Tate watched Dace grab a radio mike, her scrubs now smeared with blood and streaked with dirt. “Central Receiving, this is Dr. Dace Robinson, en route via ambulance with a male victim, BP ninety-six over seventy, pulse fifty-three, early 20s, six feet, one-eighty, brown/brown, GSW, through-and-through, right upper torso, no ID on victim. We need blood type and cross-match, have OR standing by as patient will need immediate surgical intervention to address bleeding…”
She was in her element, directing emergency operations and saving the life of a man she had never met. His heart grew warm and an unfamiliar feeling…pride?…bloomed in his chest. Dace was a warrior—and she was magnificent.
Sirens screaming, they pulled into the emergency entrance of the hospital. Doctors and nurses swarmed out of the automatic doors, opening the rear doors of the ambulance and extracting the prospect on his gurney. Dace jumped out, as did the EMT riding with them. Tate followed.
It struck him that her peers respected her. The doctors in white coats carrying stethoscopes who met the ambulance listened while Dace briefed them, and then dispersed to carry out the agreed-upon tasks.
Dace watched as her patient’s gurney was loaded on an elevator to the surgical floor. As the doors closed, her shoulders slumped, and Tate saw her rub her upper arms, as if to shake off exhaustion. Her scrubs were filthy, and her dark braid had half unraveled, strands of loose hair straggling down her back. A moment ago, she was in control, using her training to stop a man from losing his life. Now it was three a.m., and his woman had to be running on empty.
He walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She jumped slightly, and then relaxed once she realized it was Tate.
“So—Doc—any reason in particular you didn’t mention you were a doctor?”
She turned around and looked him straight in the eye. “It didn’t seem pertinent to the conversation we shared, or the events of the evening.” She took a deep breath. “You kept me from being hassled by the bikers, both the ones in your bar, and the ones outside, and I am very grateful for that. Thank you.”
He returned her gaze. “You were on your way home from the hospital when your car broke down, weren’t you?”
She nodded silently, still watching him.
“You didn’t think it was pertinent? I told you what I do and where I live. I own the bar I live above, and I also manage it. So, what, do you think I’m beneath you or something—is that why you didn’t feel like sharing?”
She straightened up, and the fire returned to her eyes as a look of defensiveness crossed her face. “Oh, get that crap out of your head right now. My pop put in a lot of years working in a factory to help get me to medical school, and every damn collar he ever wore was blue. So don’t you give me that elitist shit. My opinions of people are based strictly on how they treat others—me included—and I almost always get a more accurate take if I don’t lead with the title ‘doctor’. I like hot dogs and ramen noodles, I drink cheap beer, and I shop with coupons.” By now, she was poking him in the chest with her finger again.
Obviously his question had hit a hot button. But she wasn’t done.
“And I am not ashamed of my profession. I don’t go around banging on my chest, saying ‘me-doctor’. I don’t broadcast what I do. If people think I’m a nurse, that’s fine. I don’t bother correcting them. The patients I help figure it out when I start treating them, and that’s the reason I’m here anyway—for the patients.” She raised an eyebrow. “It isn’t like I’m doing it for the money, since most of what I make goes to tuition bills and student loans, and that will continue to happen for the next fifty years or so.”
By now, his mouth was open and he had actually backed up a step. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you. Sometimes I don’t think before I speak, and this was one of those times. Please forgive my hasty judgment.”
Tate was relieved to see her take another deep breath and visibly try to get herself under control. “Look, I’ve never found myself in the middle of a shoot-out before. Let’s just say things went a little crazy and leave it at that.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her scrubs. “Hell, this whole night has been crazy.”
“Uh, yeah…about that shoot-out. What exactly happened?”
