Chapter Three
‡
Dean vibrated with excitement all day, wondering how long he needed to wait before he called Rachel Searles. If he called too soon, she’d know what a geek he was, but he didn’t want to put it off too long because he wanted her to know how interested in her he was.
As he backed into the driveway of a derelict building, one of his favorite spots to catch speeders, he glanced at the empty seat beside him. Though she’d been embarrassed and in pain, he’d loved having Rachel beside him. When he’d touched her, his skin had prickled with awareness.
Rachel had an allure for him that he couldn’t figure out. She wasn’t the prettiest woman he’d ever seen, but she was definitely the strongest. It wasn’t very often that he met a woman who impressed him that way, but she definitely did.
Her face was lean-boned and her golden eyes direct, full of knowledge about a life lived on her terms. She was tall enough that he didn’t feel like he was going to break her if he hugged her, and strong enough that she looked like she could take him down if she felt she needed to. The thought of grappling with her sent a bolt of longing through his cock.
Dean’s shift dragged on. He’d sworn to himself that he would give her a day to recover but as the hours crawled by his determination flagged and he got a little out of sorts. The speeders he pulled over probably wished he was having a more relaxed day because he listened to every convoluted excuse then wrote them out the ticket.
He drove back to the substation, gathered his crap and locked the car. Then he strode into the building. There was only one report to write but several tickets to forward to the courthouse. Killian slapped him on the back as he walked into the building.
“You working out tonight, West?”
Dean nodded. “Yup. I’ll be there.”
He seriously needed to work off some of this anxiety.
* * *
Rachel called Duncan. After she spoke with Shannon for a minute to give her the scoop on what had happened, her friend connected her to the boss of LNF.
“Wilde,” he answered.
For some crazy reason, emotion suddenly attacked her. It took several heavy breaths to calm her unease. “Sir. I’m just returning your call. I’m sorry it took so long. I was in a car crash.”
“Are you okay, Searles? Do we need to come get you?”
Rachel swallowed hard in reaction to his words. The solidarity that every Marine had was so irreplaceable. “No, sir. It happened yesterday. I spent the night under observation for a concussion, but they released me this morning. I’ll be into work tomorrow.”
“Damn, Searles. Are you sure you’re okay to return? You can have some time off if you need it.”
“Thank you but no, sir. I’m pretty sure I can be in tomorrow.”
Come hell or high water, she murmured to herself.
“Well,” Duncan told her firmly, “if you change your mind, stay home. Sometimes the effects are the crash are felt more later on.”
Rachel choked out a laugh. “Oh, I doubt I can feel much worse than right now. In the spirit of full disclosure I should probably tell you they had to cut me out of the car.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
“Shit, Searles! Was this a single vehicle or did somebody hit you?”
“Somebody hit me. Then drove off. DPD is investigating but I doubt they’ll find him. Totaled my car.”
“Damn,” he breathed. “That sucks. That was a nice car.”
She laughed, a little wistfully. “Yeah, it was.”
The car would have to be replaced, too, and as soon as possible. She could ride her bike in the meantime. Assuming she wasn’t too sore to move tomorrow.
“Take tomorrow off. That’s an order. And I’ll leave it open in case you need more time.”
Rachel sighed, knowing it was probably best. She wouldn’t do anyone any good if she had trouble moving in the morning. “Okay, I’ll stay home. Thank you, sir.”
“Quit feeling guilty, Searles. Stay home and get better. I’ll work your ass harder when you come back.”
“Agreed.”
She hung up, exceedingly thankful she had settled in Denver, Colorado. The Lost and Found Investigative Service was incredible. Duncan Wilde had created an environment open to any and every type of former military, as well as any and every type of disability.
When people cycled out of the military, either retired or medically discharged, the servicemen and women were usually left at a loss as to what to do with themselves. The skills taught and encouraged in the service were not necessarily applicable to civilian life. And if they were wounded, or “combat modified”, it made it that much harder to find a slot to fit in.
Wilde had created a company that didn’t necessarily cater to their wounded employees, but did definitely make allowances for, and adapted to, their new lifestyles. He still required that they all attain their private investigator’s licenses and conduct themselves in a business-like manner, as well as perform physically to the best of their abilities. No matter what their disability, every man and woman at LNF played on level ground.
It was exhilarating. And not something she ever wanted to jeopardize for any reason. She had enough sense to know, though, that she could be more of a liability and distraction at work tomorrow than a help.
* * *
Dean waited two endless days to call Rachel, though it almost killed him. Six o’clock. He could call her after six. After his shift had ended and he’d gotten home. But the benchmark had been distracting as hell. Even the guys at work remarked on his being distracted, but he couldn’t help it. Thoughts of Rachel plagued him, until he wondered if there was actually something wrong with him.
The little piece of paper with her number on it sat on the coffee table in front of him, but he didn’t need it. He’d long ago memorized what was on it. The note was just comforting to have.
As he punched the numbers in to his cell phone, he had to pause to clench his quaking hand. Forcing his fingers to move, he finished the sequence then waited, breath held, for her to answer.
But she didn’t answer.
Disappointment swamped him and he had to shake it off. Even as he debated calling her again, the cell phone rang in his hand. Heaving a breath, he swiped a finger across the screen. “Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Dean?” The voice was tentative.
“Yes! Rachel?”
“Yes,” she chuckled. “Sorry I missed you the first time. I couldn’t move as fast as I needed to grab the phone.”
“No big deal. Really. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, I’m up. Achy. Trying not to take the pain pills they gave me.”
Dean could totally sympathize. “I was in a motorcycle wreck a few years ago. Destroyed my right ankle and messed up my knee. I can understand not wanting to take the pills. They knocked my butt out and made me dizzy. And nauseous.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what they do. And I’m bored out of my mind. When I get like this I usually go work out but the doctor said I have to lay off that for a week.”
That sounded like an opening if he’d ever heard one. “Can I bring over some takeout? We can play cards or I can stop and rent a couple movies.”
“Oh,” she sighed, and he could tell she was thinking. “Yeah, that might be okay.”
Though it wasn’t the rousing ‘hell, yeah’ he’d hoped for he’d take it. “Okay, I’ll be over in about an hour.”
“Sounds perfect. Later!”