by Paula Graves
Dalton looked up at the sound of her voice, his green eyes melting with relief. “He’s okay,” he said.
Logan spotted her and started wriggling to get loose. Dalton let him go, his arms dropping to his side.
Briar scooped her son into her arms, staring at Dalton. He was bleeding from his right side, she could see now. Not a lot, but enough that blood had begun to pool on the floor beside him.
The paramedics moved in quickly, coaxing him onto his back.
“I didn’t let him take Logan,” Dalton said, his gaze still locked with hers.
Briar looked at Thurman Gowdy. He stared back, then thumbed the shoulder radio and called for backup.
She carried Logan over to the checkout stand and set him on the glass-top counter, quickly looking him over for any signs of injury. He was still making soft hiccupping sounds, and his nose was running from his earlier tears, but she didn’t find any sign of injury. “How you doing, buddy?” she asked, pressing a fervent kiss to the top of his head.
“Dallen?” Logan craned his head for a look at Dalton, who was being poked and prodded by the EMTs trying to assess his condition.
“Dalton’s going to be fine.” Please be fine, she added silently.
Gowdy caught up with her a few minutes later. A thin balding man in his late fifties, Gowdy had been a fixture in Bitterwood P.D.’s patrol unit since he joined the force almost forty years earlier. He’d turned down dozens of promotions over the years, preferring to ride patrol, and now he was the go-to officer when there was a rookie cop in need of a senior partner. “I’m not detective material,” he’d told Briar on their first day together on the job. “But if you listen to me, you’ll learn a hell of a lot about police work in a short amount of time.”
Right now he gave her a quick update on what had happened. “Bearded white male, mid-twenties, wearing a dark shirt, dark pants, camo cap and camo face paint. Carrying a hunting knife. Witnesses say he confronted the vic there on the floor. The vic swung his groceries at the guy, grabbed up the little fella here and ran for the store. Someone inside let him in and locked the door before the perp with the knife could get in.” Thurman put his hand on her shoulder. “This is your baby, ain’t it?”
Briar stroked Logan’s mussed hair off his damp forehead. “Yes. The vic is Dalton Hale.”
Thurman’s eyebrows lifted. “The prosecutor?”
She nodded, struggling not to cry. The paramedics were taking a scary length of time tending to Dalton, and while she didn’t want to get in the way, she needed to talk to him, find out exactly what had happened.
Her cell phone rang, jarring her so sharply that she nearly jumped. She checked the display. Walker Nix. “Hello?”
“I just got a call about a knife attack in Edgewood. Someone said Dalton Hale was the victim—did he have Logan?”
“He did, but Logan’s fine. I’m on scene.”
“What about Hale?”
“He’s hurt. I don’t know how bad, but it doesn’t seem immediately life threatening.”
“We’re on the way. Hang tight.” Nix hung up.
Briar put her hand to her head, willing the pounding pulse in her ears to settle down to something approaching normal. “Thurman, I can’t leave Logan—”
“No hurry now.” His tone was kindly. Soothing. “You worry about your little fella. Backup’s on the way.”
One of the paramedics moved away from Dalton and approached her. She knew him from her time as a dispatcher—Clark Emerson. Nice guy. Doting father of three. He bent to look her in the eyes. “You two okay over here?”
“I think so. I didn’t see any signs of injuries.” She looked over at Dalton. “How’s he?”
“It looks worse than it is. The wound is mostly superficial, though it cut through some muscle, so he’s probably hurting a little. He needs stitches, but he doesn’t want an ambulance. He wants to talk to you.”
Briar glanced at her son. His sleepy-eyed gaze was on Dalton, who had pushed into a sitting position and was watching them as the other paramedic checked his vitals. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s go talk to Mr. Hale.” She scooped Logan up and carried him over to Dalton.
“How’s he doing?” Dalton asked, lifting a hand toward Logan.
She crouched next to him, lowering Logan to his feet beside Dalton. Logan looked with interest at the blood-pressure cuff on Dalton’s arm, peering more closely as the cuff began to expand.
“He’s fine,” she answered. “How about you?”
“I’m okay. Feeling a little embarrassed about nearly fainting from a little nick in the side.”
The paramedic shushed them, forcing them to wait until he was finished with the blood-pressure check. “One-thirty over eighty,” he murmured as he wrote it down.
“Is that good or bad?” Dalton asked.
“Not bad,” the paramedic said with a smile.
Briar put her hand on Dalton’s knee. “What happened?”
He looked down at her hand, then back at her. “I stopped for milk and cereal. Thought the little tiger here should have a decent breakfast in the morning. He picked Cheerios.”
“His favorite.” She managed a weak smile.
“We paid and went back out to the truck. Suddenly, the guy was just there. Dressed in dark clothes and he had this camouflage paint stuff on his face. And he had a knife.”
“Do you know what kind of knife?”
“An enormous one.” He shot her an apologetic look. “I’m useless as a witness, aren’t I?”
“Maybe.” Her smile was a little stronger this time. “But you faced down a man with a knife and kept my boy safe. So you’re not going to hear any complaints from me.”
