Dash of Peril

by Lori Foster

  Both Logan and Reese were suddenly armed with big black guns in their hands.

  “Take it easy,” Cannon told them. And then, in a softer tone, “Yvette?”

  Her face appeared, ravaged from tears and smeared makeup. “Cannon?”

  “Yeah.” Christ, she was a mess. He kept his tone gentle. “Open the front door.”

  “Oh, God.” She hugged the bat to her chest while her gaze pinged here and there nervously. In a hush, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

  He said again, more firmly this time, “Open up, honey. Or should I come through the window?”

  She knuckled one eye, further spreading the mess of her makeup and tears. “I’ll...I’ll open the door.”

  Going around front, followed by the silent detectives, Cannon waited with vibrating impatience. The second the lock opened he pushed his way in.

  The smell of kerosene assaulted his nose. “Yvette?”

  A sob bubbled up and her shoulders shook. She hugged herself tightly.

  Cannon did his best to ignore the presence of two top-notch detectives looming behind him. He knew they were giving him some leeway, so he didn’t want to waste the opportunity. “Shhh. Take it easy.” He relieved her of the ball bat, setting it aside. “It’s okay now.”

  “No—no, it’s not.”

  Surprised that neither Logan nor Reese attempted to take over, he lifted Yvette’s chin. He’d found that making eye contact with a friend often soothed frazzled nerves. “Where’s Tipton?”

  She swallowed hard, turned and headed toward the back of the shop.

  The men followed.

  Usually Yvette walked tall, shoulders back and chest out, confident of her sex appeal. Right now she was so curled into herself that it worried Cannon.

  Her clothes were stiff and dirty, her tank top ripped near the neck. Barefoot, her flared jeans dragged the floor. At the door to a small room she stopped. “Grandpa? Cannon is here.”

  Cannon pushed in past her. On one side of the room, pawned items of every variety, some large and some small, lined metal shelving. Opposite that, cleaning supplies were stacked alongside a mop bucket and broom. Against the back wall was one utility sink and a toilet. The harsh overhead fluorescent light showed spots of blood on the floor and in the sink.

  There in the corner, bruised, bloody and battered, Tipton sat, his legs out and his back against the wall.

  “Damn it.” Rushing in, Cannon went to a knee beside him. He found a head wound that didn’t look too awful but had bled considerably given the mess on Tipton’s shirt. His eyes looked clear, though swollen. He had a vicious split lip. “What the hell happened?”

  Tipton barely shook his head, but looked up to his granddaughter. After a long, painful hesitation, he whispered, “Tell him.”

  Yvette twisted her small hands together. “Grandpa...”

  “Tell him, Yvette.”

  “First,” Reese said, his voice gentle, “I’m going to call for an ambulance, okay?”

  That he asked pleased Cannon.

  Tipton nodded. “You’re here, so I guess it don’t matter anymore.”

  Reese turned his back as he made the call.

  Logan knelt down by Cannon. “You weren’t supposed to call the cops?”

  “Or move, or leave the shop,” Yvette said, her voice filled with defeat. “Not until Monday.”

  Another entire day? To Cannon, it looked like they’d tried to clean up. They had water, a little food, but no change of clothes. And Tipton needed medical care.

  Maybe Yvette did, too.

  Covering her face, her slim body quaking, she dropped back against a wall. “If...if we left before then, he said he’d know, that he’d come back.” Her voice cracked. “And next time he’d go ahead and...and light us up!”

  The kerosene. Cannon fought back his rage now that the permeating smell made sense.

  Logan reached out and carefully touched the edge of Tipton’s shirt hem. “He doused you in kerosene.”

  Tipton drew a cautious breath through his nose. His gaze darted to his granddaughter. “Both of us. Stuff eats on your skin, so Yvette rinsed out our clothes the best she could.”

  It wasn’t enough, Cannon could tell. The clothes had dried stiff and they still smelled.

  “He...” Yvette swallowed again, choking on her tears. “He held a lighter over us.” Fresh panic drove her voice higher. “He said if we made a sound or moved, he’d watch while we burned.”

  Cannon carefully clasped Tipton’s shoulder to let him know things would be okay, then he stood and went to Yvette.

  Slumped against the wall, her head down and her shoulders hunched, she quivered from head to toes. There was fear, shock and maybe a little relief now that she wasn’t alone.

  So many times she’d flirted with him in outrageous ways. Because she was so young, because he respected the neighborhood business owners and because he had bigger goals in life that didn’t include an entangled relationship with an innocent girl, he had never expected to touch her.

  Now everything was different. “Yvette?” She looked ready to come apart, so he didn’t want to approach her too quickly.

  Big green eyes, swollen and red, looked up at him, and she sniffled pathetically.

  Never had he seen a more wretched sight. Pity almost choked Cannon as he slowly reached for her. “Come here.”

  On another broken sob, Yvette shot up against his bare chest, her slim arms squeezing tight around him, her face wetting his skin as the sobs came full steam. Her petite but stacked body—a body he had always ignored—pressed as close to him as she could get.

  Cannon just held her, trying not to breathe in the remnants of kerosene fumes while noticing that her long dark hair was still oily with it. “You’re safe now.”

