Collared (Going to the Dogs)

by Dawson, Zoe

  He looked down at the poodle, rubbing at his shoulder. She whined and licked his hand. She was a pretty thing and he really had no idea poodles were so large. Her brown eyes met his and he got a jolt. There was intelligence there. He squatted down and cupped the poodle’s head and gave her a good scratching behind her ears. “That’s all right. Maybe she’s reacting to all the activity she’s been through today,” he said, giving her one last stroke. “Aren’t you, girl?” He looked up at the maid and felt a rush of heat, as if he was standing outside in the August sun instead of this cool, very expensive penthouse.

  A warm, surprised smile curved her lips, drawing his attention to her lush mouth. Damn, she was hot. Her enchanting blue eyes penetrated right to the core of him. For a moment, she just looked at him, taking in his face, roving over his close-clipped beard, and finally his mouth. He rose and, as he did, she followed him all the way up with her expressive eyes.

  “Can I get you anything, detective?”

  He could think of a few things he’d like from her. “Coffee would be great if it’s already brewed, otherwise, water.”

  An Hispanic woman came into the room and the blond woman shook her head very slightly. “I’ll be right back.”

  He couldn’t resist watching her walk away. She was graceful in movement, yet strong and controlled. Gentle in tone and demeanor, but there was power there in that sultry voice. Judging by the way she had looked him over, he could probably get her number before he left. They could maybe have a few laughs.

  She disappeared and Caleb took in the expensive room. The panoramic view of New York City was breathtaking. It was a gritty city, but up here in the stratosphere it looked totally majestic. He walked those mean streets and taken his first slug in one of its damn back alleys. If he’d gone with his instincts, he wouldn’t have gotten shot at all.

  Maybe it was time to think about doing something else with his life since he’d come so close to losing it.

  The woman came back carrying a cup of coffee. The kind with a saucer. Geezus. He had to wonder what the damn China cost as she held it out to him. “Won’t you make yourself comfortable?” She indicated the couch and he settled on it.

  “It’s a spectacular view,” she said.

  He took a sip of the coffee and nodded. It was delicious, certainly better than the swill he got down at the precinct.

  She left again, taking the poodle with her. He sat there waiting for the owner to show up. Glancing at his watch, he suspected the lady was indisposed. He’d been waiting fifteen minutes. He got a refill from the lovely Hispanic woman and sat sipping his second cup peacefully, wondering when he’d be granted his audience

  Suddenly, the poodle was back. She came over to him and sniffed around. He ignored the dog and took another sip. But it seemed the poodle now considered them friends, and she didn’t like being ignored.

  She jumped onto the couch and nosed in under his arm, jostling the cup, and hot coffee sloshed out and splattered against his dress pants.

  “Blue! Not again! He’s not a big doggy treat,” she said. “Juliana!”

  The Hispanic woman came over and snagged the dog’s collar. The poodle got the point, and crept whining off the couch, glancing back at Caleb with soft, sad brown eyes as the Hispanic woman escorted her out of the room.

  When he finally looked for that tantalizing maid who had scolded the dog, he simply lost his powers of speech, lost his freaking mind.

  He belatedly realized she wasn’t a maid at all. She’d transformed into a gorgeous goddess. She was dressed in a pair of leafy leggings with colorful birds, her top a black, provocative, fancy thing with peekaboo lace at her waist that tantalized him with occasional glimpses of her bare midriff, and a pair of velvety platform sandals. Jungle meets chic.

  She rushed forward and that intoxicating scent filled him as she dabbed at his pants with a towel she’d snatched off the bar. Her silky blonde hair slid forward, and the smell of her intensified. Her hand was way too close to his junk, and he ended up spilling more coffee as she pressed against his leg and the fly of his pants. It had been way to long without a woman if he had this out-of-control reaction.

  He leaned forward, set the coffee cup and saucer on the table, and grabbed her wrist. She halted her mopping motion, and thank God for that.

