He was one of the few people other than family who called her that. To the rest of the world she was Margaret, a rigid, by-the-books, untouchable lieutenant.

He didn’t slam the door, just calmly closed it—and walked away, his shoulders hunched against the relentless sleet.

* * *

STANDING BENEATH THE overhang of the bar with snow and sleet trying to blind his view, the chill of the winter storm reaching down deep to his bones, Saul Boyle watched the man exit her car. Must’ve been a short convo. His brother, Curtis, would be pleased.

“She’s all alone now,” he said into the cell.

“The roads are shit,” Curtis mused, and then added, “I’d feel better about this if Toby was with you.”

That made Saul bunch up in jealous anger. “He won’t be available until tomorrow, and then we might miss our chance.”

“There would be other chances.”

He clenched his teeth. “I don’t need Toby. I told you. I got someone to help me.”

“Yes, that pathetic dopehead who needs the cash for his next fix.”

Why did Curtis have to ridicule every decision he made? “He’ll be solid, Curtis. I swear.”

The lengthy pause had Saul sweating before finally, his tone gentle, Curtis said, “I’m trusting you with a lot, Saul.”

“I know.” It made him giddy, the idea of proving himself to Curtis. He was as good as anyone. He was better than Toby. “I got this.”

“Make sure, Saul. I need the police off my ass, not digging deeper into my business.”

“She’s the one leading the dig, so once she’s gone, the others will back off.” Saul started walking toward the van, where his disposable hired hand waited. “After tonight, she’ll be a distant memory.”

“Perfect. Let me know when it’s done.” And with that Curtis hung up.

Anticipation building, Saul grinned as he trod through the accumulating snow. Curtis loved the slow torment inherent in their playtime, but Saul lived for the brutality of a surprise attack—as long as it wasn’t directed at him. Curtis could be unpredictable...but no. His brother was fair. Vicious when necessary, but he knew what he was doing.

Curtis was the brains. It was his money and power that made it all possible. Saul enjoyed being the muscle.

Together, they made an unstoppable team.

* * *

WITH HURT COILING around her, Margo watched Dash go until he disappeared into the darkness. For reasons she couldn’t understand, defeat burned her eyes.

Damn him, why did he need to confuse things?

She turned on her headlights, fastened her seat belt and put the car in gear. With no other cars on the road, she pulled out of the lot and onto the icy street, going slow to accommodate the worsening weather.

The defroster and her wipers couldn’t quite counteract the ever-forming ice on her windshield. Twice she felt her tires slipping and slowed even more. Before the night was over the station would be bombarded with calls. The wrecks would pile up. Hopefully none of them would be too severe.

Lost in deep thought, she’d traveled a little over a mile when suddenly from her left, bright headlights emerged from the obsidian night. Blinded, she threw up a hand to shield her eyes...and several realities crashed through her mind.

She was about to be T-boned; given the speed of the approaching car it had to be deliberate. The impact was going to hurt her, maybe even kill her.

Damn it, now she’d never know what it was like to sleep with Dash Riske.

The last thought had barely formed when metal hit metal with a great grinding crash. The force of the impact jarred every bone in her body. Her forehead connected with the steering wheel...and as a great blackness slowly swallowed her up she didn’t see or hear anything else.

CHAPTER TWO

THE VAN BARRELING toward Margo’s driver’s-side door snapped away Dash’s brooding annoyance.

She was about to get ambushed.

Fear and rage slammed into him, but neither of those emotions would help the situation, so he went on autopilot. Slowing his truck to keep from sliding on the slick roads, he locked his hands on the wheel and said a quick, silent prayer that she wouldn’t be hurt.

Thanks to the shitty weather, he’d made the decision to follow her home to ensure she got there safely. He hadn’t planned on her ever knowing about it, but subterfuge no longer mattered.

His guts twisted when the bulky van rammed headlong into her petite Lexus. Heart hammering, he half-assed parked his truck at the side of the road and, keeping one eye on the van, launched out the door. Knowing he had to reach her, he moved fast, sliding every other step of the way.

Her car careened sideways, spun once and collided with a telephone pole. The air bags released and glass shattered. From overhead wires, clumps of accumulated snow and ice dropped hard.

Even before the sound of the crash faded away on the dark night, Dash reached her. Seeing her demolished door buckled in, the glass everywhere, sent fear jamming into his throat.

“Jesus.” The obscene sound of grinding gears and a revving engine told Dash the driver of the van was okay—and desperate to disengage from the snowbank.

Dash reached for Margo’s door handle.

He jerked at it twice, pulling with all his strength until finally with a sharp screech of bent metal, it wrenched open. Margo lay slumped over the steering wheel and deflated air bags, her small body lifeless.

Carefully, Dash put his fingertips to her throat...and blew out a breath when he felt her steady pulse. Thank God.

