Page 68 of Simon Says

“Let me see,” he insisted.

She laughed and gave in. “Sure, doc, whatever you say.” Lifting her dress a little higher, she showed an awful swelling bruise on her outer thigh, visible through her shredded nylons. “Not too bad, considering I went down all but the top two steps.”

Simon settled his hand warmly over her thigh, covering the obscene bruise. “Did you trip on something?”

She laughed again. “No.”

The way she said that gave Simon pause. “Then how…?”

For only a moment, she closed her eyes, looking vulnerable and scared. But when she opened them again, she scowled at the other men. “I don’t like having an audience.”

Dean stared at her. “Since when? You’re a performer, remember?”

Simon scowled at him. “Knock it off, Dean.”

Dean worked his jaw. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, he’s right.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “But let me restate that. I don’t like a bunch of guys looking at me like I’m a sad little girl. Don’t you all have something better you could be doing?”

Mallet said, “I don’t.”

Dean drew in a slow breath. “I suppose I should let Roger know, since you fell in his place.”

“I didn’t fall.”

Haggerty shoved an ice-filled towel into Simon’s hands. “Make her use that before she gets any more colorful.”

“I didn’t fall.”

Simon had a bad feeling about this. “Tell me what happened.”

Again, she looked at everyone, seemed to give a mental shrug, and said, “All right, boss. If you want the truth, I was shoved.”

“Shoved?” Mallet demanded. “By who?”

“That’s the funny part. See, I was too busy crashing down the stairs to notice.”

They all looked at each other.

“Well, now.” Haggerty’s voice became all rough and edgy. “Ain’t no shame in falling, honey. I’ve fallen. Hell, we’ve all fallen.”

Dakota slumped back in the chair. “Yeah, well, shame or no, if I had fallen, I’d say so. I’m not a liar.” Her gaze bounced off Simon’s, and she added, “Not usually. Not this time. I was pushed.”

“Then we’ll call the police,” Dean announced, and he already had his phone in his hand.

“Butt out, Dean.”

They each looked at her, and she rubbed a shaking hand under one eye to remove some smeared makeup. “Look, guys, I don’t mean to be rude, I really don’t. But it’s my business, not yours. I don’t need some big macho fighters to take care of me. If I wanted to call the cops, I could damn well do it myself.”

“Then why don’t you?” Mallet asked.

“Right.” She turned dry and sarcastic. “None of you really believe me, so why would the cops?”

Dean, Mallet, and Haggerty all wore identical looks of guilt.

“You see? It’s not like I can prove that someone shoved me, and without proof, what’d be the point? The cops can’t do anything.”

“They could look around,” Dean pointed out.

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