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She didn’t laugh at his weak attempt at humor. “You don’t seem like a guy who tells many jokes.”

“I’m not.”

He’d never been the big cutup on the team. That honor had belonged to his buddy, Little Al—until those IEDs had silenced Al’s gift for laughter forever. Little Al had been the one to come up with Pirate’s name. Daniel squeezed his eyes shut against the image of his dead friend’s body, crushed beneath the chassis of what had once been their LMTV—Light Military Tactical Vehicle. But he couldn’t block out the moans of pain or the smells of blood, and the pungent scents of vinegar and motor oil from the IED itself that surrounded him. Those memories were harder to shake.

“So, I get the extra effort, hmm?” Polly’s fingers lingered a beat longer as she taped the wrap in place. As if she was petting him, trying to pull him back to the here and now, with her. “I’m honored.”

Once he blinked his eyes open and looked up at her, she peeled off her gloves and dropped them in the biohazard bin. Then, to Daniel’s surprise, instead of asking where his mind had gone a few seconds earlier, or even asking if he was okay like most people did when he blipped out like that, she crouched beside Pirate and ran a hand gently along the scruff of his neck.

“Hey, handsome,” she murmured to the dog, scratching behind his ear. “You’re doing a great job taking care of your guy.”

Pirate thumped his tail and leaned into her touch like he’d known her for years.

Right. He shouldn’t be wishing she’d talk to him the same way she talked to his dog. Daniel cleared his throat and stood, accidentally crowding her, and forcing her to lean back to keep a polite distance. “What do I owe you?”

Polly looked up. She had to. The top of her head barely came to his shoulder, and she was wearing those thick-soled clogs, which added half an inch or more to her height. “Nothing,” she answered, gathering the soiled items she’d used. “It’s on the house.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got enough to deal with. Consider it a professional favor.”

“Favor?” He hesitated. What the hell did she think he could do for her?

She laughed. But it was a nervous sound. And suddenly she was extremely busy gathering every last item on her work tray. The hackles at the back of Daniel’s neck pricked to attention.

Polly crossed to the trash and tossed everything in. When she faced him again, her smile had faded. “I was going to ask…if you could walk me to my car tonight. Like, you know…before.”

There was a flicker of something behind her eyes—something unsettled. Wary.

“Did that guy come back here? Is he harassing you again?” he asked, his voice lower now. He remembered the name from the news and the warnings KCPD had put out on him. “Cayden Thornhill?”

“No,” she said quickly, the smile returning too fast to be natural. “I mean, I don’t know that he is. I’m sure Cayden Thornhill is long gone from Kansas City. Everyone else in his crew was arrested. I doubt he’s hanging around waiting for the police to find him. Especially in a place as busy as an urban hospital.” Her expression sobered and she faced him again, tilting her gaze up to his. “I mean, surely he’s smarter than that, right?”

Was she trying to convince him that Thornhill wasn’t a threat? Or herself?

Something else was bugging her. He could see it in the way her shoulders tensed just a little, in the way her hand hovered over Pirate, as if she wanted to pet him again.

But she didn’t elaborate, didn’t pet his dog. And he didn’t push to find out what or who she was clearly afraid of. He didn’t want to get to know her—didn’t want to be attracted to her more than he already was.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to help her out anyway.

“I usually get out of group around eight. When does your shift end?” he asked, after a beat.

“Usually, by now. But I’m covering part of a shift for a friend who went home sick. I’m here ’til nine.” Her gaze dropped to the middle of his chest. “That’s probably too late.”

What else did he have to do? What else did he want to do? “If you want… Pirate and me… We’ll be around.”

Polly nodded, brushing her hand down her scrubs top and trying to keep the relief out of her smile. “I do. Thanks. Tonight about nine, then?”

“Yeah. Tonight.”

Chapter Two

Snow had fallen sometime after midnight. Just a light dusting—enough to hush the neighborhood and leave a soft white crust along the edges of the sidewalks and rooftops. Daniel shoved the square-edged snow shovel down his neighbor Barb Maynard’s front walk. The noise of hard plastic on the pavement scraped against his ears, but the rhythm of the physical work was steady, almost meditative.

Pirate trotted behind him like a furry scout, his tail wagging. Every few steps he paused to snuffle at something interesting, then bounced ahead again, his tan-and-gray coat already speckled with white.

For a dog who’d spent the first year of his life dodging gunfire and eating trash in a desert landscape, Pirate loved the snow. He rolled in it. Burrowed through it. Breathed it in like it was oxygen. Daniel didn’t get it, but he was glad for anything that made the dog happy. Hell, maybe they both preferred the cold—it felt cleaner somehow. Quieter.