Page 5 of Serve ’N’ Protect

“You watch too many cop shows,” she said, zipping his jacket up the rest of the way. “Hang on. We’re about to brave the great outdoors.” When the door opened, Ghost shot out first. “Oh, shoot. Ghost!” she called out. “That’s his name, right? Come here, boy. Back inside.” Ghost ignored her. “What do you want me to do with him? I can’t leave him out there alone. He might get hit by a car, or stolen, or—”

“Take him with us.” Although, he appreciated her obvious concern.

Her eyes widened. “To the hospital?”

“He can stay in the car. There’s no way he’ll go back inside.” What he couldn’t tell her was that Ghost was a highly trained Secret Service police dog, one that would never leave his injured partner behind.

“Here’s the thing. I love dogs, but if he scratches the heck out of my car or pisses all over it, it will be on your dime.”

“He won’t.” I don’t think.

She hesitated, then, with great difficulty and a lot of groaning, got him out the door, down the steps, and into the passenger side of an old celery-green VW bug. How she did that, he didn’t know. According to Sun Tzu, If the mind is willing, the flesh could go on and on… Regardless, whoever this woman was, she was a helluva lot stronger than she looked. The only question was whether or not she could be trusted.

If she gave up his location, intentionally or accidentally, he was a dead man.

Chapter Three

Cassidy drove as fast as she dared. The hospital was a solid thirty-minute drive, another downside to living in a fairly isolated part of the state. Five more minutes and they’d be there.

Her passenger’s eyes were cracked open, so that was good. His complexion, on the other hand, was still on the Elmer’s Glue side of white. Not good. Every so often his dog—Ghost—nuzzled the side of his head, as if he, too, needed to make sure his owner was still alive. Of course, Ghost could also be resting his head on the guy’s shoulder because the dog was so big, he barely fit in the back of her little VW bug. For that matter, the dog’s owner barely fit.

The man’s thickly muscled arm pressed against her shoulder, barely leaving her any room to manipulate the steering wheel. Long legs she suspected were equally muscular didn’t have enough room to stretch out, and his knees were jammed against the glove compartment. Every time she hit a bump, she heard the top of his head thump against the roof of her car.

A throaty rumble came from the dog’s throat as he kicked in with another round of anxious licks to the man’s cheek and ear. Only then did she realize the guy’s head was lolling some, and his eyes were more closed than open now.

“Hey!” She elbowed him, instantly regretting it when he grunted. Great. I probably jabbed his knife wound. “Don’t even think of dying in my car.” On the one hand, she was kidding. On the other? That knife wound was scary-looking.

“Okay,” he mumbled, reassuring her that he was indeed still alive and somewhat coherent.

From the corner of her eye, she caught the gentle way he rubbed the backs of his big knuckles along the underside of Ghost’s jaw, as if inherently understanding the dog needed proof of life.

Man and dog obviously shared a close bond, although she couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else at work here. The dog was so attuned to this guy, it was almost…human. And crashing through a window to get help? Amazing. Like dog-of-the-year amazing. John Freeman might not see it that way, though, not with a gaping hole in his living room window. With John being something on the order of seven thousand miles away, it was up to her to make sure his tenant had it fixed before bolting and leaving John footing what promised to be a rather large bill.

The plan was to drop this guy off at the hospital, make sure he was in good hands, then get back to working on that audit. He hadn’t brought up the whole they’ll-try-to-kill-me thing again, so she assumed he was telling the truth about being delirious at the time. Then again…knife wounds? The safest thing to do was to drop him off and say see ya later alligator.

“I was kidding about the dying thing.” But not having any medical training, she really couldn’t be sure.

“If I do kick it, I promise not to leave you with the funeral bill.” His voice was deep, gravelly.

“Still ornery, I see.” She turned off the highway onto the access road.

“I’m not ornery,” he growled. “Maybe it’s your bedside manner that’s making me cranky.”

She held back a smile. If he was capable of coming up with a snappy comeback, he probably wouldn’t croak in her bug after all. “What’s your name?”

A long moment of silence before, “Markus.”

“Markus what?”

“What’s your name?” he asked, ignoring her last question.

“Cassidy. Cassidy Morgan.” She stopped for a red light and looked at her passenger. Markus really did look like a sardine stuffed into one of those flat metal tins. “My family owns the hardware store in town, Morgan’s Hardware. You’ve probably heard of it. Everyone has.”

“I’m not from around here.” He closed his eyes, muttering, “Green light.”

“What?”

“Green. Light.” With a hand big enough to pound six-inch nails through a board without a hammer, he pointed to the windshield.