“I’m sorry, Briar.” He reached out and touched her hand where it lay on his knee. “I shouldn’t have stopped for milk. I just didn’t expect someone to strike in broad daylight, in public like this.”
She hadn’t, either. And the fact that the knife-wielding man had taken such a risky chance scared the hell out of her.
* * *
“WHY AREN’T YOU in an ambulance right now?”
Dalton dropped his hand from his aching head and turned at the sound of Doyle Massey’s voice. Doyle had apparently come in on the heels of the detectives, who had pulled Briar aside for an update.
Dalton sighed. “I’m okay. I can drive myself to get stitched up.”
“We’ll need your shirt in case we can match the rip mark to a weapon.”
“I know how evidence works,” Dalton answered defensively.
Briar walked up, Logan on her hip, in time to hear his last words. “Then you know there’s a chain of evidence that has to be maintained.”
Doyle looked away from Dalton and frowned down at Briar. “Blackwood, you’re on paid administrative leave until further notice.”
Her brow furrowed as her eyes widened. “Sir?”
“What happened here isn’t her fault,” Dalton protested, reaching out to grab Doyle’s arm. “This is my mistake. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. Please don’t punish Briar for it.”
Doyle’s scowl disappeared and his gaze softened. “It’s not punishment.” He turned his gaze to Briar, his voice gentling. “You have a son to protect. You don’t need to be leaving him with other people while you try to work. It’ll be too much of a distraction.”
Briar’s chin came up, pride blazing in her cool gray eyes. “I don’t want special treatment.”
“I’m not giving you special treatment. Your son needs protection. So I’m assigning you to protect your son. This is your new job until we can figure out what’s going on.”
“Don’t argue with him, Briar,” Dalton murmured. “He’s always right. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
Doyle snapped his head around to look at Dalton. “
Not always. Sometimes people still manage to disappoint me no matter how low my expectations.” He moved away to confer with Nix and Delilah Brand, the other Bitterwood detective who’d responded to the call.
“Don’t you just love these family meetings?” Dalton murmured.
“You both seem to like gettin’ a rise out of each other.” Briar pressed her nose against Logan’s hair and breathed deeply, as if breathing in the sweet, clean scent of him. “Dalton, I don’t think I’ve said this properly—”
He jerked his head up, meeting her gaze with alarm. “Don’t.” He didn’t want her to say thank you. He was damned lucky to have gotten away from the man with the knife. If the slightest thing had happened differently—he couldn’t bear to think about what might have happened.
“You knocked the guy into a car with a half gallon of milk.” Despite the haunted look in her eyes, her lips curved a bit at the sheer absurdity of his method of self-defense. “You got Logan to safety. While a guy was sticking an enormous knife in your side. If that’s not heroic, I don’t know what is.”
“Technically, he swiped the knife. He didn’t stick it,” he corrected. “I’m not a hero, Briar. Anyone else would have done the same thing.”
“You’d be surprised how few people would have done the same thing.” She bent her head toward her son’s soft curls again. “I hear he told you he’d let you go if you gave him Logan.”
“I would never do that.”
“I know. That’s why I entrusted him to you in the first place.” She looked up at him with shining eyes. The almost violent urge to wrap her and Logan up in his arms and never let them go caught him utterly flat-footed.
Nix’s arrival kept him from doing something stupid. The detective looked at Briar with obvious affection, reaching out to palm the back of Logan’s head. “The chief says if you want a ride back to the station, he’s got room in his car.” He looked at Dalton. “And if you’d like a ride to the hospital, he’s offering that, as well. He’ll stay with you and drop you back home when you’re done.”
Dalton looked past Nix and found Doyle leaning against the window near the door. His gaze met Dalton’s and he gave a slight nod.
Oh, hell, Dalton thought. Why not? He needed a ride, and whether he liked it or not, the man was his brother. If the situation were reversed...
If the situation were reversed, he realized with some surprise, he’d do the same thing.
“I’ll need your keys, Hale. To get Logan’s car seat out of the truck.”
Dalton handed off his keys. “Tell him I’ll take the ride to the hospital.”
Nix shot him an exasperated look. “For God’s sake, you’re adults. Tell him yourself.” He headed out to the parking lot.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay going to the hospital alone with the chief?” Briar asked.
He slanted a look at her. “I’m a big boy.”
“Remember to tell Doyle thank you.”
Dalton laughed. “I’ll try. It’s a toss-up whether or not we’ll make it to the hospital without killing each other.”
“Do your best.” She laid her hand on his arm, letting her fingers slide slowly down to his wrist before she let go. He barely controlled a shiver as her light touch sent tremors up and down his arm.
“Ready to go?” Doyle pushed away from the wall as they approached. He looked pointedly at Dalton. “Am I carting your butt to the hospital or what?”
“Your brotherly devotion is touching,” Dalton murmured.
Doyle shot him a smart-alecky look, and Dalton realized he was getting to the point that he could predict the chief’s reaction to his words.
Almost like a real brother.
