota.”
After the EP left, Dylan gathered the family closer. “I think you made the right decision, G-ma. I’ll go check on the surgeon’s availability. I know just the man for the job.” She turned toward the door, but Mama stopped her.
“Dylan, that can wait. You’ve been going wide open since this morning. Take a break, get something to eat, or at least a cup of coffee. I’m sending everyone else home in shifts to do the same.”
“In a bit.” She hugged her mother, and the comfort of her arms made Dylan suddenly tired and needy, but this wasn’t the time to break down.
“And,” Bennett added, “maybe you could find Finley. She’s been here all day too. I’m sure she’d appreciate an update.”
“I told her she could join us,” Mama said, “but she insisted on giving us privacy.”
Emory slid her arm around Dylan’s waist. “She has some kind of family wound. I see it in her eyes, and we’re probably a bit much for her all at one time. Talk to her.”
Finley wasn’t here because she didn’t feel comfortable with Dylan’s family or possibly in any family situation, as she’d seen at brunch. Could Finley adapt to her family’s intimacy and oversharing like Kerstin and Emory had? And why would she? They’d been out and had sex once. Nothing more. The thought left her sad and even more drained. It seemed like ages since she’d stumbled into Finley’s arms in the hallway this morning and felt her strength and courage. She needed that again, but they didn’t have that kind of relationship. She gave everyone a hug and tracked Holly down in the supply room. “Have you seen Finley?”
“She asked if there was an outdoor space nearby, and I sent her to the healing garden about half an hour ago.”
“Why was she here anyway?” Dylan asked.
“She kept another officer from falling through a ceiling and hyperextended her shoulders, no muscle or ligament injury though. She’ll be sore as hell for a few days.”
“Thanks. I’ll catch you later.”
“Why don’t you head home?” Holly asked. “Working a full day is stressful enough, but you’ve been pulling double duty with your family. Besides, you started before your shift.”
“I want to make sure G-ma is on the surgical schedule for her pacemaker.”
Holly hugged her and then held her at arm’s length to make eye contact. “I’ll take care of that. In other news, are you still having the fundraiser tomorrow?”
“G-ma demands it. I’ll see you there.”
“Bringing a date?” Holly asked.
Dylan nodded, not really feeling the party vibe. “I invited Wendy Kramer a few months ago. We’re each other’s faux dates any time we don’t want to be pawed all evening. I hope she hasn’t found a new girlfriend yet. You?”
“Great, you’re taking the hot cardiologist and I’m stuck with my gay BFF.”
“At least we can be miserable together. Thanks for today, Holly. Think I’ll take your advice and head home.” Dylan texted Bennett so the family wouldn’t worry, purchased a coffee, and went in search of Finley.
She found her stretched out on a concrete bench, staring up at an oak tree, arms resting over her stomach, and her legs dangling. She still wore her police pants, shoes, and a black long-sleeved T-shirt but not the rest of her cop paraphernalia. Dylan had an unexplainable feeling she’d known Finley much longer than a week. Maybe their connection seemed so quick and intense because of the emotional events that kept bringing them together—the shooting, Hamilton, their intimate conversation, sex, and now G-ma’s fall.
“Why don’t you join me, Dylan?” Finley asked without turning her head.
“How did you know it was me?”
Finley gingerly rose, crossing her arms over her chest, and scooted over to give Dylan more room. “We spent about twelve hours together yesterday-ish. I smell
ed you.”
Finley’s comment sounded like a cross between a bad romance novel and a science fiction tale with extraordinary creatures. Dylan chuckled, and it felt so good to release some tension after the day she’d had that she laughed aloud. “So, I smell like…” she glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. “…sex?”
Finley ducked her head like she was embarrassed by her words. “Not exactly sex. You have a very distinctive fragrance mingled with a hint of jasmine perfume. I like it, a lot.” She nudged Dylan’s foot with hers. “I was just thinking about you.”
Dylan settled next to her and sipped her coffee, her gaze never leaving Finley’s. “Why?”
