“Hello?” My voice sounded deep and gruff against the stillness of nature. Old. Like I didn’t belong there. Like no one did.
“Miss Harper?” My tone raised an octave, now sounding like a high school kid calling out for approval.
When she didn’t grace me with her presence, I did another quick rapping on the door before pulling it open.
Vanilla enveloped me. Vanilla—and leather.
The place could have been a post card for ‘cozy log cabins,’ or ‘smallest houses on the planet.’ It was one, large room with a loft overhead. The A-frame ceiling had gleaming, exposed beams running along the top. A rustic chandelier hung from the center. Box fans hummed in the windows, pulling in the fresh summer air, which somehow felt cool under the shade of the house. Did the rich kid not have air-conditioning? Or did she choose to keep it off? A night without air-conditioning in the dead of a southern summer was almost unbearable, so I assumed the latter. Either way, my Jeep was in good company.
The main living room—otherwise known as the only room—was separated by a U-shaped brown leather couch over a Navajo rug facing a rock fireplace. At least a dozen plants—real, not fake—lined the walls, their leaves turned to the sweeping windows that overlooked a deck with more blooming flowers.
I noticed a few handcrafted wooden statues that I’d seen in Mystic Maven’s, making me wonder if the two were closer than Hazel had led me to believe. One was kneeling in prayer, another in some sort of meditation position, and the third had a distended belly and was holding a small child that kind of looked like an alien.
Weird.
The kitchen was to the right. Tiny and spotless as if it were never used. Sunny didn’t cook. One strike against her.
To the left, a small door that I guessed led to the only bathroom/laundry room. I lifted my gaze to the loft, where a four-poster king bed centered the small space, a deep crimson comforter against the dark wood walls. The bed was made, and based on the immaculate cleanliness of the rest of the house, I’d be willing to bet my next paycheck on hospital corners.
The decor was minimal, bordering on masculine if not for the oil diffusers, candles, and stack of Cosmopolitans on the coffee table. You know, the sex advice magazines.
Interesting.
Once I pushed away the image of Sunny rolling around naked in those crimson sheets, I stepped back outside and made my way to the back of the house. Nothing interesting to note back there. No lawn care equipment, tools, shed, no sign of a man. I began down a narrow, pebbled trail that led through the woods. The path wasn’t manicured, but someone had done the arduous, back-breaking task of cutting through the underbrush and leveling the trail, and hauling up river gravel.
Sunny?
Beams of early morning sunlight shot through the thick canopy of trees where birds took notice of my presence, squawking loudly as if announcing the unannounced visitor. Happy or annoyed, I wasn’t sure.
The sound of rushing water grew closer. I was halfway through a bend in the trail when I stopped cold. Call it that finely tuned instinct from decades running special ops, but I knew I wasn’t alone anymore. As my hand drifted to the gun on my belt, a growl so low vibrated behind me—inches, if I had to guess—that every hair on the back of my neck stood up. A list of wild animals flashed through my head. Bear? Mountain lion? Rabid coyote?
I froze and weighed my options, my hand inches from my gun. The animal had gotten the drop on me, no doubt about that. The next move was my own. The growl intensified, along with a scraping against the dirt floor. Definitely not a bear. I ran down my Boy Scouts list of what to do when you cross paths with a mountain lion. Number one, do not run. Running from a mountain lion is like playing hard to get. It triggers the mountain lion’s instinct to chase and attack. Two, do not crouch or bend over. No problem there as I wasn’t in the habit of bending over for anyone. And three, hold your ground.
“Whoa, there now, buddy, calm down,” I said emphasizing my southern drawl as if that somehow made me less of a threat. Holding my breath, I decided to face my fate, the snarling now accompanied by a viciously snapping jaw.
I turned like a ballerina on a spindle and my eyes locked on the jagged teeth of the largest—and most pissed—German Shepherd I’d ever seen in my life. It’s paws, twelve inches from my boots, it’s snapping jaws six inches from my dick.
That alone was enough to make a grown man piss his pants, but it was the pistol pointed directly between my eyes that really got my blood pumping.
16
Jagg
A mane of dark curls cascaded behind the gun pointed at my head. The steadiness of the barrel told me it was locked, loaded, and ready—and wasn’t the first time it had surprised an unannounced visitor.
“Miss Harper, lovely to see you. I’m going to need you to lower that gun.”
“Detective, lovely to see you as well. I’m going to need you to tell me what you’re doing on my land.”
“I’ll tell you once you pull Cujo away from the marbles that were once my ball sack.” My gaze slid up to hers. “Which, by the way, is one millionth of their original size.”
Sunny said something to the dog that wasn’t “hey, this guy’s funny,” and instantly the barking ceased and the beast backed up, settling next to its master’s feet but keeping his beady, black devil-eyes on me.
I snarled back. Damn dogs. All of them.
The gun dropped from my face, revealing an emerald gaze just as intense.
“You can lower your hands now.”
I dropped my arms along with the inch of pride the woman had just peeled off of me.