  “No,” she wailed. “He said he sees everything. He told us not to talk to the cops until tomorrow—or else. But you brought them here now! He said if we didn’t follow directions, he’d make us pay. He said...” She shuddered, her voice choking. “He said he’d use me like he did that other lady.”

  “He’ll never touch you.” Already Cannon made plans on how to find the bastard, how he’d make him pay. “Do you know the other woman?”

  “Oh, God.” She shook her head hard. “No. But it was so awful!”

  Reese interrupted those dark thoughts. “We’ll take care of everything, Yvette.” He held out a hand. “I’m Detective Bareden, by the way.”

  Without releasing Cannon, Yvette stuck out one small hand. Reese took it in a calm greeting. The second he released her, she snuggled in close to Cannon’s chest again. He kept one arm around her shoulders, the other around her waist, giving her his heat, his strength, his comfort.

  Over the top of her head, Cannon met Reese’s gaze. They were both grim.

  “You said he told you to wait until tomorrow to call the cops.” Logan stood, then looked around at the small room. “How long have you been here?”

  “Since yesterday afternoon,” Tipton said. He held his side and tried to sit up a little more, but gasped in pain instead.

  “Your ribs?” Logan asked.

  “Bastards kicked me.”

  Yvette shuddered again, so Cannon said near her ear, “Shh, shh,” while rocking her a little.

  “Can you tell me how many men? Can you give me descriptions?”

  “I can try.” Tipton caught his breath, let it out in a measured way that showed a lot of pain. “Three men. One had dark hair and a beard. A goatee. Other two weren’t as dark. They were both heavy, one bald and the other thinning.”

  “Two of them...they raped her,” Yvette cried, her breath against his now damp skin. “She was so out of it, I don’t know if she realized what was going on. But it was horrible. She made these little sounds, like...li
ke she wanted loose but couldn’t fight—”

  Again Cannon rocked her. “It’ll be okay.”

  “What about the third man?” Logan asked.

  “He made us watch with him,” Tipton said. “After they soaked us with kerosene. He—the one in charge—said he used kerosene ’cause it’d burn hot but wasn’t combustible like gasoline.”

  “They said they’d burn us to ashes and no one would ever know what happened.”

  Absently, Cannon stroked her. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Usually whenever he’d seen her she’d been wearing heels. He hadn’t realized she was so short. “Are you hurt, too?”

  Keeping her face pressed against him, she shook her head. “No.”

  “They slapped her,” Tipton said, “’cause she cried when they were kicking me.”

  Cannon leaned back and tried to lift her face, but she clung to him like a vine. “Come on, honey. Let me take a look.”

  “No.” And then, in an absurd show of vanity, she cried, “I’m a mess!”

  Cannon looked around and found Reese, Logan and Tipton all watching them. In their gazes he saw the same pity he felt. No wonder Yvette wanted to hide.

  Holding her a little closer, he asked Logan, “You’ve got this?”

  Logan nodded. “I’ll get the descriptions. Go take care of her.”

  “Ambulance will be here shortly.” Reese joined Logan at Tipton’s side. “I told them to come in quietly.”

  Cannon accepted all that. No lights or sirens was good. “Then Yvette and I are going to the other room.”

  Tipton watched him with a lot of suspicion and concern. “What for?”

  “To talk.”

  Logan spoke quietly to Tipton, and the older man nodded. “All right.”

  Before he got out of the room, Tipton said, “Cannon?”

  With Yvette held close, Cannon looked back. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.” He looked at his granddaughter. “For everything.”

  Cannon acknowledged that with a nod, but as he walked out of that room, he felt like he was taking a giant step into new responsibilities.

  And into...trouble.

  Petite, stacked, young trouble.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AFTERNOON SUNSHINE HAD melted away all the snow, leaving behind a mild springlike day. After running several errands, it was almost dinnertime before Dash returned to the station. He’d called over an hour ago to see if Margo was done yet, but she’d needed more time.

  Not a problem for him.

  He wanted her to know that a relationship with him wouldn’t get in her way.

  But he also wanted to be a priority for her—because she was a priority for him. Now more than ever.

  Knowing someone wanted to hurt her sent a rush of determination clawing through him. Somehow, someway, he would be near her, offering protection.

  The fact that she could protect herself didn’t matter, not to his emotions, not to his instincts. He was a man and, cop or no, she was still a woman. In the most basic way known to nature, he wanted to protect her.

  The easiest way to help her figure out the balance of life and work was to show her that he considered her work as important as she did, and intimacy with him beat indiscriminate sex any day. It heightened every sensation, making it better, hotter, more consuming than a random encounter with a stranger.

  The argument was a reversal for Dash. Other than sexual relief, he hadn’t wanted anything from a woman in a very long time. But women, in his experience, wanted sex to mean something. They thought of it as a show of affection and caring, a prelude to love.

  Not Margo.

  Nope, she just used it as a carnal tension reliever from a very emotionally stressful job.

  As Dash parked out front of the station, he saw Margo, Logan and Reese speaking together. Margo spotted him, too, and waved him over.

  Interesting. Why weren’t they in the building?