  She raised her head and suddenly they were face to face, so close he could see the darker midnight blue that rimmed her pupil. Her lips parted and he was spellbound and mesmerized.

  “You’re not a maid,” he blurted out like an idiot.

  She smirked, showing gorgeous white teeth. “You really earned that badge, detective. I’m Harper Sinclair or, as you so sarcastically put it, ‘the lady of the manor’.”

  “I got this,” he said, taking the towel out of her hand, and finished blotting up the coffee in his lap, including the fresh spill.

  “That was a nice little stunt. Why didn’t you tell me you were Harper Sinclair instead of letting me think you were the hired help?”

  “Maybe you should think about why you jumped to that conclusion.” She shrugged.

  Already toying with him and he’d just freaking met her. “Maybe you should show me the crime scene and fill me in on what happened. I’ll also need a list of stolen items.”

  “Of course. It’s part of my manor duties,” she said over her shoulder and walked toward the balcony. Ah, there it was, the regally cool tone of voice only a prep-school girl and heiress could pull off. He took a moment to enjoy the view, then remembered that this woman outclassed him in so many ways. He had to keep his head on straight, both of them, and remain unaffected by her beauty and strong personality. He had a job to do and a job to keep.

  She turned around, saw where his eyes were fastened and smirked. She had that down to a science. “You still enjoying the view, detective?”

  He rose. He liked her better as a maid. He was honest enough to wonder if that was because he thought that if she was a maid he’d had a better shot at getting to know her.

  When he met her eyes, his were not apologetic. He’d never be sorry for enjoying the curves of a beautiful woman, whether she was as rich as Midas or not. He put an innocent look on his face and her smile was just plain skeptical.

  Be careful, he cautioned himself. That’s what had gotten him in trouble in the Hamptons. Now it was a totally different ball game.

  “The balcony looked like this when I got home from Vegas this morning, and the library as well. They drugged my dog.” There was a deep-seated anger in her voice, and he felt sorry for any of those thieves if she ever got a chance to show them what happened to men when a woman like this held power over them.

  “The poodle.”

  “Yes, my precious Blue.” Her voice softened.

  “She’s a champion?”

  Harper crossed her arms and gave him a hard look, or as hard as she could with those slamming blue eyes. “Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?” she asked indignantly.

  “I’m sure she’s a valuable dog.”

  “She’s a valuable AKC champion, but she’s also cherished. I love her to pieces and would have been devastated to have lost her to vandals because she was wearing an expensive collar.”

  “Right. The collar. What’s that valued at?”

  “Fifty thousand.”

  He couldn’t help rolling his eyes and Harper caught it. “Is this all amusing to you, Detective?” she said and tightened her arms across her chest with her chin tilted up, silently daring him to discount her.

  Not on a bet.

  “I don’t have an opinion one way or the other, Ms. Sinclair. I’m just the civil servant here to investigate the crime.”

  “I think you do have an opinion. It’s pretty clear,” she said her tone quite firm.

  “Well, since you asked.” He stepped closer and bent down slightly. He liked that she was at least five eleven. Made it easier on his neck. “Yes, I find that taking up the department’s valuable time over a dog collar to be frivo
lous.”

  “You are a jerk.”

  “Guilty as charged.” He’d been told a few times, but never by anyone who looked like her. Nobody looked like her, so perfect.

  They were really close now, with her eyes all flinty and no-nonsense, her mouth looking like the first step down the road to hell. He could feel the flames licking at him.

  “You’re not here to judge. You’re here to find my property. I believe that’s why I pay my taxes to the city.” Her brows rose. “You know those taxes that pay for your job?”

  He grinned. “You, lady, are a pistol.” In those heels she was almost eye to eye with him, and he loved that she wasn’t intimidated by him, his height, or his tough, direct gaze.

  “You are still a jerk, detective.”

  “Call me Caleb. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other during the investigation.” That wouldn’t be a hardship at all. He grinned again.