It had only been five hours since I’d seen her, but the knot below her eye had gone down and was replaced by speckles of purple bruising. The scratches on her neck and arms were an angry red. A white bandage covered the stitches on her arm. If her ribs were sore, her stance wasn’t showing it. If she were in any kind of pain, or if she was emotionally shaken, she wasn’t showing it. In fact, she seemed to wear her injuries like a badge of honor.
Victory, for the second time.
My heart gave a little kick.
She wore a black tank top—no nipples visible this time, much to my dismay—and faded jeans revealing hints of tanned skin through holes at the knees. Her feet were covered in a pair of strappy sports sandals. Her toenails, a cherry red as electric as her eyes. And that damn hair, dancing on the summer breeze, a rogue strand tickling across red, shimmering lips pressed into a thin line of scrutiny.
The woman was gorgeous.
My thoughts short circuited between the rabid dog at her feet and the stunning natural beauty in front of me. I didn’t like how only her presence seemed to spin my thoughts like a blender. Sunny Harper had a way of knocking me off my game, and I didn’t like it.
I squared my shoulders and said the first thing that came to mind.
“You got a permit for that cannon, Miss Harper?”
“You got a warrant to be on my land?”
“Don’t need a warrant to chat.”
She shoved the nine millimeter into the band of her pants with an ease that verified her comfort level with it. Considering her other nine millimeter was in custody at BSPD, I wondered how I missed her arsenal of weapons in that shoebox cabin.
Maybe in a safe under the bed? Next to her vibrators? One, or two prongs?
Dammit.
“How’s your arm?”
“Fine.”
“Ribs?”
“Fine. Did you call?” She asked, although it wasn’t a question as much as a thinly veiled message that she didn’t like me showing up unannounced. Got it.
“Are you busy?” I responded.
She stared at me with a pair of slitted eyes and for a moment, I thought she was really going to ask me to leave and not come back without a warrant. Finally—
“Settle,” Sunny demanded in an authoritative voice that had me automatically easing my stance. I realized she wasn’t talking to me when my peripheral caught movement to my ri
ght side, then, on my left side. Two more massive dogs emerged from the brush. Three pairs of black irises now eyeing me like a T-bone steak.
Three dogs had been stalking me, not just one.
I’d been played beyond played. Tricky, tricky bastards.
My gaze shifted between the dogs, then back to the fourth skeptical pair of eyes burning holes through my soul.
The lack of security in her house suddenly made sense.
“Fine.” She said, the single word followed by a jerk of her chin—my cue to follow.
She snapped her fingers, addressing the biggest GSD. “Whoa, there now, buddy, calm down,” her tone a sweet, southern drawl.
The woman was mocking me.
Her lip curved as she breezed passed me, an extra sway of attitude in those hips.
Little. Smartass.
The three dogs eyed me as they passed by, then fell into step behind the flowing hair of their master. I waited a beat, watching the Captain and her army descend down the pathway, each soldier at her beck and call. The woman knew how to make people fall in line and how to get what she wanted.
Sunny Harper was no man’s fool.
She was the leader of the pack.
An alpha female.
No…
A Queen among servants.
I fell into step behind her.
“Any trip wires or land mines I need to be aware of?”
“Not on the trail.”
My brows arched as I glanced into the surrounding woods.
We walked in silence until a curve in the trail opened up to the riverbank, a full-blown K9 training center. Damn impressive. Speckled along the rocky bank was an intricate obstacle course consisting of ramps, stacked barrels, tubes, balls, hurdles, hoops, and a pair of full-sized boxing dummies with chunks of rubber missing from their forearms. One missing half his cheek.
Tough go for that one.
A group of cages sat in the distance where another dog, as black as midnight, watched me from behind a muzzled snout.
I turned back to the obstacle course.
“Impressive.”
A wet snout nudged the back of my hand. The biggest dog had taken a more subtle interest in me. Its sable hair was now flat against its back, so I considered that progress. I flicked my wrist at the snotty nose then wiped my hand on my pants.
“Hup,” Sunny snapped at another dog, who promptly leapt through the air, landing nimbly on one of the platforms. I watched the furball bolt through the course, quick, agile, flawless.
“Impressive,” I repeated, referring now to the dog instead of the course.
“It’s easy to train a willing mind.”
“And those who aren’t willing?”
“Hard work and pointed effort.”
“Precious commodities.”
“More like deficiencies these days.”
I couldn’t agree more.
She continued, “It’s not just time and effort, its perseverance. Not giving up on them. That’s the tipping point. That what makes a good or bad dog, great. Or anyone, for that matter.”
We watched the dog finish the course, then jog up, its tongue hanging out of a big toothy smile. She kneeled down and ruffled its ears, smiling and praising with full attention.
I watched her, in awe of the different woman I was seeing from the night before. Not five hours earlier, Sunny Harper had been holding a nine milliliter over a dead body. Now, there was a hint of softness to her. A loving, nurturing side. A contentment, with her dogs, in the middle of the woods.
Her sanctuary, I guessed.
I zeroed in on the bandage on her arm again, my stomach clenching. As I reached out to help her up, the dog lunged at me.