  Leaving his purchases behind on the seat, he exited the truck. Even from the distance separating him from her, he saw the anger on Margo’s face. She stood there without her coat—not that she’d need it with the sun shining down and the temps hitting the low sixties.

  In several long strides Dash reached them, just in time to hear Margo give Reese an order.

  “Get hold of the rest of your guys. I want them watched at the hospital, at home and at the shop.”

  “Already took care of it.”

  She paced, rubbing her injured arm, though Dash doubted she realized it. “I need this kept quiet. We’re not taking any chances.”

  “My guys can be trusted.” Reese took a few steps away, still on the cell.

  “Reese has guys?” Dash asked.

  She looked up at him in a distracted way. “Men he trusts. Officers who have proven themselves loyal to him, and therefore loyal to the letter of the law.”

  With a shrug, Logan said, “The crew was necessary before Margo took over.”

  She did some more pacing. “They still come in handy when I want to make sure details are kept as private as possible.”

  “And you have something you want kept private?”

  “Everything.” She gave him a meaningful frown. “I don’t like taking chances.” All business, she added, “And speaking of chances, you need to park your truck somewhere safe. Away from where you live.”

  She seemed so urgent, he agreed without question. “All right.”

  “I mean it, Dash, you...” She frowned, finally realizing that he hadn’t questioned her. “Do you have good security?”

  “On my house? My brother is a cop, so yeah, the place is kept secure.” He looked at Logan, hoping for a few answers.

  As if to work off anger, his brother flexed his shoulders. “We checked out the pawnshop. The owner and his granddaughter were there when they shot the video.”

  Oh, shit. “What do you mean they were there?” Dash watched Margo rub her shoulder, then her wrist, above and below the splint. “I thought Cannon stopped in and they—”

  “Three men with a drugged woman in tow broke in and used the place. To control the owner they doused him and his granddaughter in kerosene, then the head guy threatened them with a lighter the whole time they were there.”

  Reese disconnected his call and rejoined them. “I think the sick fuck enjoyed tormenting them. From what they said, he took as much pleasure in terrifying them as he did in videotaping the rape.”

  “Damn,” Dash whispered. And these were the same people who wanted Margo? He wanted to haul her close and somehow insulate her from it all—but her job kept her at the forefront.

  “A couple of Reese’s guys are with Mr. Sweeny at the hospital. I’m guessing he has a few broken ribs at the very least.” Logan stepped closer to Dash. “Cannon knows the granddaughter so he stayed with her at the hospital. She’s pretty shook up.”

  “Margo?” Because he needed to touch her, Dash put a hand on the back of her neck. “What now?”

  “They threatened that girl, told her they would use her next in a video if she talked to the police.”

  Dash searched her face...and saw iron resolve. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “No, it’s not. We won’t let it.” Wearily, Margo leaned into his side.

  Dash put his arm around her.

  Logan stared.

  Reese raised his eyebrows.

  Dash was about to call them on their idiotic behavior, but Margo beat him to it.

  “Put your eyeballs back in your heads, boys. I know it strains your boundaries of belief, but I enjoy a little human contact every now and then, same as anyone else.”

  “Yeah, no, I wasn’t...” Logan transferred his bemused gaze to Dash.

  Reese coughed...and clapped Ma
rgo on the shoulder, just like she was one of the guys. “Glad for you.”

  She staggered into Dash, but laughed. “It doesn’t require applause, detective, so stow it.”

  To Reese and Logan, Dash said, “You’re both idiots.”

  Still leaning on him, Margo smiled at Logan. “He said it, not me.” Then she got serious again. “We can pick up the rental on our way home—”

  Logan and Reese did more asinine staring at that disclosure.

  “—and then you can stow the truck somewhere safe.”

  “There’s only one problem with that. I can’t drive my truck and the rental, and you’re out of commission until the splint comes off.”

  Logan checked his watch. “Leave your keys with Reese. He can store it and I’ll drive you both to get the rental.”

  “You have time for that?” Dash asked.

  “Sure.” His eyes narrowed. “That way I can be positive no one follows you.”

  Disconcerted, Dash looked around the area. “You think we’re being watched?”

  Margo nodded. “I feel it, too.” She took Dash’s hand. “But stop being so obvious, okay?”

  Her show of affection surprised him enough that he looked at her instead of checking for signs of surveillance. He curled his larger hand around hers, holding her securely. “Sorry about that.”

  Logan pretended not to see. “If Margo was driving she could lose a tail easy enough, but—”

  “Yeah,” Dash agreed with a grin. “I haven’t exactly had a lot of practice at that.”

  “You’d do okay,” Logan assured him, ever the loyal brother. “But I’ll feel better if I drive.”

  Done discussing it, Margo started to walk away. “I’m ready if you are.”

  Since she didn’t even try to let him go, Dash went along with her as she took the few steps to a nearby brick retaining wall to pick up her purse and coat. Taking advantage of the moment of dubious privacy, Dash asked, “Have you taken any aspirin lately?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “I’m fine.”

  “Bullshit.” He took her items from her and hauled her along with him to his truck, where he fished aspirin from his glove compartment and handed them to her with a half-empty bottle of water.