  “You may address me as Ms. Sinclair or, if you prefer, ‘your highness, lady of the manor.’”

  His grinned faded. Her skin looked so soft, he was sure she used plenty of expensive, girly creams and ointments to make it look that supple. No wonder she smelled good and expensive.

  Sure, he should be thinking about the job, and what he was doing, and put it all in the big-picture scheme of things. He needed to be thinking about investigations and tracking down snitches, running down leads, and making the rounds of the pawn shops.

  Yeah, he needed to think about all those things, and he was going to—in a minute, or two, or ten. He just liked looking, and he was really liking the way she looked back.

  She stepped back as if she was losing the battle, but he’d say she had quite clearly made her point. She did pay his salary and he did work for her. She turned away.

  “A woman like you would have a poodle.” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. They were under his breath, but she heard him.

  She spun around, her hands going to her hips. He knew from experience when a woman did that, she meant business. “Really, you think you’ve got me pegged?” Her eyes flashed. “Hmmm, let me see.” She marched back to him and poked him in the chest.

  He smiled because she was so cute and so mad. “Be careful, Ms. Sinclair. Poking an officer of the law could be considered assault.”

  She dropped her hand and only her eyes went ballistic. “I’m sure I’m quite a threat to you, detective.”

  Actually, he thought that was probably pretty close to the truth. She was exactly what he should be avoiding by running in the other direction, but he couldn’t seem to stop baiting her.

  With a smug look, she said. “I bet you have a Doberman…wait, no, a German Shepherd with a strong name like Rex or Spike.”

  He laughed. “Quinn, actually, and touché.”

  She tilted her head in a cocky way that made him want to bury his hands in all that blond sleekness. Damn fine, confident woman. Another turn-on.

  “I would suggest that you keep your guard up around me, Detective Shaw. I know how to spar and I know how to win just about every argument.”

  “I’m sure you do, Ms. Sinclair.” His tone mocking. “I would bet you’ve had a lot of practice getting your way.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and instead of worrying about her pull, he could only admire how blue her stormy eyes got.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged.

  “You think I’m a brat?”

  “I don’t have an opinion one way or the other.”

  “The hell you don’t. You’re just like my friends. I can be a normal person. I can survive anywhere.”

  He didn’t know what had gone down with her friends, and truth be told, he was intrigued by her. More than he should be. And was it messed up that he loved the challenge in her voice?

  “Is that so?” He grinned. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in my world.”

  “What? I can fit into any world. You wouldn’t last five minutes in mine.”

  “What’s the hard part? Drinking champagne and partying until one in the morning? Oooh, brutal.”

  Her eyes snapped with her anger and she marched over to the library. “The wall safe is through here. I had six pieces in that safe, five necklaces and a pair of earrings.” She strode over to the desk and snatched up a piece of paper that was stapled to photos. “Here’s a list of items and pictures of what was taken.”

  He took the list.

  “All told they got away with 1.5 million in stolen items, so it wasn’t just the dog collar that was taken. Does that justify your time, detective?”

  “Ms. Sinclair—”

  “Don’t bother. I regularly come into contact with people who have the same opinion of me and how I live, so that’s nothing new. It’s just disappointing. I’m meeting friends, so I’ve got to go. You may stay as long as you need to. Juliana will see you out.”

  She turned on her well-turned ankle, platform sandal and all, and left. Too bad she couldn’t take that intoxicating scent with her.

  He felt like an ass. His thoughts about the past had colored the way he’d treated Harper Sinclair. Maybe she was just like that heartbreaker from his past and maybe she wasn’t, but what was certain was that she was out of his league. He was here to do a job. Harper Sinclair was just another victim. Rubbing a hand along the back of his neck, he turned towards the safe and started doing the job he came here to do.