“Christ,” I jumped back, flashing my palms.
“Enough.” She scolded the dog, sending its tail between its legs, and me making a mental note to pack an extra pair of boxers for my next visit. Sunny nodded to the river in some nonverbal cue and the dogs took off like bullets into the water.
“Thank God you don’t need in-home care.”
“Sorry about that. They’re protective.”
“Understatement of the century.” I reached out my hand again. “Let me…” I helped her to a stance. I was shocked that she let me touch her. That’s when I realized Sunny Harper’s attitude, or resistance, I should say, was very impacted by her environment. I wondered if her house was the only place she let her guard down.
“How are you really doing?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”
“That wince you gave when you inhaled says otherwise.”
She looked at me, her eyes squinting in suspicion as if to figure me out.
That makes two of us.
“So. You said you wanted to chat?”
“If you don’t mind.”
She nodded. “I expected it. But I expected a call, not a drop in.”
“You seem just as territorial about your place as your dogs.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You need to lock your doors and windows.”
“Did you go into my house?”
“Never. I’d never set foot inside a stranger’s house without a warrant.”
“Your reputation says otherwise.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
We fell into step together down the riverbank, the dogs running circles around our feet.
“You’re supposed to be taking it easy.” I said.
“I am.”
“Training three monsters isn’t taking it easy.”
“Are you scared of my dogs, Detective?”
“Of those hundred-plus pound trained assassins? You’re damn straight I am.”
She smirked and I found myself staring to get the full picture of it. It wasn’t a smile, but the first time I’d seen something close to it.
Breathtaking.
“Well, too bad you’re scared because I was looking for someone to help with attack commands.”
“Based on their display in the woods back there, I’d say they already had their first lesson of the day.”
“No, an actual attack. Attacking another human on command.”
“You know I’m a cop, right?”
“On someone with a bite sleeve, not just some random passerby, crazy. But, you know,” she shrugged, “I get that they’re intimidating and all…”
“And I get that you’re good at goading people.”
Her lip twitched. That little grin again.
“I also get that you don’t like people telling you what to do, but I’d like you to make an exception for a medically trained professional. I know Buckley told you to rest. I also know that bruised ribs hurt like a son. We can either sit here for our chat, or head back up to those rocking chairs I saw on your front porch.”
“If you’ve truly had bruised ribs then you know that it actually helps to walk.”
I did know that. Despite my doctor’s orders, I’d run six miles the day after a roadside IED blew me six feet into the air. Cried the entire way. Sunny was tough. I respected it but I didn’t like knowing she was in pain.
“When’s your next check-up?”
“I get the stitches out in ten days.”
“Did I do that? When I tackled you?” The question blurted out before I could catch myself.
“No. It happened when I was pushed to the ground.”
I nodded and released the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“How’s it feeling, really?”
“Like someone poured liquid acid on my skin.”
“Thanks for being honest.” I said and meant it.
“Thanks for carrying me to my truck last night.” She looked down.
“It was no big deal. Like I said, I’ve had bruised ribs before.”
She slapped me.
“Just joking.” I winked. “You weigh half as much as your smallest dog.”
My phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket, read the caller ID—Mom
. I silenced it and slid it back in my pocket with a curl of my lip.
A spray of sprinkles rained against my back.
“Tango, no.”
“Tango?” I wiped the speckles of mud off my pants. Wasn’t like they’d been washed in a month, anyway.
“That one is Tango and the black one is,” she slid me the side-eye. “Max.”
“Max?” I couldn’t help but laugh. The dog that stealthily stalked me from the side had the same name as me. “Never been so proud to have a dog named after me.”
“After you? Maybe I should have named him Zeus after your ego.”
I chuckled again.
“The third one is—”
“Wait. Hold up. I want to know more about this Max. Where does Max sleep?”
“In my bed.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. Really. Anyway, as I was saying—”
“At the foot of the bed or under the covers?”
She rolled her eyes. “At the foot.”
“I’ll have to work on that.”
She shook her head, the grin morphing into a full-blown smile. I wondered if it was the same smile she’d flashed at the judge to get out of her latest ticket. It was mesmerizing… and almost enough for me to ignore the fact that she allowed dogs in her sheets.
Almost.
No cooking, strike one. Dogs in bed, major strike two.
“Any other pervy innuendos, Detective?”
“Just gathering pieces to the puzzle.”
“Well gather them somewhere other than my sheets.”
I opened my mouth—
“Anyway…” She cut me off. Probably for the best. “The third ‘monster’ is Athena, a German Shepherd/Collie mix. She’s nine years old. The alpha of the crew.” She pointed to the monster that almost attacked me on the trail.
“Athena? You mean to tell me the dog that almost ate my dick for breakfast is a gir—”
She held up a finger. “Might want to rethink that sentence unless you want to lose those balls you speak so fondly of. Although I think the exact verbiage was marbles.” She held up her hand and closed her thumb and index finger together. “Small.”
“Anything is small compared to Tango’s over there.”
Jagger (Steele Shadows Investigations) Page 13
