Chapter 20
T
rudging back to the house, they found the dog whining and shivering in the open doorway. Taryn scooped him up. “His little doggie heart is racing. It's okay, pup. You're fine.”
Sweet'ums gave her a lick. Yuck.
“Some watchdog you have,” Rick grumbled. “And where's your bodyguard? I though he took a blood oath to protect you from the evil Willard and his murdering minions? He's doing a bang-up job tonight.”
As if on cue, Alvin shuffled up the sidewalk, turned onto her property, and clomped up the stairs to the porch.
He glanced between them and stared down at Rick still holding his Glock. “What's happening?”
“Someone broke into the house,” Rick said, scowling.
“Shit.” Alvin turned to scan the darkness. “Did he try to kill you?”
“He didn't have the chance,” Rick said. As much as he disagreed with Alvin staying with Taryn, it angered him to know that if he hadn't decided to spend the night, the evening could have turned out much worse for Taryn. Although she was fully able to take care of herself, a killer with a gun lowered the odds of a successful outcome to a confrontation. “We chased him off.”
Alvin looked over at Taryn and the dog. If he was curious about the pooch, he said nothing. Instead, his eyes went hard and his hands closed into fists. “I'm going to hunt down Willard and break him into little pieces.”
So much for anger management therapy. She'd have to find him a new therapist before he slid back to the dark side.
“You will do no such thing,” Taryn said. “We don't know if he's behind this. Houses get burglarized all the time. For all we know, our burglar could have been looking for cash for drugs.” She glanced at Rick. “Why were you in my bed anyway?”
“I like to spoon after doggy kidnappings,” he said dryly. He turned on Alvin. “Where were you? I thought you were watching her.”
“I don't need watching.” She waited for a response. When that failed, she faced the dog. “The two vessels of bubbling testosterone continue to glare at each other as if I hadn't spoken. At least you are a male who appreciates a competent woman, sweet boy.”
Rick frowned. He continued to stare at the large bodyguard. He was good at staring down bad guys.
After ten seconds, Alvin's expression finally turned sheepish. “I was getting some sex.”
“From who?” Taryn said.
“The lady in the blue house.” He pointed down the street with a crooked finger. “She saw me fixing your porch swing and invited me over.”
At Rick's puzzled look, Taryn explained. “Kitty Henderson. Her husband is away a lot. She likes to entertain strange men she picks up . . . wherever.”
Alvin fit that profile. He was strange.
“Before we get off topic, let's get the housebreak taken care of.” Rick pulled out his phone and called the police. He wasn't taking chances with Taryn's safety. Whether it was a burglar or a killer, Taryn wasn't safe. Maybe the presence of the cops would deter further break-ins or attempts on her life.
* * *
“No.”
“Yes.”
Taryn stood with her bare foot braced behind the door early the next morning, determined to keep Rick and his duffel from crossing the threshold and into her house. She knew he had strength over her, yet she was convinced that if she let him in, things would change in their relationship. It would flip from professional to personal.
They were already on shaky ground in that regard anyway.
“We covered this last night after the police left and you agreed that I don't need a bodyguard. Not even Alvin and his giant knuckles,” she snapped. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you're capable of taking care of yourself under normal circumstances.” He flattened a hand on the panel above her head to keep the door open. “But this isn't a normal case. Twice you've been put in danger. Let's think of me as backup, your partner in safety.”
She raked her eyes down him. He did have a point. Sort of. Still, the partnership didn't have to spill over into her personal space.
“You know I'm right,” he said.
“No. I'm sizing you up for a fur Speedo, Cro-Magnon man, since you clearly haven't evolved enough over the last gazillion years to know that women don't need men to protect them anymore.”
He grinned. “Serve me up a slab of raw meat and I'll let you see what's under my pelt, sweet thing.”
Her eyes rolled up. The man could argue the paint off the house. “I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?”
“Nope.” He ran a finger down her arm. “You're cute when you go all tough-girl.”