How much time did he have before the van freed itself from the snowbank?

And once it did, what would happen?

“Margo? Come on, honey, talk to me.” In case she had neck or spinal injuries, he didn’t want to move her. He pulled out his cell phone and almost by rote dialed his brother instead of 911.

Logan answered with “What’s up?”

“Margo was just in a wreck. Bad. We’re at...” He looked around and found the street signs. “Corner of Second and Main. She’s unconscious.”

Calm and commanding, Logan asked, “Any other cars involved?”

Dash could hear Logan moving and knew he was already on his way. “An old cargo van.” Except for the glare of headlights off Margo’s car and the van, inky darkness blanketed the empty streets. Tension prickled along his spine—he could almost smell the sense of danger.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, but...” Dash could barely believe it, but he knew what he’d seen. “She was rammed, Logan.”

“You mean deliberately?”

Sure looked that way to him. With the roads like an ice rink it was possible the idiot behind the wheel just didn’t know how to drive.

But Dash wasn’t willing to take chances. “That’s my bet.”

A new urgency entered Logan’s tone. “If she’s out, don’t move her unless you have to. But if you get any vibes at all, grab her up and take cover. You got me?”

Fuck. He looked again at the van still trying to rock out of the packed snow. “Yeah.”

“Take her gun if you have to.”

Funny that Logan didn’t even ask if Margo was armed. He knew she went nowhere without a weapon. “Got it.”

Suddenly Margo sat back with a heart-wrenching moan. Blood trickled from her temple down her ear and jaw. Her short, dark hair glittered with chunks of glass from the shattered windshield.

Gasping, she opened her eyes, flinched and gave a weak, muffled curse.

Dash crouched down beside her outside the car door. “She’s awake.”

“Tell her backup and an ambulance are on the way. And Dash? Watch your ass.”

“’Course.” Dash disconnected the phone and dropped it into his pocket. “Sit still, honey. Logan is sending help.”

“Dash?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Was she concussed? He smoothed back her hair and winced at the gash he found near her hairline. He didn’t want to alarm her, but if at all possible, he’d prefer to get her in his truck so they had a way out if it became necessary. “You hit your head. Anything else hurt?”

“Everything.” As if personal injuries didn’t matter at all, she whispered, “The other car?”

“A cargo van.” He glanced that way but behind the windshield all he saw was darkness. “They’re stuck for now.”

Instead of being reassured, she drew her gun and tried to turn toward him—probably to leave the car. The seat belt caught her and she sucked in a painful breath.

“Let me help.” She hadn’t yet moved her left arm, so he used extra care as he reached in around her, gently opened the latch on the seat belt and freed her.

Looking past him, Margo swallowed hard, blinked twice and rasped, “Move.”

Her voice was so weak he barely heard her—but he didn’t try to disarm her. Looking back, he asked, “Any idea who that is?”

“Yeah.” Stark pain narrowed her eyes. “Trouble.”

The wheels of the van finally found purchase. It shot forward a few feet, slewed to the side and, oddly enough, did a U-turn to face them again.

“Ah, hell.” His first instinct had been right. “We have to go. Now.”

Margo clenched her teeth and slid one leg from her car.

Not fast enough. The van barreled toward them again, so Dash did the expedient thing and hefted Margo up against his chest. On a short cry, her body shuddered before going deliberately still.

So brave. So damned stoic.

The van sped forward and he knew he’d never make it to his truck in time. Instead he headed for the sidewalk and ducked toward the questionable safety between two brick buildings. Fuck. No outlet.

Margo groaned raggedly, shifted to take aim and a loud blast sounded far too damn close to his ear.

He nearly dropped her.

Seconds later he heard return fire and hunkered down with her, trying to shield her with his body until he could get them both behind a heavy metal trash bin.

She locked her jaw as he set her on the dirty, icy ground behind the hulking steel bin. A thick layer of ice covered every surface. Her breath frosted in front of her.

“Are you okay?”

Small, wounded, dazed, she still pulled it together and gave him a stiff nod.

He could tell she had extreme pain. From her head—or somewhere else? What could he do about it anyway? More blood ran down her jaw, her neck. An overhead utility light showed the whiteness of her face.

They both heard the van’s engine idling right outside the alley. Not liking their odds, Dash put his shoulder to the giant grimy bin and scooted it catty-corner to provide a few more inches of cover. He eyed the windows in the two buildings sandwiching them. One had bars and was too high to reach anyway. The other would leave them exposed. No way would they get through it without getting shot.

“Dash?”

Absently, not wanting her to worry, he said, “Help will be here soon.” Reassurance and the physical protection of his body was the best he could give. In the refuse, he located a long thick pipe and lifted it. It’d make an adequate weapon if it came to that. He glanced back at Margo. “Don’t suppose you have a second gun with you?”