Page 2 of Wounded Warrior K-9

Daniel didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He stormed out of the room.

Pirate followed at his heels, silent but alert.

Daniel didn’t stop moving until he’d put three turns and one short flight of stairs between himself and the group room. Pirate trotted silently at his side, ears flicking, his one-eyed gaze sharp and alert. He didn’t bark or nudge again. He just stayed close, a shadow with muscle and fur.

Daniel found a dim side corridor off the main hallway, the kind that housed storage closets and overflow exam rooms. He planted a hand against the wall, bracing himself.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

Still didn’t help. The fury bubbled under his skin, hot and too familiar. Rage at the memory, rage at himself, rage at the uselessness of words that never came when he needed them.

He drew his arm back and slammed his fist into the wall.

Drywall cracked. Pain flared. Skin split across his knuckles.

Pirate let out a sharp whine, pacing in a tight circle behind him.

“Dumbass,” Daniel muttered, flexing his bleeding hand. “Real smart move, Travis.”

“Are you—?” A voice rang out from behind him, light but urgent. “What did that wall ever do to you? You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

Duh.

Daniel turned—and froze.

The woman approaching him wore blue ER scrubs and a no-nonsense expression. She had a tray of medical supplies in one hand and a familiar ponytail curling down the back of her neck.

Polly Cooper.

He’d met her a few months ago. Sweet voice. Sweeter curves. That tumble of blond curls she always tried to tie back like she didn’t want to be noticed. But Daniel had noticed. He wasn’t dead. Just mostly numb.

That night, she’d been shoved by a jumpy patient being treated for a gunshot wound. Turned out the guy, who was a fugitive from the law and probably high, had stolen the evidence container with the bullet extracted from his arm and bolted. Polly had hit the floor. Hard. Daniel had been passing through the ER waiting area when it happened. He’d helped her to her feet and walked Polly to her car afterward.

Ben Hunter had apparently been meeting with her stepdad—Sergeant Jedediah Burke, leader of the KCPD K-9 Unit—when Polly had called her father figure to report the incident. Ben had told Sergeant Burke that Daniel wasn’t good with people, but he was good at watching someone’s six. Stepdad had approved of the impromptu protection assignment. Polly had thanked Daniel for making her feel safe.

And he’d responded with something like, “Sure,” or possibly a grunt—and then walked away.

Now here she was again.

Polly set down her tray on a rolling stand outside one of the ER bays and stepped closer. “You’re from the PTSD group,” she said, voice calm. “Daniel, right?”

The gleam of intelligence in her soft green eyes told him she probably recalled his name. But she wanted him to answer a question, to talk. Or maybe she was just shy, and that was all the conversation she could come up with on the fly.

He nodded once.

“I’m Polly. Again. Or still. In case you don’t remember me. I’m not sure what the right word is in this case.” Yeah. Words. He wasn’t going to be able to help her much. Her mouth curved slightly. “ER nurse? Klutz you walked to her car for a couple of nights after that guy I was treating ran?”

“I remember.” Then he felt compelled to add, “Not a klutz. He pushed you.”

“That’s me.” Damn. She shouldn’t keep smiling at him like that. Or looking up into his good eye, as if she couldn’t see the fake prosthetic one or the scars that distorted the left side of his face. “You didn’t have to do that. But I appreciated it.”

She didn’t say you didn’t talk much, or you scared the hell out of me. Just, I appreciated it.

Daniel adjusted his stance. “I’m fine.”

“You’re dripping.” Her brows rose as she glanced at his hand. “That’s technically a workplace hazard. Which qualifies you for treatment whether you like it or not.”