“You're a pain. Always.”
He glanced at her worn and slightly crooked porch swing. Clearly Alvin had been taken away for sex with Kitty prior to finishing the job. Rick couldn't fault him there.
“I'll make you a deal. You don't have to let me in. It's your house, your decision.” He picked up the duffel. “I'd be happy to camp out here. A sleeping bag and a few blasts of mosquito repellent and I'll be all set.”
The idea of him stretching his over six-foot frame out on a four-foot swing did appeal to her. He'd be walking like a stooped octogenarian after one night sleeping there. However, that wasn't her biggest concern.
“The neighbors will get a kick out of that. They're already fleeing into their houses when Alvin steps outside. More crazy hijinks and they'll run me out of town.” With the largest long-suffering sigh ever expelled from a pair of lips, Taryn stepped back and opened the door. “If you try anything shady, you're out. Got it?”
“Got it.”
The dog trotted after her. “Pick any room that isn't mine. You can even bunk with Alvin if you don't mind spooning.” He made a face. Now that image brought her a smile. “I'll feed Sweet'ums and then we'll go. I've narrowed down to three vets and two groomers, as possible candidates to start with. We might as well get moving early.”
* * *
Rick chose the room across the hall from her, dumped the duffel on the bed, and went in search of Taryn. He found her already seated in his rented SUV. He climbed in. A snuffling noise from the backseat turned him around.
“Oh, hell no.” Seated dead center of the bench seat was the devil in dog form. Sweet'ums blinked his watery eyes, bent to lick his equipment enthusiastically for a full ten seconds, and then lifted his head to smile at Rick through crooked teeth, as if silently challenging him to repeat that neat trick. Rick had to resist crossing himself again. The dog was disturbing.
“Oh, hell yes,” Taryn countered. “Dr. Karen had an emergency surgery come up in Traverse City. If all goes well, she'll be back for Sweet'ums in two days. Until then, where I go, he goes, or I'll work this case by myself.”
“Why can't your felon watch him?”
“He's spending the day having sex with Kitty. She's allergic to dogs.”
Damn. She had him trapped.
Why was it that Alvin was the clear winner in all this? Rick wanted to have sex with Taryn and all he got was the dog drooling all over his backseat. How was this fair?
He'd won the battle over staying with her. But by the stubborn tilt of her chin, he knew she'd not let him win this skirmish. She was punishing him for invading her house.
“Fine. But he'd better behave.”
Rick plugged the address of the first groomer into his GPS and they pulled away from the curb. “How did you narrow the list of vets and groomers? In this town, there's one on every street corner.”
“There are a lot,” she agreed. “I chose the closest ones to Honey's former apartment and called them all. I described her and the dog. Honey did use the Groom and Go a couple of times, but it's been months since they've seen Brutus. So I assume she's gone elsewhere.”
“Brutus? What's with women and dog names? Just being seen around a dog like Honey's voids any man points, even with a man like Alvin. Calling him Brutus doesn't help.”
“A man shouldn't need a mastiff to feel manly.”
He shot her a look. “Be honest. If you saw me walking around with a teacup poodle under my arm, what would you think? You'd snicker and wonder if I also ate tofu and manscaped my legs and back.”
The silence confirmed his point. “See. I'm right. You can complain about my Cro-Magnon ways all day long, but if I whipped out a ukulele and sang love songs to you while sniveling into an embroidered hanky, you'd never have another hot fantasy about me again.”
* * *
Darn. He was right. She liked his tattoos and muscles and square jaw. She liked that he ate meat and potatoes and rode a really cool vintage bike. What bothered her was his use of “sniveling” and “embroidered hanky.” Was the man a chick flick junky? Lord, she hoped not. “Maybe I'm just shallow.”
She didn't realize she said the last part out loud, until he chuckled beside her.
“You aren't shallow, Taryn. Attraction fits all people differently. I have a friend who writes poetry to his wife and she loves it. But that's not me. If you ever need gas in your car or a tire changed, I'm there.”