* * *
IT WAS WELL after nine when Dalton finally called Briar to tell her he was coming up the front walkway. She hurried to unlock the door and let him in. She waved to Doyle, who waited in his police cruiser until Dalton was safely inside. “All stitched up?”
He nodded. “Want to see my wound?”
Smiling, she shook her head. “You hungry? Logan and I had chicken soup for dinner. I can heat some up for you.”
He caught her hand as she moved toward the kitchen, his fingers warm and firm around hers. “Doyle and I grabbed a burger on the way home.”
“How’d that go?” She waited for him to let go of her hand, but he twined his fingers with hers instead, leading her over to the sofa. He sat heavily, tugging her down beside him.
“It went...better than I expected. He wasn’t a complete smart-ass, and I tried not to be a defensive jerk. So...progress.” He gave her hand a light squeeze. “Logan asleep?”
She looked down at their twined hands, her gaze drawn by the intersection of her fair skin and his tanned fingers. “About thirty minutes ago. We had to read a couple of extra stories, and he was worried that you weren’t home yet, but I explained you had to go somewhere with your brother. I also promised you’d look in on him before you go to bed. You don’t have to, though. Once he falls asleep, it takes a bulldozer to wake him. He wouldn’t know you were there.”
“I’ll know,” he said, turning his head toward her.
She met his gaze, a ripple of pure feminine awareness rolling through her, setting off a dozen tingles along her spine. Despite the weariness in his eyes, the faint pallor beneath his healthy tan, he was still one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen.
Man being the operative word, she thought as she drowned a little in his warm green gaze. He was a man, flaws and all, in a way Johnny never had been. Though she was still in her twenties, giving birth to Logan had changed her from a girl to a woman almost overnight.
But was she woman enough to deal with a man like Dalton? A man who’d lived a life of privilege she couldn’t even begin to imagine, much less understand? A man with his own demons that made her day-to-day struggles seem like bumps in the road in comparison?
She’d worked hard over the past few months to simplify her life, to focus her attention completely on her son and his future. Letting herself get involved with another person had never figured into her plans.
But she knew, with a certainty that sent heat blazing into the center of her sex, if he dipped his head closer, she would close the distance between them and take whatever he chose to offer.
“Last night,” he murmured, “I wanted to kiss you.”
She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by his raw honesty. “I know.”
“I still do.”
She opened her eyes and leaned closer, even as her self-protective instincts screamed at her to get up and walk away. “It’s a bad idea.”
“It really is.”
She brushed her fingertips against his chest, tracing the contours of his muscles. He was well built for a man who worked in an office, with lean, defined muscles. He kept himself fit.
“Do you know why I never called Lydia back today?” he asked, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
“Because you’re a heel?” she asked, her own gaze sliding over his mouth, noting—not for the first time—the tempting fullness of his lower lip.
That lower lip curved upward at the corners in response to her remark. “I suppose I can’t deny it, can I? You saw the whole scene play out.”
“You should have told her the truth.”
His eyes flickered up away from her mouth, and his gaze leveled with hers. “I don’t think she’d have liked the truth all that much.”
“Which was?” she prodded, knowing she was playing with wildfire.
“That I forgot all about her the minute I saw you that first night at the hospital.” He dipped his head toward her. “You’re all I seem to think about. How to keep you safe. How to protect Logan. Whether I can do it or not.”
He always seemed so confident and controlled. To hear him express uncertainty was a soberi
ng experience. “What a messy situation you’ve gotten yourself into.”
His lips twitched upward again. “I have a knack for it these days.”
“How was lunch with your mother?”
He lifted one dark eyebrow. “How’d you hear about that?”
“I tried to call you around lunchtime but you were out. Your secretary mentioned you were having lunch with your mother.” She couldn’t stop herself from snuggling a little closer. “How is she holding up?”
“Better than I thought she would.” He sighed, leaning away from her and laying his head back on the sofa cushions. “They were so wrong about her, you know. My father and grandfather. They claim they were protecting her, but she’s so much stronger than either of them gave her credit for.”
“How long has it been since you spoke to your dad?” Briar asked.
He rolled his head toward her. “Why?”
“I lost my daddy when I was ten. I wish I could talk to him now.”
He reached out to touch her cheek, grimacing as the movement apparently pulled on his stitches. He fell back, gazing up at the ceiling.
If she’d been thinking more clearly, she probably would have gotten up right then and headed up to bed. But the night had been nearly as harrowing for her as it had been for him. And she wasn’t quite ready for it to end.
Slowly, she lifted her hand to his face, cupping the curve of his jaw. His gaze slid down to meet hers, the green of his eyes warm and liquid, like a mossy mountain pool. “I’m going to kiss you,” she whispered. “It doesn’t have to mean anything you don’t want it to mean.”
His hand sliding up her back to tangle in her hair, he pulled her toward him, his breath hot against her cheek. She angled her lips across his, a light exploratory touch. Dry, warm, closed-mouth. Almost chaste.
Almost.
His lips parted under hers, the slick heat of his tongue brushing over her bottom lip, teasing it lightly at first, then with a demanding intensity that shook her to her suddenly burning core.
