Dawson scanned the small space. He spotted a bottle of over-the-counter medication next to the sink. Lifting Grace to his shoulder, he retrieved two pills and filled a glass of water. He handed them to Peyton. “Take these.”
She ignored his outstretched hand. “Did you hear me? He came here for Grace.”
“I’m not deaf. Now take the medication, Peyton, before you pass out from the pain.” He waited, and when she stayed still,sighed. “Please. You can’t help anyone if you don’t take care of yourself.”
She took the medication and drank the water. “It’s annoying when you’re right.”
His mouth quirked. “I know.” Dawson eyed the coffee table, and after deciding it would support his weight, perched on the edge. It creaked in protest. He reached out, his fingers gentle as he lifted a lock of her hair away from her face. A cut marred her jaw. It didn’t appear deep, but it had bled enough to stain her throat and her sweatshirt. His thumb hovered near the wound, close enough to feel her warmth but not close enough to touch.
He gritted his teeth and mentally swore that the men who’d dared to lay hands on her would be brought to justice. He’d make sure of it. “Did you get a good look at the attacker? Enough to ID him?”
“Yes.” Peyton moved away from his touch, using the corner of the blanket to wipe the tear tracks from Grace’s cheeks. “Caucasian male, 5'10 and 180 pounds. Brown hair, brown eyes. Had a tattoo on his neck—couldn't make out what it was—but the top was blue and red. And he was wearing steel-toed boots.”
She gestured toward the plastic toolbox on the ground. “He carried that. Forensics might get prints.” Irritation made her nostrils flare. “I can’t believe he got the drop on me. That’s the second time in 24 hours I’ve been disarmed, and you best believe, there won’t be a third.”
“Calm down there, tiger. You’re dealing with a concussion and enough bruises to leave a boxer down for the count.”
“Still…I’m a law enforcement officer. I know better. If you hadn’t shown up when you did…” Peyton paused. “Wait a second, what are you doing here? How…” Her gaze narrowed. “You never left the hotel after dropping us off, did you?”
That it took her so long to put two and two together was a testament to how much pain she was in. “No. I rented the roomnext door. It was the best way to make sure you and Grace were safe.” Dawson had hoped he was wrong about his suspicions, but after this second attack, there were no doubts. “Whatever trouble Lilia was in, it’s now on your doorstep, and we need to make a plan.”
“What kind of plan?”
He couldn’t believe he was about to suggest this. “You and Grace should come stay with my family. The ranch is secure, and my parents can help care for Grace while you recover from your injuries.” He met her gaze, already sensing her resistance. “You’re exhausted, overwhelmed, and hurt. There’s no shame in accepting my help.”
She was silent for a long moment. “I can't keep leaning on you, Dawson. It's not fair. To either of us. Things are different now.”
“You’re right. They are. You made sure of it.”
Silence hung heavy between them after his harsh words. He could feel it, rolling just under the cap of his control. That pent-up anger and sadness about the way things ended between them. After Samuel's death, he'd done everything he could to hold them together. He'd been patient. Loving. A rock she could hold on to in the storm of her grief.
Instead, Peyton had just drifted further and further away. She refused any offer of help. Counseling. Church. Everything he did made her mad. She lashed out. Then fell into silence. Until that final day, at the kitchen table, when she announced the decision to get divorced.
Ten years of being in love. Three years of marriage. Over. Just…done.
He’d deserved better. Dawson knew that. And here was another chance to walk away from this situation. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t in his DNA. Peyton had been his wife. He’d stood in a church and promised before God to honor andcherish her. They were not vows he took lightly. Dawson wasn’t interested in repairing their marriage—that was dead and buried—but he also couldn’t pretend Peyton meant nothing to him. She was in danger. Grace too. The best way to protect them both was on his family’s ranch, behind surveillance cameras and armed ranch hands.
Dawson drew in a breath and tempered his tone. “Things are different between us now, Peyton, but these aren’t normal circumstances. You need help. I can provide it.” He paused, struggling to put what he was feeling into words. “Before we were together as a couple, we were friends, and I know if the roles were reversed, you’d do the same for me.”
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.
“Knoxville Police Department.” The voice was authoritative.
Dawson handed Grace off to Peyton before crossing the room and peeking through the keyhole. Officer Tucker Colburn stood in the hall. Dawson opened the door and greeted his colleague.
A former Army Ranger, Tucker’s auburn hair was shorn in a military-style haircut, and his sharp-eyed gaze missed nothing. He took in the formula cans scattered on the floor, Peyton’s injuries, and the tension in Dawson’s stance with the practiced efficiency of a soldier assessing a battlefield. “Everyone okay? Should I call for the paramedics?”
“Yes,” Dawson said.
“No,” Peyton replied at the same moment.
Tucker’s brows raised, and he shot a questioning glance at Dawson, who shook his head in exasperation. If Peyton wanted to refuse medical attention, he couldn’t force her. Instead, he focused on what he could control. The case. He ran through the attack and then led Tucker to the balcony. “The assailant went that way.” Dawson pointed to the alley between the buildings. “You should conduct a grid search for evidence. And call Liam.He’s the primary investigator on this case. He’ll probably want to take Peyton’s statement himself.”
The next few hours were spent handling the monotonous details of an investigation. Cataloguing evidence, questioning witnesses, and photographing the scene. Dawson stood on the balcony and watched as the sun came up over the freeway as officers swept the property. Peyton and Grace were napping in the bedroom.
The sliding glass door opened behind him. A moment later, Detective Jax Taylor appeared by his side, holding a couple of to-go coffees.
Surprise flickered through Dawson. Jax was supposed to be in Louisiana helping his cousin move to Knoxville. “Aren’t you on vacation?”