“There were some guys that came into the parking lot driving a black pickup; you saw it, I think, because it came before you left. They were talking to the bikers who hadn’t left yet, and they started yelling, some of it in Spanish. Then I heard two shots, and I hit the ground. The pickup zoomed out of there, with the bikers chasing it. Fred had left with my car, and I realized I wasn’t hurt, but there was a biker on the ground and he was bleeding. I came back to your bar to get someone to call 911. You know the rest.”
By this time, she had yanked her hands out of her pockets and was rubbing her upper arms again. Tate stepped forward slowly, and opened his arms. She shook her head at him, and despite her gesture, he pulled her into his embrace. Dace fought him for a moment, and then wrapped her arms around him, nestling into his arms as if she belonged there. She murmured something, but it was so low he didn’t hear it.
“What?”
She raised her head. “This feels good. No, it feels great.” Her head fell back to his shoulder and she snuggled into his neck. “I must be more tired than I thought.”
“You’re right. It does feel great. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with fatigue.”
Tate was rubbing her back and shoulders with long, easy strokes, making her relax into him little by little. He looked up just in time to see two police officers—one in plain clothes, and one in uniform—walking toward them, and he ducked his head down next to Dace’s ear. “Ready to tell your story again?”
Her eyes looked blurry with exhaustion as the adrenaline rush slowly wound down. “What are you talking about?”
He gestured at the police officers. “I think they’re here to talk to you. About the shooting.”
“Oh. All right. I need some coffee first.”
“A word of advice?”
She raised her head and looked at him. “What kind of advice?”
“Tell the truth, but don’t speculate who shot first. They can figure that out from ballistics. The victim is one of Whip’s prospects, so let him answer some questions once he comes out of surgery. This isn’t all on you.”
She bit her lip. “Are you, um, staying with me while I talk with them?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
“Then I am.”
Chapter Nine
To Dace’s surprise, both of the officers seemed to know Tate.
They introduced themselves to her as Detective Jeff Marshall and Sergeant Brandon Gates.
“Doctor, we understand you were on the scene of a shooting earlier this evening, and we’d like to ask you a few questions about that,” Sergeant Brandon stated, thumbing through a small pad of paper.
Dace nodded. “Of course. Would you officers like some coffee?”
Detective Marshall smiled wearily. “Wouldn’t say no. Campbell, what about you?”
Tate smiled as he shook their hands. “Always. Good to see you again, Jeff, Brandon. There’s a mini-cafeteria at the end of this hallway. Okay with you?”
As they both nodded assent and began to follow him, he put a proprietary arm around Dace’s shoulder and she looked at him in confusion. “So how do you know them?”
He shrugged. “We served together over in the sandbox. I came back and decided to go into bar management, and they picked law enforcement. They were MPs, so it wasn’t too big of a jump.”
“You served?”
“Yeah. Five years, most of it overseas. I’m out now.” He grinned at her. “See? It isn’t so hard to talk about yourself.”
They all sat down around a chipped plastic-topped table, and Tate stepped away to get the coffees ordered.
Dace filled the officers in on what happened in the parking lot. She was just finishing up when Tate returned, bearing a tray wit
h four cups of coffee and a plate of cookies.
“Thank you. The cafeteria coffee is really good, and so are the pastries.” Dace smiled as she picked up a chocolate chip cookie and took a big bite. “So Tate said he knows you from the service.”
“Yes ma’am. Best MP I ever worked with. Has a real talent. Damn shame he runs a bar instead of wearing a badge,” Gates said. “Mmm, good coffee. You were right.”
Dace turned to Tate in surprise. “You were an MP?”
“Yeah. Bet you thought they met me when they arrested me?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.
Dace pursed her mouth. “No, I never thought that for a minute. I’m not a judgmental person, like some people I know.” Her lips quirked in a quick grin, taking the sting out of her statement and turning it into a teasing remark.
“Do you remember anything else about the shooting, ma’am?” Detective Marshall asked.
“No. It happened really fast, and when I saw the wounded man, my attention was completely focused on him.”
