Peering around the bed of the truck, she saw a big, dark figure looming over a stubby-legged black dog straining toward a to-go container someone had dropped by the front tire of the truck. Oblivious to his audience, the man lifted his foot and prepared to deliver another blow to the cowering animal.
Had the part of her brain in charge of impulse control not switched off at that moment, Roxy might have thought to run back into the pub for backup, but outrage and adrenaline took her down a quicker, risker route. She ran at the man, yelling, “Don’t you dare kick that dog!” and jumped on his back.
The gut-level satisfaction gained from his breathless, “What the hell?” soon spiraled away as he whirled and slammed her into the corner of the cab. The impact emptied her lungs and loosened the chokehold she had around his throat. Before she could catch her breath, he slammed back again, harder. “Git the fuck off me!” he said as big, meaty hands dislodged her arms. She tumbled to the asphalt.
“L-leave the dog alone!” Scrambling to her feet, she lunged forward to protect the animal, still cowering by the spilled food.
“Leave me alone,” he growled and jerked the driver’s door open.
The edge of the side mirror connected solidly with Roxy’s forehead. The parking lot took one sickening whirl before her vision blurred. Her body went weightless.
A disembodied voice grunted, “Rawley can kiss my ass. Deal’s off if he can’t keep a stray dog and a crazy bitch out of my way.”
And then, for Roxy, the lights went out.
Chapter Eighteen
West steered the cruiser toward town, listening to Shaun’s side of a phone conversation with Sheriff Malone, while calculating they’d make it to Bluelick in time for him to catch the back half of Roxy’s second set.
The prospect had him nudging the needle of the speedometer a little closer to seventy than it ought to be. He was in the process of easing it back down to sixty-five when Shaun said, “Hey, Malone, I’ve got a call on my other line. Can I hit you back tomorrow to work out the logistics? Thanks. Later.” Then he switched to the incoming call with a brisk, “Buchanan.”
The voice on the other end was indistinct to West’s ears, but as it warbled on, Shaun sat up a little straighter and glanced at him. “When?”
Something in the look made West’s insides twist. “What?” he mouthed.
Shaun ignored him. “Who made that assessment? Okay. That’s good. Where is she now?”
And just like that, West’s heart shot into his throat. He knew with bone-deep certainty the “she” was Roxy, and something that didn’t resemble “settling in pretty well” had happened. Shaun ended the call and took a deep breath, while West fought not to come out of his skin. “I know it’s Roxy. Just tell me.”
“First off, she’s okay—and that’s according to Ellie, so you can rely on it. They’re at her office right now. Hudson’s with them, trying to get a complete statement, but from what I glean, Jeb found Roxy unconscious in the parking area behind the pub, and—”
“She didn’t eat. Dammit.” He took the turn toward Main Street. “How careless can one woman be when it comes to her own well—”
“No, not faint, unconscious. She got into some kind of altercation. She’s a little bruised, a little banged up. Took a blow to the head and it punched her clock for maybe a minute, by Jeb’s estimate. But she’s recovering now, and Ellie says she’s going to be fine.”
West tried to focus on that last part, but it didn’t stop his anger from boiling over. “Who? Who hit her? I want a name.”
“We don’t have a name. No, I’m not stonewalling you,” Shaun added when West opened his mouth to interrupt. “Best description we have right now is a ‘big guy with an old Chevy pickup’ who was harassing a dog. Roxy didn’t recognize him, but then again, she didn’t get a real good look.”
“Someone else must have seen the guy. Jeb or—”
Shaun shook his head. “No witnesses. Roxy was alone when it went down. She finished her first set and stepped out back to take a break. While there, she heard the dog fussing, went to investigate, and then jumped in to intercede. Literally, as it happens. She jumped on the man’s back and tried to get him in a chokehold. He employed countermeasures and took off. The lot was empty by the time Jeb took a load of empties to the dumpster and found her.”
West brought the car to a halt behind the other cruiser parked in front of the historic brownstone housing Ellie’s medical office. Blood rushed in his ears. His hands shook with temper. Putting aside her first careless choice to go on a break by herself behind the pub, she’d taken on some anonymous motherfucker, alone, without regard for safety, caution, or an ounce of God-given common sense. The predominant question in his head made it past his lips. “What the hell was she thinking?”
Without waiting for an answer, he slammed out of the car and started up the short flight of stairs to the double-hung doors as old as the building they fronted, boasting a fresh coat of paint nearly as dark as his mood. They opened without resistance at the force of his pull, and a few more steps brought him to another door with gold letters across frosted glass. DR. ELLANORA SWANN-LONGFOOT. The sound of duty boots on hardwood told him Shaun followed close behind. Then a firm hand landed on his
