by Jay Hogan
“Follow up at the hospital and see what you can get from our injured guys and this one.” He indicated Michael. Then he dropped a hand to rub the shepherd’s head. “A right royal fuck-up, eh, Paris?”
Josh sighed loudly. “Sorry, sir.” His ears flushed pink, his mouth set in a grim line.
The older man laid a hand on his shoulder. “You did good work tonight, Rawlins, you and Paris. We’ll get the man. I heard you got roughed up a bit. You okay?”
Michael frowned and ran an eye over Josh again, but he looked okay.
“I’m fine.” Josh brushed his boss’s concern aside. “Nothing serious. I just didn’t get a damn look at him.”
Hanover shrugged. “It is what it is. Don’t sweat it.”
Josh didn’t seem reassured, and Michael almost felt sorry for the jerk. Almost.
He gathered up Paris’s lead, then slid those mahogany eyes over Michael’s chest, lingering on his piercings. The heat emanating from the man’s stare could have set Michael’s chest hair on fire, even though his outward expression suggested he’d swallowed something nasty instead, but Michael wasn’t fooled. Yep. Gay, bi, curious… or just a fucking closet case? Yeah, that would make all kinds of sense.
Pondering the options, he was caught off guard when Josh leaned in and lowered his voice, his lips inches from Michael’s ear. “You might wanna put a shirt on and button your jeans before you leave, doctor. Just saying.”
Instinctively, Michael glanced down and… shit. Sure enough, his jeans were still unbuttoned, and with the fly partway down, he was lucky his junk wasn’t waving in the breeze. He lifted his eyes and cocked his head. “I’m touched you noticed. I’d offer you the honours since it appears you’re so interested, but it’s a bit crowded in here, don’t you think? I suppose a date is out of the question?” He added a wink for pure piss-off value.
Josh’s cool demeanour faltered just for a second before sliding back into casual distaste, which surprisingly stung.
“You’d be right about that,” he answered flatly, turning for the door. But he didn’t leave. Instead, his shoulders dropped with a sigh and he turned back, a softer expression on his face. “Still, thanks.”
Michael raised a questioning brow.
“For Jackson,” Josh qualified. “He’s a good kid.”
And then the arrogant fucker threw Michael a goddamn smile: a fucking sun-shining, riveting glimpse of genuine warmth, humour, and soft appreciation that shocked the hell out of Michael. Goddammit. He’d just got comfortable hating the guy and now everything he thought he knew changed in that one split second. Well, shit.
Josh stroked his dog’s head once and left without even a backward glance, leaving Michael struggling to regain his equilibrium. He blinked slowly and took a few deep breaths.
To say it had been an interesting evening didn’t even begin to cover it, but two things were certain. The handler was crazy hot, and Michael was pretty sure the man didn’t swing straight. Still, even if Michael had glimpsed a very different person behind the prickly front, the bastard was clearly a complicated bag of shit, and most definitely not worth Michael’s interest. Yeah, right. His traitorous cock was rock-hard, at full mast and waving a white flag in dispute. With a quick check to make sure no one was looking, Michael rearranged his dick, buttoned his fly, and grabbed his shirt from the floor. Nope. Not even remotely interested.
CHAPTER TWO
JOSH FUMED. The last thing he needed was to be bogged down in rambling witness statements and hospital red tape, not to mention that damn doctor up in his face again. The guy was trouble—mouthwatering, sizzling, blue-eyed trouble. Exactly the trouble Josh went out of his way to avoid. Rocking that athletic body, stunning tats, and fucking nipple piercings, it was all Josh could do not to drool on the fucker’s shoes, but the guy was a player, and Josh didn’t need another one of those in his life ever again.
Discovering the arsehole was a doctor had been a bit of a surprise, sure, but it didn’t change the facts. Shitheads came in all walks of life, something Josh was well aware of. The whole night had been a balls-up crap-fest from start to finish. Called in as backup to the drug sweep, they’d been sent inside the club to evacuate and control the crowd and to secure the rear exit. A police dog pretty much guaranteed the immediate attention of all concerned and offered better odds of snappy crowd compliance.