“If you do remember something else, please give one of us a call.” They handed Dace cards, and shook hands.
After the two officers left, Dace looked at Tate.
“Would you like to take a walk up to the surgical floor with me? I want to see how things are progressing.”
“Sure; just let me eat the rest of my cookie.”
“Wrap it up and take it with you. You can eat it on the way.”
Chapter Ten
They stopped off at the nurses’ station, outside the surgical wing, and Tate waited while Dace got her update on the patient. He was still in surgery, in critical condition, but the bullet that hit him missed his vital organs. Due to his young age and overall good health, the surgeons expected the victim to survive and to make a full recovery, barring unforeseen surgical complications.
Sitting on an uncomfortable plastic-covered bench, Tate yawned and stretched. His nights were usually hectic, and ended around six a.m., after he closed the bar down and did the paperwork. It was growing close to that time now, and he was ready for a shower and some shut-eye. It had definitely been one hell of a night.
What he really wanted to do was to talk Dace into going back to his apartment; they could finish what they started earlier and his sleep could wait.
He watched while she walked back toward him, still sipping her coffee. Stained scrubs, messy hair and all, he was attracted to her even more than when she first walked into his bar. He admired her intelligence, her spirit, and—most of all—her attitude. He didn’t know another woman who would be so calm and collected after the events of the past night. He was willing to bet there was a backbone of steel inside her small body. She didn’t just survive chaos; she thrived.
He was capable of handling difficult situations, not just from his military training, but also from managing a biker bar, and the ability to cope was something he admired. He had patrons get out of line, or push him to see just how much they could get away with. Nobody messed with his servers, and nothing outside the law happened in his place; he saw to it personally. A few of the motorcycle clubs who passed through got rowdy from time to time, but so far he’d handled everything without having to call the police.
Dace sat down next to him on the bench, and sighed as she leaned back against the wall.
“You got good news; he’s going to make it. Why the sigh?”
“The surgery went well, yeah; but I have to call the dealership in a few hours about my car. Then I have to go rent a car so I can get back and forth to work for a few days until mine is fixed. Ugh.”
“Use my truck.”
She sat up straight and looked at him. “What?”
“Did you forget I live above the bar? The commute for me is a stairway. I think I can handle being without a vehicle for a couple days.” He grinned at her. “Besides, I can always call you up and ask for a ride if I need to go somewhere.”
“Are you sure?”
“If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have offered.”
They sat in companionable silence for a couple of minutes. Tate pulled out his cell phone, and punched in the number for the local taxi service, requesting a pickup at the hospital main desk in thirty minutes.
“Do you want to wear those scrubs out of here? You’ve got time to shower and change before the taxi gets here.”
Dace twisted her mouth in a wry grimace. “Actually, this is—was—my last clean pair of scrubs. And shoes. Guess I’ll have to wait till I get home.” Abruptly, she dropped her head into her hands. “Oh geez. My purse and everything from my car is at your bar. I have to go home with you before I can go home.”
He gave her a sideways look as he arched his brows. “And this is a bad thing because…”
She opened her mouth to respond, and then started to laugh. “You are thinking like a guy again, aren’t you? Yes, you are irresistible, and I bet you’ve heard that before. If you’re keeping score on sexual interactions, it’s one-zip in my favor, and unless you are into clothing covered in biohazardous fluids, you won’t be getting lucky anytime soon.”
This woman rocked his world. There was that crazy sense of humor again; the roll-with-the-punches confidence that kicked ass. No false modesty, no pretense of uncertainty about further intimacy; it would happen, but she wanted to clean up first. He could get behind that, since he could use a shower, too. Maybe he could talk her into showering together at his apartment; he could offer to wash her back, along with a few other places…
“Let’s head toward reception. We can grab another cup of coffee while we wait for our ride.”
She stood up and held out her hand. Without hesitation, he took it, lacing his fingers through hers as he stood and they started walking.
