Serve ‘N’ Protect by Tee O’Fallon

Chapter Two

Markus York was in deep shit. Even in his woozy state, he recognized the signs. His body was going into shock. He’d seen it enough times in the Middle East. Good men with non-fatal injuries quickly becoming just another statistic. Something he was determined never to be.

He swatted his dog’s muzzle away. Ghost was drowning him in slobber.

“Ghost, knock it off.” His dog whined but did as ordered then tucked himself in tightly against Markus’s side. The dog’s warmth seeped through the blanket into his chilled body, easing some of the shivering.

Outside, a car started—the neighbor’s car, the same woman who’d draped the blanket over him and put on his boots. He barely remembered agreeing to go to the hospital. Laying low had been the plan, but if he died while hiding out, he’d never get the chance to nail the motherfucker who’d done this to him.

Slowly, he pushed to his hands and knees. Ghost’s furry face wavered before his eyes. For several seconds, there were two white German shepherds before they eventually merged back into one. He rested his forearm on the sofa and was rewarded with a shaft of pain ripping through his torso, although not as badly as before. Yeah, that had been stupid.

Against doctor’s orders, he’d done a short walking workout on the treadmill, leaving him achy and exhausted. Prescription meds had more than mellowed the pain. They’d left him feeling no pain whatsoever and stupidly believing he could leap tall buildings in a single bound. So he’d gotten out the stepladder to change a lightbulb then fallen off, face-planting on the floor.

Real smooth, numb nut.

Clumping came from the front steps. The woman was coming back. Going to the hospital was risky, but letting her drive him there was better than being transported in an ambulance. Less exposure. Keeping the number of people who knew where he was—let alone who he was—to a minimum was paramount to staying alive. And it would avoid an ass-chewing of mammoth proportions from his boss.

The footsteps and that odd clumping sound got louder. With a groan, he eased to a sitting position on the floor, using the sofa to prop himself up. This time, the entire room wavered before his eyes, and there were three German shepherds licking his face. Nausea built in his stomach and he had to swallow repeatedly to keep from throwing up.

Shit, but he hated being like this. Hated being injured and hated having to rely on someone else. Especially a total stranger.

With few exceptions in his thirty-five years, he’d been completely independent. Trusting someone else to help him wasn’t in his genetic makeup. The only exceptions were the handful of guys he’d gone through K-9 school with. Kade Sampson, one of his closest friends, was bunking with another of his friends, Matt Connors. Both would be there for him in a heartbeat, but they were at least an hour away in Virginia. She, on the other hand, was right here. He didn’t even know her name. Not that it mattered. He didn’t figure on being in this backwoods town for very long anyway.

The door opened, and a gust of cold air rolled into the room. He tried pulling the blanket tighter around him, but he couldn’t even manage that simple task. In his drugged-out, injured state, he was as helpless as a turtle on its back.

Markus fisted his hand, instantly regretting it when pain lanced up his arm, down his shoulder, and directly to the through-and-through knife wound in his back and abdomen. Before he’d escaped from the emotional torture chamber of his teenage years, Steven had repeatedly and methodically drilled into him that any sign of weakness—physical or emotional—made him a failure. Today, Markus had pegged a perfect ten on Steven’s scale of losers.

Clump. Clump. Clump. He turned his head to see her standing a few feet away and leaning heavily on a metal cane. Now he knew what all that clumping came from.

Ghost’s tail thumped on the rug. His dog trusted her, so that was a good sign. Like him, Ghost didn’t trust easily but was never wrong about people.

His vision still sucked, but at least she wasn’t shifting from one person into three. The one glaring thought in his brain was whether she’d be capable of helping him. Not likely. From the way her baggy jeans hung from her legs, there wasn’t much muscle tone beneath that denim. But again, he had no choice. It was either her or an ambulance, which also meant the cops would show up. They’d have to make a police report with his name on it. Not that he’d give them his real one, but police reports were often made public, and there was no way he could let himself get immortalized on the daily police blotter.

“Let’s get you up,” she said. “Can you stand?”

Good question. Using his dog for leverage, he placed one hand on Ghost’s back, trying to get his feet under him and falling back on his ass. The movement jarred his injuries and he couldn’t stop the grimace or the string of curses flying from his lips. Something about fudge, monkeys, and excrement.

“Interesting choice of words,” she said with the barest hint of humor in her voice. “And here I was thinking my brothers took first prize for imagination. I was wrong. Here. Take my hand.”

Reluctantly, he did. The hand gripping his was tiny compared to his but stronger than he expected. She tugged, albeit unsuccessfully.

“This won’t work,” he muttered. “You’re not strong enough.”

“You’d be surprised,” she said in a tone he could swear was a little annoyed. “Try again.”

“Fine.” She still had that phone in her pocket, and he couldn’t risk her calling 911.

“Ghost, here.” His dog pressed his body against Markus’s side, allowing him to rest more of his weight on Ghost’s back while letting the woman grip his other hand.

“On three,” she ordered. “One. Two. Three.”

He pushed off Ghost. She pulled on his other hand. Markus gritted his teeth through the pain. They teetered, about to go down. Then she let the cane fall to the floor, gripping his forearm with both hands and tugging harder until he was upright. More pain sliced into his wounds, and he bit back the three- and four-letter words on the tip of his tongue. “Easy, Wonder Woman.”

“I told you to let me call an ambulance,” she quipped. “But nooo, you didn’t want me to. So how about being a little more grateful and a little less grumpy?”

