Page 49 of Shifted

The elevator dinged, and they all moved inside. During the short ride Dalton was acutely aware of Greer standing just in front of him. The heat from her body swathed his chest in warmth, and it brought back the memory of how well she fit there.

They all piled out of the elevator, and Jordana asked, “Greer, where’s your room?”

“Next to Dalton’s.”

“Great.” Jordana walked to number twelve and helped Greer inside.

Dalton opened his door, and Rory followed him in, closing the door behind him. “You gave me a scare, brother.”

He turned and looked at Rory. “I’m sorry. No worrying about me, though. I’m fine. Honest. My head is pretty damn hard.” He knocked his knuckles on his skull, and then immediately regretted doing so.

Rory came over and gave him a hug, which was totally unexpected and caused him to grunt.

“Did I hurt you?” Rory pulled back.

“Nah. It’s fine.” He squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “I really am fine, Rory. Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s just that Chris from the Piston Gulf team said it looked like that car swerved to hit you and Greer on purpose.” Rory’s blue eyes stared at him questioningly.

“It was raining pretty damn hard. Visibility was very poor. Chris must have been over at the hospitality tent. From that angle, it would look weird no matter what. It was an accident.” He hated lying to his brother, but he didn’t want him to take on any other burden. His recovery was the most important thing.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Rory said. “First someone tried to run you off the road, and now this. You’ve been targeted, for whatever reason. You and Greer need to be safe. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Jordana—she’s so happy—but I’m coming around to your point of view. Maybe we should shut everything down.” His phone rang just then, and he answered it. “Yeah, Timo. I’m on my way.” He glanced at Dalton, “You good?”

Dalton nodded. “We’ll talk later.”

Rory gave him a thumbs up and headed out the door.

Dalton kicked off his shoes and slowly made his way up the stairs to the bedroom area and the bathroom. He was desperate for a shower. Two minutes later, the hot spray stung his torso.

His body hurt in ways he hadn’t imagined. It was like being tackled while playing football but without the padding. Greer flitted through his mind. He hoped she wasn’t in as much pain as he was. Damn if she hadn’t scared the hell out of him. She’d looked so damn fine in her jeans and those damn boots she always wore. She was tiny without them and he’d loved it. With them she wasn’t much taller but they’d always made him think of sex. She’d been damned lucky she hadn’t broken her ankle when he’d knocked her off her feet. Jesus, he needed to switch the spray to something more frigid.

Ten minutes later, after putting all thoughts of Greer and her sexy boots out of his head, and finally getting the dirt and grit out of his hair, he emerged from the shower to the sound of his cell ringing. He didn’t recognize the number. He was tempted to ignore it, but finally, he picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey. I was starting to worry about you.” It was Greer.

“Sorry. I was in the shower. What’s up?”

There was a bit of silence. “Um, I was thinking we never got to have lunch. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Interested in eating?”

He patted his abdomen, soothing a sudden rumble. “Yeah. That would be great.” When he reached for a towel, he bit back a pained groan. “Do you think maybe we could get room service? I’m not sure I want to sit in one of those wooden chairs.”

“Sure. How about I go order the food from the dining room, and then I’ll come to your room.”

“Works for me. Get me whatever you’re having. I’m not fussy.”

“Okay. See ya in a few,” she said and then hung up.

Dalton put his phone back down on the counter and dried himself off slowly. This new détente between them was…weird. He was too sore to be angry, and too scared. He was going to have to tell Greer the truth about the car. She would argue with him, but maybe if he was calm and rational, he could convince her to stop. Getting hurt over this wasn’t worth it.

He turned and looked over his shoulder into the mirror. His back was turning into an interesting patchwork of black and blue. Big, dark marks were forming on his shoulder blades and hips. It was only going to get worse. He picked up his phone and texted Rory, asking him to bring lots of Advil with him when he returned to the hotel. He put the phone down and got dressed again in fresh faded jeans and a black sweater.

He went downstairs and peered through the sliding glass doors at the monotonous falling rain, deep in thought.

Did whoever tried to hit them want them dead or just out of the way? If it was the same person who had loosened the screws, then maybe they weren’t trying to kill him and Greer. Maybe they just wanted them to stop investigating. That made a lot of sense. Dalton knew he was going to have to stick closer to Greer until he could convince her to stop the investigation. She wasn’t getting hurt on his watch. Not if he could help it. And heaven help the person who tried.

CHAPTER TWENTY

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