Hot Puck (Rough Riders Hockey 2)

The dog jumped at the fence, barking and snarling. It was a Rottweiler, and his teeth glowed white in the night. Eden’s adrenaline felt like octane in her bloodstream when a man stepped out of the house and yelled, “What are you doing out here? My wife needs medical attention.”

He was middle-aged and arrogant. Eden could hear the you-work-for-me attitude in his voice. And after almost getting mauled by his dog, yeah, that irritated her.

“Get your dog out of the front yard so we can pass, sir.”

“Don’t be stupid. There isn’t anything wrong with the dog. Just come in.”

>

Stupid? Eden’s ire mounted. “Secure your dog. We’re not entering the property while he’s loose.”

Before she could instruct Tori, her partner got on the radio to dispatch and requested law enforcement backup.

“What’s your name, sir?” Eden asked.

“What difference does that make?”

Great, a rich arrogant prick. More concerned with being in control than the state of his wife. All too familiar to Eden.

“Sir,” Eden said, searching for patience, “please come get your dog and put him in the backyard so we can take care of your wife.”

“Excuse me.” Another man’s voice at Eden’s right drew her attention from the house. He was in his early fifties with graying hair and a friendly face. “Hi. I live right next door. Butcher knows me. I feed him when they’re on vacation. I can put him in the backyard.”

“That would be great,” Eden said.

“Darrel’s a real asshole,” the man said, voice lowered, “but his wife is a really good person and a dear friend of my wife’s. Please take care of her.”

And with that, he turned to the fence, talked to the dog, and managed to grab his collar before opening the gate, then led the dog toward the side yard.

Eden glanced at Tori. “Let’s go.”

“Do you want me to cancel backup?”

“No.” Eden had a bad feeling about this.

As they approached the stairs again, the man reentered the house with a muttered “About fucking time.”

Eden stepped through the front door, and the opulence of the home’s interior registered instantly. Dark hardwood, light furniture, everything in its place. A showroom. Her tension mounted.

“Where’s your wife, sir?”

“Kitchen.” He jerked a hand somewhere toward the back of the house, then pulled out his phone and dialed. Then paced the living room instead of leading them to his wife.

Eden darted a look at Tori, and they shared thoughts without words.

They found his wife easily enough, laid out on the kitchen floor, twisted to lie half on her side, half on her back.

“Ma’am?” Eden dropped to a crouch and pressed her fingers to the woman’s neck, relieved to find a pulse. “Can you hear me?” She glanced at Tori. “Pulse is weak.”

Tori crouched at the woman’s head and turned her ear to the woman’s mouth. “Breathing.” She grabbed the C-collar and glanced at Eden. “Did you see his hand?”

Eden nodded, flashing back to Darrel’s raw knuckles and the blood spatter on the sleeve of his dress shirt. She pulled the penlight from her pocket as Tori lowered the backboard to the floor.

“Ma’am, can you hear me?” Leaning over the woman, Eden scanned her face where a cut bled over her left cheek, one from the corner of her mouth. Injuries Eden knew too well. She snapped on her penlight, lifted the patient’s eyelids to check her pupils, and found them unequal and nonreactive. Bad, bad news. “Head injury. Let’s move.”

Tori clicked the C-collar into place, and together, they carefully rolled the woman onto the backboard.

Eden collected their jump bag as Tori secured the woman to the board.