Despite his comment, she suspected there was more to him than tire changing. She'd felt passion in his kisses and seen the way he'd looked at her after the kisses were over. He might not put his feelings to poetry, but she believed that deep down under that bad boy exterior, he might actually enjoy a few minutes of post-sex cuddling, long conversations under the stars, his and hers mani-pedis. The possibilities were endless.
Sure.
“Wait. Hold up.” She frowned, remembering his earlier comment. “Who said I have hot fantasies about you?”
“Don't you?”
“Absolutely not.” She shook her head a bit too vigorously. Okay, there might have been one or two you-naked-me-naked dreams with her feet up behind her ears and him doing all sorts of naughty things to her body. However, she wasn't responsible for where her nocturnal mind went when she was sleeping. Right?
“I'm not having this conversation.”
“Good idea.” He sent her a heated look. “It's better to talk fantasies when we're both naked, preferably in bed, when I can show you how a biker makes love with a âgood' girl.”
Taryn went hot. Every part of her tingled with raw need that terrified her. She jerked her eyes free of his.
“Just drive.” Her voice sounded strangled in her ears.
Rick chuckled as they headed for their first visit of the day.
The Clip and Fluff had a cream colored façade with black paws painted across the wall leading to the front entrance. On the windows were posters of perfectly coiffed dogs and cats in various shapes and sizes.
Inside, a young woman wearing gray hospital scrubs covered in black-and-white cartoon kittens was on the phone taking an appointment. When she saw Rick, she almost dropped the phone. “Mrs. Able, Fluffy is all set. See you Friday.”
Once free of business, Kayley, or so her name tag said, smoothed her hand over an ample bosom, somehow flicking open two buttons in the process, and almost dissolved into a puddle on the desk. Her face split into an appreciative smile meant only for Special Agent Rick Silva as she leaned seductively forward over a desktop calendar. The V-neckline of her scrubs struggled to remain in control of her breasts.
“Can I help you?”
“We're here about a dog,” he said.
“Is it a little dog or a big dog? I can groom whatever you've got, handsome.”
Who ever thought the process of de-matting dogs and clipping their nails could sound so dirty?
A bog barked from a back room and Kayley turned away for no more than two seconds. When she turned back, a black lace bra peaked out from the V.
Seriously? The woman was in heat. She needed a leash and a tranquilizer dart.
Taryn darted a glance at Rick. He looked more amused than intrigued. He was probably used to spontaneous female wardrobe malfunctions.
“We are looking for a fluffy white dog named Brutus,” Taryn said, before the girl could dive for his zipper. “His owner is Honey Comstock. When I called earlier, someone said she was a client.”
Kayley stared blankly at her like she'd been shaken from a testosterone-filled haze. “I'm sorry, ma'am. Are you here to get your pet groomed?”
Taryn slapped both hands down on the desk. She'd had enough. “We are together,” she said slowly, to make sure Kayley could keep up. She pointed a finger at him and back at herself. “Got it? Now tell us about Brutus and Honey.”
Two minutes later, they had nothing new for the case file. Brutus hadn't been in for several months and Honey's address was the one they already had. Kayley was nearly in tears that Rick didn't take the bait, and Taryn needed an espresso.
Rick thanked the disappointed girl and they left.
“You know, I've lived on this earth for twenty-five years and not once have my breasts ever spontaneously popped out of my shirt,” she said. “In fact, I've never twisted my ankle or lost clothing while running away from machete-wielding killers, either. How does that happen to some women?”
A chuckle followed. “You don't wear button-up shirts? Because when women are around me, shirts pop open and clothes go flying off all the time.”
“I'll bet they do.” All the more reason to keep her clothes on around him. Rick was clearly not the kind of guy to build a relationship with. He was more the one-night stand sort. And she didn't need that mess in her life. When she finally decided to get serious about finding someone, he'd be stable and safe and drive a minivan.