Dash of Peril

Opening her seat belt, Margo turned in the seat. “Oh, no!”

Yeah, that didn’t sound good. “Did it stay in the carrier?”

“Unfortunately, no. It’s sort of...everywhere.” Reaching back, she tried to soothe the cat. “It’s okay, Oliver. I’ll get you cleaned up real soon, baby.”

Dash eyed her ass, reminded himself that he was annoyed and told his dick to calm down. He would not be ruled by sex.

Not with Margo.

Not when he wanted so much more. Like everything. “We’ll be at your house in one minute.”

She climbed into the backseat, her rump bumping him twice before she got settled. “Poor, poor baby. It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

Hearing her baby-talk to the cat lightened Dash’s mood. Sure, work was important to her. She might even think it came first, especially now with Yvette so shaken.

But she had other priorities, plenty of them. He’d just have to make sure he was one of them.

When they reached her house, he parked and said, “Let me carry him in for you. You can clean him up while I clean the car and carry in the rest of our stuff.”

Margo tried to deny him. “I can handle it.” She slid out of the backseat and hauled out Oliver’s carrier. “There’s no reason for you to—”

“You’re not getting rid of me.”

Surprise brought her around. “I wasn’t trying to!”

“Bullshit. You’re rebuilding those walls at Mach speed. But I guess you’re forgetting that my truck is parked wherever Reese put it.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He smirked. “So like it or not, I’m going with you to see Yvette.” When she started to complain, he relieved her of the carrier. “I won’t intrude. I can even wait in the kitchen. But I’m going.”

Scowling at him, she folded her arms over her chest.

Until Oliver gave a pitiful meow.

Dash chucked her under the chin and, knowing he had her, turned to head in with the cat. “We’d better hustle if you don’t want to keep Yvette waiting.”

She growled...but she also gave in.

Now as long as she didn’t try to leave him waiting in the car while she talked to Yvette, he’d count the day as a win.

* * *

CANNON CHECKED THE CLOCK on the concrete block wall. He didn’t have to be at the bar until four today. He had plenty of time yet to pound the heavy bag. Wearing bag gloves, he threw a punch. And another. Mixing it up some, he kicked hard, then more punches.

Sweat trickled down his neck, over his bare chest, soaking the waistband of his shorts. He concentrated, clearing his mind of everything else while delivering several hard strikes that worked his shoulders, his arms, hell, every muscle on his body. He’d been at it about half an hour, steadily pounding away his tension.

Sexual tension.

But there was the quandary. He had choices, only none of them appealed to him. The woman he wanted... No.

He struck again, harder, faster, and followed with a kick.

“Looks like we got here just in time.”

Pausing, Cannon turned at the unfamiliar voice, then felt his stomach drop. Holy shit. He put a hand up to slow the swinging bag, his thoughts scrambling before he caught himself and said, “Simon Evans and Havoc.” Stepping forward, he dipped his head in greeting. “It’s an honor.”

Havoc clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re Cannon Colter.”

Evans added, “Your place, right?”

As if he’d never seen the rec center before, Cannon looked around. Gear was stacked everywhere. At the far end, youths sparred under the supervising eye of an older fighter. Toward the back, another fighter worked out while his friend spotted him. People milled in and around and none of them seemed to realize that MMA legends were on-site.

Getting it together, Cannon nodded. “Yeah. I set it up. I had sponsors who—”

“I should confess,” Simon says. “Already know all about it.”

“You do?”

“Saw your last fight.” Hands on his hips, Dean Conor, better known as Havoc in the fighting world, looked around at the various activities going on.

“You watched me?”

“Wasn’t the first time.”

Cannon kept ping-ponging back and forth between comments from the two men. What did their presence here mean? Wiping a forearm over his face to swipe off some of the sweat, he looked at each of them. “Are you recruiting?”

Simon grinned at Havoc. “He catches on quick.”

That only made Cannon’s heart drum harder. He tried for a cavalier shrug. “You said you’d seen more than one fight. You’re here now.” And I know I’m good.

“We want to train you.” Havoc stopped perusing the gym and instead studied Cannon. “You have a lot of skill, but I think it can be improved on.”

“Always,” Cannon agreed.

“Good attitude.” Grinning, Simon rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be fun.”

“What is?”

He held out his hands. “I’ve already spoken with Drew and he’s interested in signing you.”

“Drew?” Cannon’s brain cramped. “Drew Black?” The owner of the SBC fight club.

“There’s only one, right?” Havoc said, and then as a joke added, “Thank God.”

“So what do you say?” Simon waited, wanting an answer.

Cannon opened his mouth—and one of the kids came charging in the front doors.

