Authors: Laura Belle Peters
Monster
To my husband – the man who gets me through everything.
Special thanks to my betas, J & M.
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Copyright © 2016 by Laura Belle Peters
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or other fictional creations, is purely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America
-Annie-
I closed the door behind me and locked it, glancing at the windows as I slid the key out. Turning around, I almost bumped into someone.
A man.
Right there.
I held my keys out like a weapon, squaring my shoulders and bracing my back against the door, my eyes darting around for anyone I could call out to for help.
The man took three big steps back and held up his hands, looking apologetic.
"Hey, I didn't mean to scare you," he said. "I'm sorry about that."
"What the hell are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm your new neighbor," he said, sticking his hand out for me to shake. He jerked his other thumb at the side of the duplex that had been vacant for months.
I stepped forward and took his hand, not wanting him to think I was afraid.
Even though I clearly was.
His hand was broad and strong, feeling good in my own. I shut down that line of thought real fast. It had been a long time, but not that long.
He was an attractive man, though, I couldn't deny it. His Captain America shield t-shirt strained over his broad shoulders, the material thin enough to hint at more defined muscles underneath the fabric. His blond hair was short, but still managed to look a little rumpled, and his green eyes were wide and honest, promising kindness and humor.
Not that that mattered.
I didn't trust the promise of a strange man's eyes. Not right now. Not here. Whoever was killing the girls around here probably looked plenty warm, to charm them away to their deaths.
"Hey," I said, a little lamely. My instinct to be a good neighbor warred with my sense of self-preservation.
"My name's Quinn Markham," he said.
Something about the way he moved spoke of hidden strength. He reminded me of a panther, all coiled tension and power.
I swallowed.
This man was dangerous. I didn't think he wanted to hurt me – I didn't miss him cast a quick eye down my body – but I didn't want to be on his bad side, either. I wondered briefly if he was as good in bed as the quirk of his mouth and the confidence of his movement suggested. I had to be careful. A man like that could have me on my back in a hot second.
“Annie Watson,” I said.
“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Please, don't hesitate to knock if you need anything. Anything at all.”
Was that a promise?
“I have a dog,” I said. It was abrupt, but I was still calming down from my fear. “Urso. He's a watchdog, but he isn't barky. If he is, let me know.”
“Do you want to introduce him to me sometime soon?” Quinn asked. “So he doesn't bark at you every time I come and go?”
I half-smiled at the man.
“If you like,” I said, easily. Quinn didn't need to know that Urso's alert wasn't a bark, and being introduced wouldn't stop him from letting me know whenever Quinn was on the property. If Quinn thought he could come and go secretly, so much the better.
Couldn't be too careful right now.
“In fact,” I added, “I have a few minutes now if you do.”
Quinn agreed, and I unlocked my house, whistling through the screen door before I opened it.
“Urso, come out here. Sit.”
I smiled privately to myself as my new neighbor bit off a curse at seeing my dog for the first time.
I'd gotten Urso when he was a puppy, only about ten pounds, but he'd quickly blossomed into the enormous dog that padded out of the house.
"My friend was about to breed her Great Pyrenees when the neighbor's Rottweiler came to visit," I said. "The fence was pretty sturdy, but not enough for two dogs that big who were interested in one another."
"That's quite a mix. How the hell much does he weigh?" Quinn sounded incredulous.
"About a hundred and thirty pounds," I said. "He's a big boy."
"I'll say," Quinn muttered.
My dog was standing, watching us calmly. He didn't stand down, but he didn't show outward aggression. He had the dark coloring of his father and the long, shaggy coat of his mother, with a broad face and intelligent black eyes.
"Urso, friend," I said, pointing at our new neighbor.
He took a few steps towards Quinn, wagging his tail in small, polite motions.
"Sit," I ordered.
Urso sat.
"You can pet him, if you want," I said.
Quinn turned easily as he stepped forward, to approach side-on, reaching a hand out for the dog to sniff and waiting for Urso to lean forward to bridge the gap between them.
I had to admit, I was impressed. Not many people knew the best way to approach a dog, and Quinn was using just the right body language. Urso's tail thumped the dirt a few times, in a less guarded way than his earlier wagging, before Quinn leaned forward to stroke his hand over Urso's broad head a few times.
"There," he said. "Are we introduced?"
I nodded.
"Urso, heel."
The massive dog ambled over to sit by me, waiting patiently, sniffing the air, but keeping an eye on Quinn.
"You've done a great job with his training," he said.
"Well, it's important," I said. "Besides, it's a bit of a hobby for me. I've always liked dogs, and it gives me something to do."
I didn't mention that manners were the least of my big dog's training. Not everyone was interested, and I got sick of explaining the details of a working dog's life. It was much easier just to let it go.
The man nodded.
"Yeah, I totally get it," he said.
“Do you have a dog?” I asked. He was staring at Urso with a strange look on his face, almost like longing.
“Y-no,” he said. "I had one. I want a dog, but I don't have the right schedule for one right now."
"What do you do?" I asked. I didn't want to ask more questions about why he didn't have a dog any more. Some people found fresh loss too painful to talk about. His dog had probably passed away. I imagined the pain I'd feel losing Urso, and my heart went out to the man. Against my better judgement.
I felt a lot more comfortable having a conversation with a strange man with Urso's comforting weight leaning on my leg. Even if it did make it hard to stand up straight. I nudged the dog with my foot and he shifted his weight mostly off.
His smile left his face.
"I was a cop," he said. "I'm.... between jobs right now."
"That sucks," I said.
"Yeah," he agreed. "What do you do?"
"I'm a graphic designer," I said. "I work from home a lot of the time, when I don't get too stir-crazy."
He grinned.
"I bet you get asked to 'just make up a quick poster' all the time."
I laughed out loud.
"I do, actually," I said. "I've started telling people that I'll do it for barter, and asking them to remodel my kitchen or draw up my will."
"Nice," he said. "That's smart. Does it ever work?"
"Yeah, actually," I said. "I've gotten my gutters cleaned out, my taxes done... I don't mind being asked nearly so much now. The people who don't value my time, well, hell with 'em."
He nodded, sharply.
“Damn straight,” he said. “Don't let the fuckers get you down.”
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just shrugged a little.
The man seemed to feel my awkwardness.
"Okay, well, you were about to go somewhere," he said. "I won't try to keep you. Nice to meet you, though, Annie. Urso." He said, nodding at the dog, who ignored him.