He knew the club, had even been a few times, but it wasn’t really his scene. He’d heard the owner ran a tight ship, and Josh didn’t think the guy was knowingly involved in drugs, but people surprised you. The tip they’d received the week before had been accurate but incomplete. Not just a couple of guys in a car out back selling, but six, and not in one car but three, a regular shopping mall. And what’s more, they’d arrived to find the dealers tipped off and scrambling to pack their shit and get outta Dodge, frantic and armed. It went downhill from there. Out of six guys, they’d hauled arse on only two, and at the cost of two of their own injured. The remaining four had fled into the night, including the guy who’d knifed Jackson.
Josh pulled into the hospital car park and glanced at his watch. Just on midnight. He opened his phone and hit Call, taking a deep breath as the other end picked up. “Hey, pumpkin,” he said.
“Daddy!”
His daughter’s delight sent a surge of warmth through his chest. “What are you doing up at this hour, young lady?” He’d tried for stern, failing miserably. “I expected you to be asleep.”
“Then why did you call?”
“Why did you answer?” he shot back, grinning widely. The familiar teasing banter helped sweep the night’s ugly aside.
“Because you called.” She giggled. “Like, duh.”
He pictured the pout. His eleven-year-old had her mother’s sass for sure. He’d bought her a cheap cell phone, so he could call her direct, never knowing what hours he’d end up working. She kept it with her always. “I called to say goodnight.”
“Good thing I’m awake, then, isn’t it?” came her reply. “Be a shame to miss your call if I was, you know, asleep.”
He chuckled. “That it would, sunshine. I’m just letting you know I’ll be late tonight. Won’t see you until breakfast.”
“That’s okay. Aunt Katie and I watched Frozen again. It was cool. Jamie Collins chucked his drink over my work at school today, so Miss Stevens sent him to the principal’s office, and he has to write me an apology. You should’ve seen his sucked-in lemon face.”
Josh grinned. “Well, you remind Jamie Collins that your dad’s a police officer with a big dog, and he’s planning to visit your school again soon.”
“Oh, Daddy, get a grip,” she scolded.
Josh drew a breath. At nearly twelve, his daughter was growing up. He should be happy, right? Yeah, not so much.
Sasha continued, “Jamie’s not so bad.” She chatted on, “I think he likes me.”
A wave of panic flared in Josh’s stomach. He was so not ready for this. He breathed out and opted for the default position shared by all parents faced with the horror of approaching teenage years: rock-solid denial.
“Okay, honey, I just rang to say goodnight.” He made kissing noises into the phone, and Sasha sent a loud smooch back.
“Love you, Dad.”
“And you, pumpkin.” He hung up and caught a pair of eyes watching him from the back of the car. “Sorry, mate,” he apologised to Paris. “There’s nothing for you to do here. You may as well sit tight.” The dog whined softly and curled up on the floor of his cage. Josh sighed. “Yeah, you and me both, partner. You and me both.”
The ER waiting room was humming. Josh headed to reception, pleased to find one of his favourite nurses behind the desk. He sent Janice a wink as she buzzed him through.
“I should have your butt for that winking shit,” she growled. “Unless I’ve grown a dick I don’t know about recently.”
He blew her a kiss. “You love me, Janice.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she flipped him off. “Talk to someone w
ho gives one. Hard enough finding a decent straight guy in this town without your gay arse clouding up my search criteria.”
Josh leaned in. “A question.”
“Shoot.”
“You got an American doctor on staff?”
“Michael Oliver?”
Josh nodded. “Any good?”
The nurse’s mouth turned up at the corners. “A reason for asking?”
He rolled his eyes. “Just ran into him tonight.”
“Ah.” She grinned. “So, you’re the ‘arrogant, jackass dog handler’ who needs ‘taking down a peg or two.’” Her fingers worked the silent speech marks. “Should’ve guessed.”
“He said that?” Fucker.
“Close. That was the ‘family fit’ version.” Janice cocked her head. “You know he bats for your team, right?”
Josh ignored the question. “Bye, Janice.”
She put a hand on his arm. “He’s a damn good doctor, for the record.” She regarded him over her glasses. “He’s here on some exchange thing, two years, I think. Gorgeous waste of all those genes for us girls, but that works in your favour, I’m thinking.”
