Serve ‘N’ Protect by Tee O’Fallon

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.

“Oh. Right.” She stepped on the gas, following the big blue signs with the white H. Looked like Mr. Ornery was solidly back in place. As she made the turn for the hospital, she wondered what made a person so grouchy. In her family, no one was ever grouchy for long. The Morgans had enough happy genes to make half the world smile.

Before the accident, she’d had those genes, too. Whether it was on the pavement right after the accident or during one of her too-many-to-count follow-up surgeries, her share of those genes bled out, along with a gallon of her O negative. In its place was a whole lot of pessimism and snark.

Slowly, she pulled into the Emergency Room drop-off circle, trying not to run over the hordes of people milling in front of the entrance. What in the world was going on here today? Then she noticed the news vans parked in the side lot. A number of the people in the crowd hefted heavy video cameras on their shoulders. The only thing holding the press back were the three hospital security officers as they formed a human barrier on the curb.

If it weren’t for the media hounds, she could have gotten nearer to the entrance. She parked as close as possible to the doors, which wasn’t close at all, especially given Markus’s semi-conscious condition and his size. With her legs achy and about to give out on her as it was, getting him to the door by sheer strength alone was about as likely as flying him into the ER on a magic carpet.

Luckily, an abandoned wheelchair sat on the sidewalk. Markus had closed his eyes again, but his chest rose and fell steadily. The hair on Ghost’s spine stuck straight up as he stared through the windshield, his lip curling and looking ready to take a chomp out of Channel Five’s cameraman. She’d hate to get on that dog’s bad side.

Cassidy cracked the windows to let some fresh air in for the dog. “Sorry, Ghost.” She gave him a quick scratch under his chin then pointed an admonishing finger at him. “You’ll have to stay here. Please don’t scratch the upholstery and definitely don’t leave me any little gifts.”

Ghost jerked his head back a fraction of an inch, giving a short but distinct snort of annoyance as if she’d just insulted him. Well, maybe she had. Only time would tell.

She shut off the engine, grabbed her cane, and made her way around the hood to Markus’s side. The reporters didn’t even seem to notice she was there. She rolled the wheelchair as close as possible to the bug then opened the door. “Markus.” When she touched his shoulder, he jolted awake then grimaced, pressing a hand to his abdomen. “Sorry. We’re at the hospital.”

His dark, nearly black eyes widened as he stared straight ahead. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” She followed the direction of his gaze to the press.

“What are they doing here?”

“I have no idea. They were here when we pulled up.”

“Do you have a hat or sunglasses?” he asked.

“No. Why?”

Dark brows drew together, and the tendons in his jaw flexed, emphasizing the lean, sculpted structure of his face. “Are there any other hospitals around here?”

“No.” She planted her fists on her hips, the cane dangling against her leg. “What are you worried about? Are you an escaped felon or on the FBI’s Most Wanted list?” No sooner had she said the words than she realized she still knew next to nothing about this man. He could very well be an escaped felon or gracing the top of that infamous federal list. Maybe he’d been injured evading the police and was on the lam, if they still called it that.

A shaft of worry crept up her spine, but there’d been no way she could have left him on the floor in John’s house, bleeding and unconscious.

When he turned to her, his expression tugged at her way too soft heart. His eyes emanated rage, that was for sure, but there was also an unexpected smidge of fear pinging around in that dark-as-night glare. She couldn’t pinpoint why, but something told her this man wasn’t accustomed to asking for help.

“Just roll me past them as fast as you can.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised, which didn’t really mean much. With her leg, they’d be lucky to break a quarter of a mile an hour.

She inched the chair closer and hooked her cane on the back. Markus reached for the grab handle above the door and pulled. His face went taut and he stifled a deep groan. She slipped her hand behind and around his back to assist him. Thick muscles bunched and strained. Whoever this guy was, he was no stranger to a gym.

Gritting his teeth, he heaved himself the rest of the way and practically fell into the chair. She was about to close the door when Ghost jumped over the console onto the passenger seat.

“Stay,” Markus ordered.

Ghost froze like a statue, allowing her to close the door. The man certainly had a well-trained dog. Hopefully, he was trained enough not to go all Cujo in her bug.

“Here we go.” She pushed the wheelchair toward the doors, noting that Markus had lowered his head, shielding his face with his hand. Without the cane, she had to lean heavily on the chair’s handles, but that didn’t help their pace any.

“Can you go faster?” he snapped over his shoulder.

Apparently, he was more coherent now. Loudly coherent. She gripped the handles tighter. “I’m going as fast as I can. Maybe if you’d nearly had your leg severed in a car accident, you’d be crawling at a snail’s pace, too.” Oh, crap. Whining about her accident wasn’t something she normally did, except maybe to herself. No matter how much she wanted to forget the last year of her life, it was impossible.

He twisted his head to look at her, shock evident in his intense black eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well, how could you? We only met five seconds ago.” She pushed harder, rolling the chair faster. “Excuse me,” she said to the back row of reporters, who completely ignored her. “Move aside,” she bellowed, venting anger she didn’t know she had in her.

The effect her outburst had on the horde of reporters reminded her of Moses parting the Red Sea. A clear swath of curb opened up and she pushed the chair straight through and into the ER. The entire time, Markus kept his head down and his hand obscuring his face. Like a felon?

For literally the third time since they’d met, she worried he was a wanted criminal. True, he might have a perfectly non-felonious reason for not wanting anyone to see his face, such as being a disgraced ex-contestant on Survivor or some other reality TV show. But still…

That’s it, her mind screamed. Stick to your guns. Drop him off, make sure he has money for a taxi or an Uber, then leave. After that, she could lock Ghost up somewhere safe in John’s house and get back to work.

Two hours later, Cassidy still sat in the waiting room, fidgeting with her zipper. People came and went, most with sad expressions, and her heart went out to them. Markus was somewhere in the bowels of the ER, being examined, or stitched up, or X-rayed, or one of a thousand other horrible things that went on here. Sadly, she knew more about being in a hospital than most people ever would.

With a shake of her head, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. I can’t do it. That was exactly why she could never leave Markus here alone, no matter who he was. The man was physically strong, that much was obvious from all those muscles she’d glimpsed back at John’s house. Sometimes, physical fitness wasn’t enough. Sometimes, all it took was another car jumping the divider to shatter a person’s world and leave them as helpless as a newborn baby.

But there was no need to be naive. How did she even know for sure that Markus hadn’t broken into John’s house and was freeloading while he recovered? Stupidly, she’d completely forgotten to grill him about how he came to be staying next door, or if he even knew who John was.

Cassidy cued up John Freeman’s number and hit the call button. Chances were he wouldn’t answer, but he always got back to her. To her surprise, he picked up. “John, it’s Cassidy,” she said. “I need to ask you some questions about the guy staying in your house.”