“Cannon.” Breathing hard, the kid stopped in front of him. “You told me to let you know...”

Forgetting the icons from the fight industry, Cannon knelt down. This particular kid was only ten, and short, and he looked like he’d run the entire way. “Take a breath, Leo.”

The boy inhaled sharply, blew out fast and said, “There’s a black car parked down the street from her house.”

Ice trickled down his spine. His world closed in. “Four doors?”

Leo nodded hard.

Slowly, Cannon stood. “Did you see anyone in it?”

“No. It’s empty.” He rubbed his nose. “Looks like a ’spensive car, though.”

With a hand on the boy’s head, Cannon said, “Thanks. Leo. I’ll check it out. Why don’t you go tell Armie to give you a snack and drink? He’s in back. Tell him it’s on me. Got that?”

Nodding, Leo ran off to the back room to find Armie.

Cannon turned...and almost ran into Havoc. Damn, but he’d forgotten all about him. “Shit. I’m sorry. Seriously. But I gotta run.”

Instead of looking insulted, Havoc asked, “Trouble?”

“Maybe. Not sure. But—”

“You have to check.” Simon nodded and handed him a card. “Give me a call early next week. We’ll work out the details.”

Cannon paused long enough to say, “This is really happening?”

“Damn, I hope so.” Simon had an inexhaustible humor. “If it’s not, Drew will be pissed.”

Havoc added, “And you definitely don’t want to piss off Drew.”

No, he didn’t. “Thanks. I’ll call first thing Monday.” Already unlacing his gloves, Cannon broke into a jog. He had to change out of his sweat-soaked shorts, but he wouldn’t take the time to shower. Uneasiness dug in and refused to go away no matter how he tried to tell himself that everything was probably fine, that there were probably plenty of black cars in the area.

After he stepped into his jeans, he pulled out his cell and called Yvette. No answer.

She could be showering. She might—

“Hello?”

Slowly, Cannon straightened. Damn it, he didn’t know how, but he heard it in her voice, and that gentled his. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

God. His thighs tensed. “I’m coming over.”

“No!” And then, more quietly, she said, “No, really. Grandpa is sleeping and I...I have stuff to do.”

Bullshit. Yvette looked at him like he walked on water. If no one coerced her, she’d want him there.

Every f**king time, no matter what.

Trying for calm control, he said, “Yvette, now listen to me. I’m going to—”

“I need to go now. Thanks for calling.”

The line went silent, sending the queerest sort of panic clawing through him. Shoving his feet into his shoes, Cannon called the bar. He knew he should get hold of Logan or Reese, but he knew Rowdy’s number by heart. On his way out he snagged a jacket, but forgot to grab the stocking cap he often wore.

Rowdy’s wife, Avery, answered the call. He said only, “Get me Rowdy. Quick.”

A second later, Rowdy said, “What’s wrong?”

Cannon didn’t bother with long explanations. “Something’s wrong at Yvette’s. I’m heading there now. Can you send Logan and Reese?”

To his credit, Rowdy didn’t question him. “Will do. And Cannon? Watch your ass, okay?”

“Thanks.” He shoved the phone back in his pocket. It would take him less than ten minutes to reach the house Yvette shared with her grandpa.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

MARGO PAUSED AT THE DOOR without knocking. They were ten minutes late—a delay that couldn’t be helped. She hated leaving Oliver after he’d been sick, so she’d spent extra time coddling him, ensuring he felt better and understood that he’d been returned home to familiar surroundings.

She especially regretted arguing with Dash.

The weekend had been so wonderful that the intrusion of reality seemed doubly harsh. It threw her off, making her testier than she should have been.

Right now, standing on the concrete porch with the hot sun overhead, her frustration level hit an all-time high.

Sensing a problem, she turned to gaze up at Dash. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait in the car?”

Dark eyes direct, he said, “Positive.” He stood very close to her back, reminding her of all they’d shared.

“Now stop stalling.” To preempt any further discussion on it, he reached past her to rap on the door.

Disquiet growing, Margo chewed her bottom lip and looked around the area. “Something’s not right.”

Dash kept a hand on her shoulder. “What do you think it is?”

All the blinds were drawn, blocking the windows. Not unthinkable given what Tipton and Yvette had gone through and their desire for privacy. Shaking her head, Margo listened but heard nothing, no ruckus from inside, no whispered conversations. “I don’t know. I just feel it.”

Dash rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought maybe it was just me.” His hand slid down to her upper arm, intent, she knew, on moving in front to shield her.

From behind them, Cannon said, “Why are you here?”

Margo turned in time to see him bound up the steps. Without his usual hat, his jacket open, he looked hot—in more ways than one. “Cannon. I didn’t hear you.”