“I’ll warn you; the apartment hasn’t been cleaned in a while, but I changed the bed and did laundry yesterday.”
Dace grinned. “That works for me.”
Winding their way through the myriad of corridors, they reached the reception area and sat to enjoy their coffees while they waited for the taxi. Tate kept hold of her hand, and she enjoyed the feel of his hard palm against hers. Dace laid her head against his shoulder and had almost dozed off when she heard Tate speak.
“Uh-oh. We’ve got company.”
She sat up, and saw Whip and his crew from the Dark Riders MC moving purposefully through the lobby. They were heading toward the receptionist desk when Whip caught sight of Tate and changed directions. He walked up in front of them, and Dace felt Tate’s arm muscles tense.
“Campbell.”
“Whip.”
Greetings exchanged, Whip got down to business, his eyes on Tate. “Heard you had an eventful night. Excitement in the parking lot.”
Tate shrugged. “It got handled.”
“So I heard.”
“Who started it?” Tate’s face was carefully blank.
Whip scowled. “My sources tell me some pendejos in a black pickup truck came around looking for trouble. Maybe they found some.”
Tate crossed his arms in front of him. “That kind of trouble I don’t want, not in front of my place. If it happens again, you and I will talk.”
“That’s why I’m here, Campbell.”
Tate raised his eyebrows. “Your crew rode off, Whip, after one of your prospects took a bullet in my parking lot. What exactly are you here for?”
Whip looked at Tate. “To give respect. I understand your woman is a doctor, and she took care of my boy until the ambulance came.” He moved his gaze to Dace. “Appreciate what you did.” He nodded his head, and turned back to Tate. “He wouldn’t be alive to get patched in if she hadn’t saved him. From now on, no more trouble at your place, guaranteed. I put out the word.”
Dace spoke up. “And what about the black pickup truck?” She felt Tate’s arm slide around her shoulders and pull her to his side, but she kept talking, too tired to be afraid. “They could have killed someone. Does your word take care of them?”
Whip looked at her, his black eyes
cold and flat in his scarred face. “Like I said, they were looking for trouble, and maybe they found some. And maybe some trouble found them instead.” He moved back, and gave Tate another chin jerk. “Appreciate it.”
Tate nodded, but didn’t speak.
Whip and his boys walked back toward the receptionist, presumably to ask about his prospect.
After a moment, Dace looked at Tate. “Are you okay? This won’t be a problem for you or anything, will it?”
After a moment, Tate shook his head. “No. The favor was done for Whip without him asking, and it was a big one; you saved his prospect. He feels he owes a marker because of what you did, so Shooters has his protection. Might be a good thing, keep some of the rowdier MCs away.”
Dace chuckled. “I should have warned Randall. Somehow I don’t think he’s ready to finish up the surgery and face a bunch of scary bikers claiming to be his patient’s nuclear family.”
“If he’s as tough as you, he can handle it.” He looked at Dace. “I’ve got a couple things to ask you, though.”
“So ask.”
“Dace is an unusual name. It sounds masculine; did your father want a boy?”
She grimaced. “No. I started using it after high school. My full name is Candace.”
“Doctor Candy?” Tate couldn’t help it; he started to laugh.
She waved dismissively. “Don’t bother with the jokes, I’ve heard them all. Do you think a patient or their families will take me seriously once they hear my name is Dr. Candy? I decided I wanted a serious name for my serious job, and now I have one. Next question?”
Waiting for him to speak, she reached forward and grabbed a package of Valentine conversation candy hearts out of the dish on the coffee table, and ripped it open. “Man, I love these things. These messages are too funny; like truth-or-dare for budding relationships.” Dace looked up at Tate. “One of the few things I actually like about Valentine’s Day; humorous and low in calories.”
She held up a pink heart. “Hug Me Tight.”
In response, Tate hugged her.
“See? It works.” She held up a green heart. “Cutie Pie.”
I Love You Page 4
