Read An Excerpt

by Lori Foster

Genre: General Contemporary Romance, Contemporary Romance

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Creeping forward again, Dash put two shots into the van, hitting a tire and the grill. Curses filled the air.

Realizing that their position out in the open wasn’t the best place to be, the attackers gave up. The van accelerated, and even with one tire demolished, it managed to flee the scene.

Dash crept along the brick wall to the open street and glanced out. Nothing but empty buildings and shining ice. The wind howled, reminding him that he was without a coat. He ignored the bitter cold because that was all he could do.

The taillights of the van disappeared into the night, and still Dash watched until the flop-flop-flop of the destroyed tire faded away to nothingness.

When he returned to Margo, he found her slouched against the wall, her eyes sinking shut. Her utter stillness scared him.


She didn’t bother to look at him. Maybe she couldn’t. “Gone?”

“For now.” He hoped like hell they wouldn’t circle around and come back again, but he’d stay alert just in case.

It felt like an hour had passed, but it was probably less than five minutes. Surely backup would arrive soon.

He placed the Glock on the ground between them, lifted his thermal shirt and ripped away a section of his white undershirt.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s okay. I’ll only be a second.” He ducked out of the alley, cautiously approached the main street and found it still empty. All around him, ice sparkled beneath stars and moonlight. Like muted wind chimes, the continuing fall of sleet made a faint tinkling sound. The air was so cold and crisp, it hurt his lungs to breathe.

It would be a beautiful sight if goons weren’t trying to kill them.

As far as the van had gone, it’d take the shooters at least a few minutes to sneak back on foot, but he doubted they would. They had to know the police had been called.

Stepping through the deep snow, grateful that he’d worn his boots, Dash gathered packed snow and ice into the ripped cloth and tied it shut. After one last look around, he returned to Margo with his makeshift ice pack.

He went to his knees beside her, impressed by her fortitude, worried about her lethargy and exploding with protective instincts. “Keep your eyes closed.” With tender care, he brushed the chunks of gravel-like glass out of her short dark hair and off the shoulders of her black wool coat before pressing the ice to her head.

Pain drew her brows together, but she said not a word.

He held the pack in place and looked her over. “Are you hurt anywhere other than your head?”

With exaggerated effort she opened her eyes to look up at him. “Afraid so.”

His heartbeat jumped. Dreading her answer, he asked, “Where?”

A slow, deep breath expanded her chest. Her colorless lips parted for faster breaths until she almost panted. “It’s unfortunate, but my left elbow is dislocated.”