“Honestly?” There was a pause as Finley seemed to consider what else she wanted to say. “I think I miss you.”
Finley’s voice was soft, her words heartfelt, and Dylan felt their effects bore straight to her heart. She automatically shifted closer. “You miss me?”
Finley nodded. “And I’m worried about you.”
“It’s not your job to worry about me, Fin, but I appreciate it. I think. As long as you’re not trying to manage me. I get enough of that at home.”
Finley feigned shock. “I’d never.” She reached for Dylan’s hand and brought it to rest in her lap. “I’d just like…to help. How is G-ma?”
“Stable but she’s spending a few days here until her wrist is set and a pacemaker inserted.” She filled Finley in on the details.
“Hey, want to get out of here? You could probably use a distraction.”
The thought of leaving, actually running from this place right now, felt perfect. “I’d like that. What did you have in mind?”
“Pick up some takeout and crash somewhere. My place, if you want. Yours if you need to stay close to your family.”
Finley’s kindness continued to surprise Dylan, and she considered the options. “Not mine. Give me a few minutes to check on G-ma one last time and change out of these scrubs?”
“I’ll swing by Outback and see you at my place in an hour?” Finley stood, offered her hand, remembered her hyperextended shoulders and withdrew. When Dylan stood, Finley threaded their fingers together.
“Thank you.” Finley slid her thumb across the back of Dylan’s hand, and she felt the connection surge through her. What was it about Finley that intrigued and aroused her so thoroughly with a simple touch or kind gesture? Probably hormones. Add to it the exhaustion of today and no wonder she was like the raw end of a live wire. She just needed some downtime.
* * *
Finley cupped her hands, enjoying the residual warmth from their touch as Dylan walked back toward the hospital. Dylan not only intrigued her, she made Finley want to be a better person. She’d even invited Dylan to her house, again. Maybe the simple fact that Dylan didn’t seem to need her was compelling. But how much of that independence was a show for her family, a challenge to the baby-girl box of protectiveness they’d established around her? Finley had sensed an underlying need that Dylan didn’t show anyone else and that need kept drawing her back. Don’t overthink. She hurried to her car.
Before she could collect the food and get home, the sky opened up with a steady downpour, and the wind plunged the temperature to a biting chill. She rushed into the house, dropped the food on the counter, and took a quick shower. When she came out, Dylan was shucking her coat by the front door. “Perfect timing, Doctor.”
Dylan shook her body like a dog coming in from the rain. “It’s brutal out there.”
“Why don’t I start a fire?”
“I’d love that. My only regret from the last visit was I didn’t get to enjoy that huge fireplace. Do you think it’s too hot?”
Finley pointed to her temple. “I have a perfect solution.” She crossed to the front windows and raised the two that overlooked the porch. A cool breeze swept in along with the pattering of rain on the tin roof.
“I love that sound.” She closed her eyes and listened for several seconds and then sighed contentedly. “Would you like me to dish up the food while you start a fire?”
Finley nodded.
Dylan opened several cabinets before asking, “Plates?”
Finley stood for a few seconds mesmerized by the sight of Dylan Carlyle playing hostess in her kitchen. Her kitchen. She hadn’t thought of this place as hers in years, but somehow with Dylan here, the house took on a comfortable, homey feel. The perpetually chilly nooks and crannies brimmed with warmth and possibility.
“A-hum. Plates?”
“Oh, sorry. We’ll just need a couple of spoons and lots of napkins. I purposely got things we could eat from the cartons with our fingers.” She stopped short of saying so they could lick the crumbs from each other’s fingers, snuggle in front of the fire under a blanket, and not leave for hours.
“I like the way you think, Masters…some of the time.” Dylan collected the utensils and rejoined Finley in the living area.
“What do you mean some of the time?” Finley closed the fireplace screen and then opened a container of slaw and stuck two spoons in while Dylan unwrapped the ribs.
“You were in the ER again today. Some heroic stunt to save another officer.”
Finley settled on the sofa, waited for Dylan to join her, and placed a blanket over their legs before answering. “What? You don’t like superheroes? In case you hadn’t noticed, they’re trending right now.” Dylan stiffened beside her and stared at the fire. “Dylan?”
