Page 4 of Serve ’N’ Protect

“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.