Fighting Dirty
Page 8

Impressed by her, Armie asked, “What do you have there?”
“Post robbery packets,” she answered, and then to her employees, “Read these again and follow procedure.”
It amazed Armie to see her like this, so take-charge, so in control despite what had just happened. She got a lollipop for the little boy, cans of Coke for the other customers.
With that handled, she turned back to Armie and blew out a breath while looking him over. Neither he nor Valerie had moved. “Oh, Armie.” She took his arm and, treating him like an invalid, started urging him forward.
“Uh...where are you taking me?”
“The bathroom.”
“Why?”
“You’re hurt and bleeding and just standing there.” She stripped his flannel off him and liberally doused the hem under running water in the sink.
Expression far too grave, she gingerly dabbed at the blood from the right side of his face, over his eye and up to his temple. “It looks terrible.”
Valerie silently set a first-aid kit on the sink for her.
When she reached for it, he caught her wrists. “Honey, I’m fine.”
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?”