Dash of Peril. Lori Foster

course I didn’t.” He’d done this routine with her enough times to know she never let herself get tipsy. She had the slightest buzz—but was as rock-steady as ever. “A few beers, that’s all.”

      “Beer, huh? Longnecks?”

      “Of course.” She varied her routine from one bar to the other, just in case her drinking habits factored in to the minds of the psychopaths preying on their victims. She showed up at each bar pretending to be already drunk and then added to that perception by her loose behavior.

      “I suppose you’re as good at holding your liquor as you are at everything else?”

      Was that a condescending tone she heard? “I know my limit.” Anything she did, she did well. It was sort of family law—if you weren’t going to excel, don’t bother.

      Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, she said, “Well? Let’s hear it. Were you following me or will you claim this is happenstance?”

      “I didn’t follow you, but I was looking for you.”

      “Scouring bars?” And why now? Months had passed without him seeking her out, when she’d been almost positive that he would.

      Not that she was bitter about it or anything. She’d ended things for a reason—a reason that still existed.

      Dash gave an infuriating shrug. “Before you gave up, this is the night we would have met at Rowdy’s.”

      “So?”

      “Call me sentimental, but I miss it.” After the slightest pause, he added, “I miss you.”

      “Really?” She refused to be sucked back in by his charm. The holidays had been almost intolerable—in part because she’d spent too much time thinking about him. Spring was upon them, and with it came a renewed sense of purpose, a purpose that didn’t include Dashiel Riske.

      “Don’t you?”

      “What?”

      In that warm, teasing voice of his, he said, “Miss me.” He shifted, sending electrical awareness into the air. “Just a little maybe?”

      Fond memories made her fight a smile. “We did have some fun.” Rowdy’s bar had quickly become her favorite hangout. Getting Rowdy was a clean but comfortable place that served simple meals, good drinks and fun entertainment, like pool and darts, and a dance floor.

      Best of all, badass Rowdy Yates stayed around to run the place himself. That was incentive enough to turn the staunchest teetotaler into a booze hound.

      Though Rowdy and his bartender, Avery, had married over Christmas, he was still a sinfully gorgeous hunk surrounded by an aura of danger and sensual menace, more than worth a fantasy or two.

      “Admit it,” Dash murmured, watching her with probing intent. “Admit that you missed me.”

      She reluctantly gave her attention back to Dash—and wanted to groan. A lonely streetlamp gave faint illumination to his features, but she knew every nuance of his gorgeous face. No, he didn’t have Rowdy’s bad-boy rep, but his razor-sharp sensuality and construction-worker physique churned up a different type of fantasy.

      Too bad she knew they’d never suit.

      “Maybe,” she agreed. “Just a little.”

      “I’m wounded—especially considering I wasn’t your first pick.”

      No, he wasn’t. She’d initially wanted Rowdy to play her counterpart in the role of bar trollop, but Avery Mullins, now Yates, had already staked a rock-solid claim. Not a big deal because she knew she never would have gotten involved with Rowdy anyway, not beyond a one-night stand.

      “As I recall, you offered.”

      “More like insisted.”

      She inclined her head in agreement. As second choice, she’d accepted Dash’s help with her cover, help she needed to give her a reason to hang around the bar without getting hit on by every lonely sap alive. She wanted to look the part of helpless, vulnerable, female boozer, but she didn’t want to appear too pathetic.

      The first woman who’d escaped had initially been at the bar with a boyfriend. They’d parted ways at the door, and she’d gotten snatched right off the street.

      So Margo set herself up as easy prey by following the same scenario—with Dash.

      “I’d love to know what you’re thinking.” Dash looked her over in a way that felt far too physical.

      That I missed you so much, too. Blocking that response, she asked, “What are we doing here, Dash? It’s getting late and I’ve had a full day.”

      His gaze narrowed, proving she’d hit a nerve. “If you wanted to start back at the bar scene, you should have given me a call.”

      “I’m a big girl. I can handle it alone.”

      His gaze moved over her face. “Do Logan and Reese know what you’re doing?”

      Oh, now that just pissed her off. She settled into the corner of the seat, getting comfortable for this long-overdue confrontation. She would have preferred somewhere less...confined, maybe a location where his presence didn’t fill every inch of her space, where she didn’t breathe in his scent, where his tall, ripped body wasn’t so temptingly close.

      But all she had was the here and now, so she’d make her point and then send him on his way. “You’re confusing yourself, Dash. My detectives answer to me, not the other way around.”

      He disregarded her commanding tone and clear umbrage to say, “So they don’t know?”

      “I don’t answer to anyone, especially not you.”

      As if finally realizing her mood, he raised his brows. “You know it’s dangerous.”

      “I can handle danger.” Hadn’t she spent too many nights being dangerously attracted to him?

      “What if your ploy works and someone grabs you?”

      “That’s the plan.” And yes, it was dangerous. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t right. But deep down, she had so damn many issues....

      “You need backup.” Before she could say anything, Dash whispered, “Let me be your backup.”

      “You and I have different objectives.”

      “I want to sleep with you,” he admitted without reserve. “You want to catch some creeps—so sure, our main objectives are miles apart.”

      Plainspoken Dash. Margo shook her head, denying what he wanted and how his brazen words affected her.

      “But,” Dash said with emphasis, “the two aren’t mutually exclusive. I’d like to see the creeps caught, same as you.”

      He’d like to see them caught. No sign of outrage or disgust at what happened, at what the men did—or what the women suffered.

      Margo blew out a breath. If she involved Rowdy Yates, he would go after the bastards with single-minded intent.

      Dash’s brother, Detective Logan Riske, one of the most honest, honorable, driven men she knew, always attacked injustice. He was seriousness personified.

      Funny how the two brothers were so dissimilar in personality.

      Logan saw her as a sexless superior, not a woman.

      But Dash had been making his interest known almost from the moment they’d met. Unlike Logan, he played at life and enjoyed every moment.

      In many ways, Margo was just like the rest of her family. Being a cop was in her blood.

      But other things...other genetic ties...

      “I’m pretty sure,” Dash went on, interrupting her disturbing thoughts, “that you want to sleep with me, too.”