Lori Foster - Fighting Dirty

Her throat worked and she shook her head, her gaze going just past his shoulder.

“Rissy, talk to me.”

“I can’t believe you did that.” Her brows pinched together and her lashes lowered. “You almost dared him—”

“Shh.” That small, broken voice squeezed like a vise around his heart. He stepped closer, letting her feel his strength, proving he was unharmed. Because he needed to know, and she maybe needed to talk, he said, “The bastard hit you?”

She nodded.

Glancing at the popped button on her sweater, he strangled on fury but kept his tone soft. “He attacked you?”

Her face tightened and she swallowed convulsively. “He... He said he wanted to—”

“Cops are here!”

“College boy,” Armie said, hoping to lighten her mood. “I like him.”

Her tensed shoulders loosened with the interruption, and she turned brisk again. “Yes. He was helpful.” She rinsed her hands in the sink. “I have to go.”

“I know. We’ll talk later?”

At that she half laughed.

“What?”

“You always want to talk.” Shaking her head, she left the small room and hurried to the front to unlock the door. Two uniformed cops came in, guns drawn, but after a few questions and a quick look around, they holstered their weapons and began separating everyone. One of them tried to insist on calling an ambulance, but Armie shut them down on that. Merissa refused, and nooo way in hell was he leaving her. Besides, he knew his own body well enough to know the thump on his head wasn’t anything serious. He might need stitches, but he’d try taping it first.

Shortly after that an FBI agent came in with Detectives Logan Riske and Reese Bareden. Luckily, Armie knew them both through Cannon.

Cannon. Shit. He had to call him. Armie got his phone out, only to find the screen busted. Shit again. Like all the guys from his inner circle, he carried two phones, the second one for emergencies. Because they’d formed a neighborhood watch, the separate phones were set for a distinctive ring so they’d know when one of the others had something urgent going on. But the second phone wasn’t in his pocket any longer. He could only assume he’d lost it during the skirmish.

He was looking around for it when Logan approached. “Damn, Armie.”

“It’s nothing.” And he was getting tired of telling that to people.

Logan frowned. “I’ll take your word for it.” He nodded at the cell phone. “That got broke in the fight?”

“Yeah.” His muscles remained too tense and his temples throbbed. “I need to let Cannon know. If he hears about this, he’ll die three times before he knows she’s okay.”

“I’ll take care of it. Do me a favor and sit, will you?”

“I want to talk to Merissa—”

Logan stopped him. “Sorry. Protocol. You all have to stay separate until we’ve gotten your stories. We can’t risk anyone’s memory being influenced by something someone else says.”

Yeah, that made sense. He didn’t like it, but he wanted the bastards caught.

He looked around, saw that from the couch he’d be able to see into Merissa’s office, where she was currently speaking with the FBI guy. “All right.” He worked his jaw, then sat. Using his flannel, he continued to clean off his face, but yeah, that wasn’t quite cutting it.

He was a mess and he knew it.

“Stay put.” Logan headed to the bathroom but he had his cell to his ear. Returning, he set a stack of paper towels, some wet, some dry, on the small coffee table littered with magazines. “Cannon wants to talk to you.”

“Sure.” Armie took the phone, saying immediately, “I swear she’s okay.”

“Logan told me.”

Armie recognized that deadly tone from his friend. “You’re on your way?”

“Yeah. Logan said all I can do is wait in the car but I want to be there when she’s done. Let me know when it’s clear to see her, okay?”

“Sure.”

Cannon hesitated. “How about you? Logan said your head is busted?”

“Superficial.” He didn’t mention the strike he’d taken to his back. “I’m fine.” Neither of them said it, but a real injury could’ve screwed him on his SBC debut. Not that missing a fight mattered with Rissy’s safety on the line. “Logan’s waiting to grill me. She really is okay, so drive careful.”

Three hours and a million questions later, with dusting powder everywhere from forensics taking fingerprints, they were finally free to leave. Armie had found his emergency cell kicked under the couch, so he let Cannon know they were coming out.

Meeting his sister at the door, Cannon checked her face and cursed over the darkening bruise there.

Before Cannon could ask any questions, she said, “I’m okay.”

He cupped her face, kissed her forehead, then carefully hugged her. “Thank God.”

Next he turned to Armie, and blew out a breath. “Damn, man.”

“What?”

Eyes narrowed, Cannon checked over Armie much as he had Merissa.

“If you kiss me,” Armie said, “we’re going to have a problem.”

Instead, Cannon gave him a bear hug. Low, he whispered, “Thank you for looking out for her.”

“I was there.” And they both knew that meant he’d do whatever necessary to protect her.

Cannon turned back to his sister. “I heard the basics from Logan, but I want you to tell me what happened.”

She nodded. “I will, but later please. Like...maybe tomorrow? Right now, I just want to get home and shower.”

“I guess we can talk in the morning over coffee.”

She angled up her chin. “I have to be at work by nine.”

Both of them stared at her.

She continued in a brisk tone. “Maybe lunch, if you really want. But honestly, I’d rather wait until after I’m done for the day.”

Cannon spoke first, saying, “You can’t go in to work tomorrow.”

Testy, she asked, “Why not?”

They both verbally stumbled, then Cannon said, “It’s Saturday.”

“So? The bank is open.” She slanted an accusing gaze at Armie. “Do you plan to skip the gym?”

He frowned. “No.” At the moment, nothing appealed more than pounding the hell out of a heavy bag.

“So why would the two of you assume I’d miss work?”

Armie half turned his head. “They expect you to come in?”

“They offered me the day off. I said no thank you.”

Wow. Okay, so it could be that, like him, she needed to stay busy. A day off would only give her time to dwell on the violence.

Firmer now, Cannon said, “Come home with me and we’ll talk it over.”

“It’s my decision,” she said, sparing her brother the heat she’d thrown Armie’s way.

“Yvette is making up the guest room for you.”

“Cannon.” She smiled at him. “I love you so much. Yvette, too. Thank you for offering. But really, I don’t want company tonight, and I don’t want to miss work tomorrow. I just... I want to deal with it, you know?”

He touched her chin. “You don’t have to deal with it alone.”

Her bottom lip quivered, and damn it, Armie couldn’t take it. Like her brother, she had an amazing inner strength. Few strong people wanted to advertise their moments of weakness. “Let up, Cannon. She knows she can count on you, but maybe right now she just wants some privacy.” God knew she’d been through hell and probably felt like crumpling. She needed to let go, but she’d never do that with an audience.

“That’s it exactly,” she said quickly, and then with an appealing pout, “Please understand.”

Cannon studied her face, glanced at Armie and finally relented enough to say, “As long as you check in a few times, tonight before bed and tomorrow before work—”

Her laugh sounded of tears and heartache and gratitude. “I bet you drive Yvette insane.”