“Grumpy?” The room began to spin, and he leaned more against her, wrapping his arms around her body for balance. Again, they both wavered, forcing her to wrap her arms around his waist. The top of her head barely touched his chin. Together, they stood that way for a few more seconds, clinging to each other in a weird little embrace. “For the record,” he said in a slurred voice, which told him the drugs were still very much in his system, “I’m not grumpy.”

“You most certainly are,” she mumbled against his chest, pleasantly warming his skin with her breath.

Her thick hair tickled his chin as he breathed in her scent. “Pretty,” he thought he said, while his fuzzy-as-a-peach brain struggled to define her unique smell. Sweet and…earthy, in a good way. Not in a slimy, dirty, earthworm kind of way, like when he’d ditched school to go fishing with his friends and dug up worms with his bare hands for bait and… Man, I’m really out of it.

“Are you smelling my hair?” She snapped her head up, whacking the top of her skull against his chin and making him blink to clear what was already piss-poor, wonky vision. “Because if you are, I’m outta here.”

When she tried pushing away, he stopped her. “Don’t move.” This thin waif of a woman was the only thing holding him upright. “Sue me for breathing. Just let me get my bearings.” If he keeled over, he doubted he could get up again.

Suspicious blue eyes narrowed on him. At least, he thought they were blue but couldn’t be sure. Hell, his head was so messed up they could be orange for all he knew. Word up. Next time the label says take one pill every four hours, take one pill. Not two.

Through the murky haze sliding over his eyes, he glimpsed the broken window. Did I—? Granted, he was out of it, but he would have remembered busting John’s window. Wouldn’t he? The last thing he remembered was trying to change a lightbulb and— Ah, shit.

He glanced down at Ghost, who pranced nervously, circling them. Tiny flecks of blood covered his muzzle, shoulders, and front legs. Ghost must have seen him out cold on the floor and blasted through the window to get help. There didn’t appear to be any deep gashes or actively trickling blood. Ghost wasn’t limping, either, although he’d have to check him out more thoroughly later. When his brain didn’t feel like mashed potatoes.

The broken window explained why the room was so cold but begged another question. “How did you get in?” he asked, tilting his face to the side of her hair and inhaling more whiffs of her honey scent.

There it is.Hot damn. The word he’d been racking his brain for. She smelled like honey.

“The front door.”

“Was locked.” That was, quite possibly, the only other thing he remembered with certainty. The alarm hadn’t been set, but he’d made sure every door and lower window in the house was locked.

“John told me where he has a key hidden in the backyard.”

Okay, that was another good sign. If John trusted her, she couldn’t be all that bad.

“Are you ready to tango?” she asked.

Aside from being a little snarky, that was. “Yeah.”

She pushed from his chest, and this time he let her. “Do you have a jacket?”

“Closet, by the door,” he answered, taking a hesitant step.

“Wait!” While bolstering him with one hand, she leaned down awkwardly and retrieved her cane. She switched to his other side, wrapping one arm around his waist and leaning on her cane with the other. “Now, let’s go.” She propelled him forward. “If you feel like you’re going to pass out again, don’t.”

Bossy, too.

He was heavy—weighing in around two-thirty. Somehow, she kept him upright and manhandled him to the door. With every step, Ghost never left his other side, panting and watching him as if he fully expected him to fall on his ass again. He’d better not, or John wouldn’t have any windows left.

“Stay here,” she ordered. “Lean against the door while I get your jacket.”

He pressed his forehead to the door, gripping the knob for balance. Ghost parked his furry butt two inches away, waiting patiently. His dog was the property of the U.S. Government, but he was everything to Markus. Friend. Partner. Protector. No matter what happened next, Ghost would never leave him. Hell, he’d jumped through a plate glass window in search of help. Not many people would do that.

She took his left arm, gently pushing it into the sleeve. When his hand poked through, she went to the other side and did the same, pulling his black jacket up and over his back. “Turn around. I can’t have you freezing to death out there.”

“Yes, ma’am.” To keep the hallway from spinning, he turned, very slowly. When his back was to the door, she began zipping up his jacket but stopped and stared at the matching bloodstain on his abdomen. She’s blond, he realized for the first time. If he had the strength, which he didn’t, he could lift his hand and run his fingers through all that thick, wavy hair.

“Did you get knifed in the back and the stomach?”

When he nodded, the whole room nodded with him. “Uh-huh.” Doctors had told him the fucker must have rammed a knife the size of a small sword through his back and given him a nasty through-and-through. It was a miracle it hadn’t cut one of his organs in half.

Big ocean-blue eyes searched his face. She was also prettier than he’d first thought. Pale, creamy skin with a smattering of the cutest little freckles over her nose and full lips the color of strawberries. No, raspberries. He loved raspberries. His favorite fruit.

Those baby blues widened a fraction with a mixture of suspicion and fear. He was in no condition to cuff her or detain her in any way. Hell, he could barely stand upright. But the way she was chewing on her lower lip, he could tell she was mulling over what he’d just said about getting stabbed and reconsidering her promise not to call 911.

Instead of pulling out her cell, she cocked her head. “What exactly did you mean when you said, ‘they’ll find me and kill me’?”

“I said that?” He really didn’t remember. “Must have been delirious.” Deliriously sloppy, and he still was. Blabbing about the truth of his predicament was dangerous. When they got back from the hospital, those pain meds were going down the toilet.

“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.