  He checked over the safe. Top of the line and not an easy one to crack. He tracked down the housekeeper, Juliana, and she took him to inspect the security system. A top of the line alarm and not easily overridden. Which meant that the guys who pulled off this heist weren’t the run of the mill bums he was used to. This was professional stuff, and Caleb was sure that professionals would understand there was a score to be had here in Harper’s penthouse. Of course, anyone who didn’t live under a rock knew about the Sinclairs. Harper was an heiress, an extremely rich heiress.

  But Caleb was getting the feeling that this wasn’t simply a professional job.

  This was most likely an inside job.

  Chapter Two

  Annoyed more than she should be and a whole lot turned on, Harper was about to climb into her limo when she saw her father’s town car pull up behind her. Thoughts of Detective Shaw got pushed to the back of her mind.

  “Dad?” She thought fleetingly of mentioning the robbery to him, but his eyes were clouded and he looked like he had a lot on his mind as he strode toward her. She decided to wait until later. “Were you just leaving or arriving?”

  “I’m heading to the club.

  “Schmoozing.”

  “More fun than schmoozing.”

  A smile lit his handsome face. Her father only seemed to get more attractive as he aged, and with his dark blond hair and piercing blue eyes he still looked good at 50. She’d always been glad she’d gotten her father’s eyes.

  “Will Poe be there?”

  “Poe and Jared were just married. They’re on their honeymoon. She’s having a baby.”

  “Awww, that’s great. I always liked that girl. She makes me laugh. Does she still love bacon?”

  “Yes, and she’s still funny without meaning to be. Did you want to come to the club? My friends would love to see you.”

  “No, I can’t.” After a moment’s silence, her father finally spoke. “I need to talk to you about a delicate subject, and I hate to involve you, but I’m getting a little desperate. It’s your brother.”

  Her heart lurched. This didn’t surprise her. Aiden had seemed like a different man since he’d returned from Afghanistan. She’d tried to talk to him several times, but all she’d gotten was stubborn, obviously pained silence.

  “What’s going on?” The last time she’d seen her brother, he’d been unshaven and unkempt, the complete antithesis of her normally well-groomed and elegantly dressed brother. Thankfully, in Vegas he seemed to have snapped out of that and looked great. But it could have been a show for them all, especiall
y Jared.

  “He hasn’t returned any of my calls and either isn’t home or doesn’t answer the door when I show up at his penthouse.”

  She winced sympathetically. “Why do you think he’s avoiding you?”

  “I don’t think he wants to come back to the firm.”

  That would be a complete 180-degree turn for Aiden. He’d told her before he’d been deployed that he wanted to take over running the billion-dollar real estate firm when their dad, known to the press and public as real estate mogul Harold J. Sinclair, retired. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. He hasn’t said, but I think that what happened to him over there has changed him in ways that he hasn’t even begun to understand.”

  Harper had to agree, and her concern about her brother ratcheted up a notch. “I have been worried about him, too. He seems so subdued and preoccupied.”

  “Well, I really need to speak with him. He has to make some decisions…” He broke off. She had never seen her father so distressed, and it was clear that he was more concerned about Aiden than about the business decisions.

  She touched his arm, and then hugged him. He hugged her back and said, “You know that I’ve never forced either you or your brother into anything. You chose your own schools, decided what you wanted to do with your lives, but having Aiden working with me every day was very satisfying.

  “I’m not going to force him to come back if that’s what he’s decided.” He looked away, frowning. “When Aiden left, I hired a young MBA superstar, Makana Kaeo…we call him Mak. Anyway, he’s taken over Aiden’s duties, and he’s doing a fine job.”

  “That sound Hawaiian.”

  “It is.” Her father’s expression became more contemplative, but he didn’t add any further information, only saying, “But he’s not Aiden.”

  The pain was evident in his voice and she was fully aware that her father would much prefer to have his son part of the business. But she’d also heard affection and respect in his voice for this Mak he’d hired. She hoped that was helping to mitigate some of her father’s feeling of loss.