“We’ve covered this ground. I don’t like people I care abo—know putting themselves in harm’s way. You have a job to do, I get that, but you could be more careful. Your hospital records indicate you’re either accident prone or reckless.”
“You read my medical history?”
“Of course. I checked your shin injuries, remember? Any competent doctor consults a patient’s history before treatment.”
“What am I supposed to do, Dylan? Let someone get hurt when I might be able to help? That’s not me. Could you stand by and let an injured person suffer and not offer aid?” Finley reached for Dylan’s hand, but she hugged the blanket tighter around her. “And FYI, I don’t take stupid risks and I’m not reckless. I just have a sense about trouble and know when to step in. And I have amazing cat-like reflexes.” Finley clawed the air and hissed. “Okay?”
Dylan released a heavy sigh and her shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry, Fin.” She leaned her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes. “I’m just tired. It’s been a tough day, and seeing G-ma hurt has made me more hypersensitive than usual. I have no right voicing an opinion about your life or how you choose to live it, on or off the job.”
Dylan’s resigned comment bothered Finley. She never thought she’d feel this way, but she wanted Dylan to care about her—and it scared her—but she brushed her fear aside and reached for Dylan again. She needed to feel safe and cared for after her traumatic day, and Finley could set aside her discomfort to help. She gently guided Dylan closer and tucked the blanket around them. “I hereby give you the right to say anything you want about my life.”
“Be careful, Masters. I might have quite a lot to say.” Dylan snuggled against Finley’s chest and breathed deeply. “This feels nice. Thank you.”
Finley grunted.
“What’s wrong?”
“My Wonder Woman stunt. I’ll probably have some righteous bruises across my chest and abdomen. I’m pretty sore.”
“No extracurricular activity for you tonight then,” Dylan joked.
Their food turned cold, forgotten on the table, while rain drummed rhythmically on the roof, and Finley bundled Dylan tightly. “Relax. I’ve got you.” She kissed Dylan’s forehead and scooted down on the sofa beside her. Dylan met her gaze, and Finley wanted to kiss her so badly she ached, but sensed it wasn’t the right time. “Can I ask a question?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why did you leave without waking me the last time you were here?” The question had tumbled around in her head ever since, followed clo
sely by another—why did it matter? She and Dylan had both chosen to avoid being hurt by keeping their distance. Wasn’t that reason enough?
“We agreed no strings. It was easier. And I was afraid the awkward morning-after vibe would spoil our wonderful night.” Dylan’s voice had become soft, almost a whisper.
“And if I wanted to renegotiate?” She held her breath. What was she saying? She definitely wanted to have sex with Dylan again, but renegotiating her no-strings policy wasn’t something she’d consciously considered. The question just came out.
Maybe they could date, get to know each other, like a normal couple. Dylan made her feel things, want things she never had, emotionally dangerous things. “Dylan?” Finley looked down at Dylan. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was deep and steady. Finley kissed her forehead again and pulled her closer. “I’ve got you.” But who’s got me?
Chapter Nineteen
Finley woke slowly, stretched her back, and almost rolled off the side of the sofa but pressed her hand against the floor to stop her fall. The sharp pain across her shoulders reminded her of her heroics the day before. She reached for Dylan but found empty space. Again. What was it about waking up with her that Dylan couldn’t handle? And why did it bother Finley so much? She stood and folded the blanket over the back of the sofa. Dylan didn’t date cops, and Finley couldn’t do families or intimacy, so remaining focused on their differences worked best.
She clicked the coffee maker on and automatically checked her phone. She’d missed texts from Anita and Hank and brought his up first.
Jeremy Spencer took the guys on another wild goose chase last night. Will we ever get this fucker?
Finley dialed his number. “What happened?”
“One of the tact guys spotted Spencer around the apartment complex you searched yesterday. He probably hid until everyone left, boosted a car, and tried to get away. It was a short chase, but he dodged us again. And still no fucking CCTV footage worth a damn.”