He put a finger to her lips. “I’m not interested in the guy. He worked on Jackson, is all. See you later.”
Measured chaos reigned in the trauma room, not an unusual state of affairs for a Friday night. Trolleys loaded with monitors, intravenous equipment, suture material, and all manner of medical paraphernalia littered the corridors. The shouting of orders, ringing of phones, and relatives’ demands for attention provided white noise as staff moved to and fro in an intense dance of attendance and observation. Doctors milled around the central desk, writing notes, talking on phones, or grouped in urgent discussion around X-rays, cardiographs, and lab results, but no American doctor in sight. Not that Josh was looking, much.
He nailed down a staff member and discovered the whereabouts of his two colleagues and the drug dealer. The officer with the stomach wounds was off limits, being prepped for emergency surgery. That didn’t sound good.
The offender, sporting a number of righteous dog bites to his arm, was heavily sedated and being treated with a constable keeping an eye. Josh saw no point in giving the guy more than a cursory check, and he reminded himself to feed Paris an extra biscuit for sinking his teeth through the bastard.
That left Jackson. Josh found his colleague conscious and resting in one of the treatment rooms. The young officer looked pale and a bit out of it with his right arm heavily bandaged from hand to shoulder. His eyelids fluttered open, and a thin smile creased his face when Josh entered.
“Hey, man.” Jackson sounded weak and tired.
“Hey, kiddo. How you doing? Need anything?”
“A slug of tequila or six.”
Josh laughed. “Good luck getting that past this lot, kid.”
“Not a kid. Plus, getting knifed must’ve earned me a fuckload of respect points, right?”
Josh snorted. “Maybe one or two. Probably not gonna make up for that pile of baby fluff you’ve been trying to grow on those cheeks, though.” He scuffed the young man’s hair.
Jackson jerked away. “Hey, careful with the do, man. That styling cost a bomb. Not all of us can roll out of bed looking like a GQ model.”
Josh grinned. “I’d see about getting my money back if I were you. Besides, I’m an old man with a near-teenage daughter. Nothing GQ about me.”
Jackson snorted. “Tell Tomas down in Evidence that. The guy’s been hounding me about you. Told the fucker I’m no gay whisperer and he can do his own damn dirty work.”
Josh laughed. “I owe you.”
“Damn right.”
“So, you get a look at our guy?”
Jackson shook his head. “Nothing decent. European, fast on his feet, and quick with a blade is about all I had time for. Someone must have clocked him, though.”
“Yeah, well, I was otherwise occupied trying to stop my head from ringing after he shoved me into that damn wall. Which means you’ll be in the witness stand for this one, so be prepared. By the way, thanks for having my back there, kid.”
Jackson’s cheeks pinked. “No problem. How about outside? Anyone get a look?”
“Too dark. He ran when he saw us coming, made it behind a parked car by the club’s fire exit, and they couldn’t get to him. That’s why we got you to pop the door open, give him an out. Would’ve worked too if it hadn’t been for the second bastard following him in. Came out of nowhere.”
Jackson licked his lips. “I’m so fucking thirsty. Why won’t they give me something to drink?”
The curtain cracked open. “Because we haven’t decided if we need to amputate.”
Jackson laughed.
The frown on Josh’s forehead deepened. Michael fucking Oliver. Still, it saved him the job of tracking the guy down for his statement.
Oliver continued, “Your arm’s all good, and yes, you can have some water. We just needed to be sure. It was a joke. Maybe not a good one.”
“Smart-arse.” The young man huffed. “So, when can I go home?”
“We’ll need you for twenty-four hours in case that artery gives us any more trouble, but after that you can go. Maybe hold off on the tequila, though, concussion and all that.”
Jackson grinned. “I can do that.”
Josh’s radio crackled to life, informing him his relief had arrived. Finally, something to smile about.
“So….” Michael Oliver took a step toward Josh. “Anything else I can help you with, officer?”
Jackson snorted, and Josh scowled at the young man, who simply shrugged.
He narrowed his gaze at Oliver. “I need ten minutes of your time. See you tomorrow, kid.”
“Not a fucking kid.” Jackson flipped Josh off.
They left the young man to doze on his pain-relief meds, Josh following Oliver to a quieter corner of the ER.
“All yours,” the doctor declared, leaning against the wall, arms folded. “Though ten minutes seems a little on the pessimistic side. I have a feeling we could do a lot better than that.”
Josh refused to bite. “We need a description of the man with the knife, the one in the bar. And can we just stop whatever this is going on here?” He waved a hand between them. “We obviously don’t like each other, so let’s just get this done, and then we can be out of each other’s hair and just maybe we can catch the guy who knifed two of my colleagues, okay?”
Oliver flushed and dropped his hands to his sides. “Yeah, of course. Though, to be honest, I didn’t get more than a three-to-four-second glimpse of the guy. He ran out of the corridor, saw me, looked like he was going to have a go, and then your dog went all Cujo on him, so he took off instead.”
The change in the doctor’s manner was so dramatic that Josh struggled to reconcile the two impressions. “Even so, it appears you’re our best option.” He dug his notebook from the pocket of his trousers.
Oliver seemed surprised. “Really? Well, then: European, about six foot maybe. Dark, wavy hair, shoulder-length, early twenties at a guess, didn’t look drunk or high.” He caught Josh’s raised brows and shrugged. “Everyday triage. I’m trained to pick up on that shit pretty fast. Can’t be 100 percent sure, but let’s just say, he didn’t ring my bells in that regard.”
Josh nodded. “Anything else?”
“Dark sweatshirt, dark trousers, and a silver chain on his right wrist. I noticed because it was the hand with the knife. A tattoo on his neck, right side again, a bird maybe, not sure.”
“Facial features?” Josh pushed.
“Nothing that really stood out. Maybe a scar in his left brow. I only say that because it didn’t match the arc of the other.” He shrugged at Josh’s raised brows. “It’s a doctor thing.”
It was a lot more detail than Josh had expected. “Thanks.”
Oliver cocked an eyebrow. “You’re welcome, and I hope your guys do okay.”
Josh nodded and slid the notebook back to his pocket. Oliver tracked the movemen
t, his gaze resting on Josh’s groin a second or two longer than was comfortable. The guy just couldn’t help himself.
Josh let it go. He was too damn tired. “We’ll need a formal statement tomorrow at the main city station, and they’ll want you to look through our books, but someone will call to set that up for Monday, I would guess. For now, that’s it. Have a good one.” He turned and headed toward reception.
“Hey,” Oliver called from behind.
What now? Josh turned to face the doctor.
“You are, without doubt, fucking gorgeous, you do know that, right?” Oliver held his gaze unflinchingly.
Ugh. The man was infuriating. Josh spun on his heels and left without answering.
MICHAEL ADMIRED Josh Rawlins’s ass for as long as possible until the ER doors swung shut. The guy might be a jerk, but he made a damn fine exit.
A set of soft fingers alighted on his forearm. “I’ll need to mop the floor if you don’t haul that tongue of yours back in your mouth.”
“Fuck off, Cam,” Michael snapped at the ER’s dynamo of a charge nurse. Cameron Wano was a stunning man with flawless cinnamon skin, thanks to a mixed Polynesian heritage, a wide bright smile, and canny, dancing golden eyes. He turned heads for all sorts of reasons before you even got to the makeup. Tonight, his lush black hair was stacked into short spikes gelled to within an inch of their life, and Michael swore he wore two colours of eyeliner, both flecked with glitter. It shouldn’t have worked, but the guy looked like a fucking rock star, albeit with a decided swing to his hips.
“Just saying.” Cameron grinned. “The man has a mighty fine arse.” He elbowed Michael in the ribs.
Michael scowled. Cam was annoying as hell, and the closest thing to a friend he’d made in New Zealand so far. Gay as the day was long, the guy was thirty years old, and five feet eleven of highly capable ER nurse wrapped up in a witty, sarcastic personality that was tempered by a huge heart.
He’d saved Michael’s bacon, along with most of the attending medical staff, more than once through skilled assessment and careful practice, not to mention his ballsy take-no-crap attitude toward the hierarchy. He didn’t care whether you were a cleaner, consultant, or freaking hospital administrator, you’d better have your shit together before you messed with Cameron or his ER and its staff. The man protected his nurses like a lioness.
