Home Is Where the Bark Is

by Kandy Shepherd

  Nick had to lean forward to hear her. So close he felt intoxicated by her subtle, sensual scent.

  But she only had eyes for the dogs. Among the throng, he identified a low-slung basset hound with mournful eyes, Snowball, and a number of fluffy lapdogs of various sizes, colors, and markings. Bessie stuck close to Snowball.

  One of the smaller dogs was quite possibly the ugliest he’d ever seen, a short, squat animal with brindle fur, turned-out legs, and a pugnacious face with a jutting underjaw.

  Serena’s face glowed with affection as she looked at the dogs. “Aren’t they just gorgeous?”

  Nick pointed to the ugly one. “Except for him. Hell, what kind of breed is that?”

  “You mean Brutus? He’s a Heinz type of dog. You know, fifty-seven varieties. Don’t you recognize him?”

  “Should I?”

  “He’s famous. His owner died and left him millions. There was a court case. It was all over the media.”

  “So what’s he doing here?” A millionaire mutt? What a prize that would be for a scammer.

  “Brutus is a major investor in Paws-A-While.”

  Was the woman loony? His doubt must have shown on his face. She laughed.

  “Brutus belongs to my friend Maddy. She inherited him. I had the idea to start this place when she needed somewhere safe to leave him and his wife for the days Maddy works away from home.”

  “His wife. The millionaire mutt has a wife.” His own words echoed in his head.

  Serena’s eyebrows arched. “Coco. The little black poodle next to him. The one in the pink sweatshirt. Isn’t she adorable? They had the cutest wedding ceremony on the same day Maddy married her husband, Tom.”

  Nick cleared his throat. This was surreal. He had dealt with some oddballs both in his time at the FBI and after he’d left. But this took the cake.

  “I know all kinds of marriage ceremonies are legal in California. But refresh my memory as to when canine commitment became one of them?”

  She smiled that alluring smile. Only this time the curve of her lips made him suspect she was—once again—making fun of him. “It was just for a laugh. Maddy works in magazines and it made a great feature story. Besides, she wanted to make an honest dog of Coco as she’d already had five of Brutus’s puppies.”

  She pointed to a little Brutus look-alike, only marginally more attractive. “That’s their daughter Tinkerbelle. Maddy kept her, found homes for the others.”

  Nick could not suppress a groan. “Don’t tell me. All the puppies had christening ceremonies.”

  “Of course not. But they were blessed at the animal blessing service that’s held at the shrine of Saint Francis of Assisi in North Beach.”

  Nick shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Tell me I’m hearing things.”

  “Welcome to dog world, Nick,” Serena said. Her eyes narrowed. “I guess you must be new to it?”

  It was a question, not a statement. Dammit. Why wasn’t Bessie more of a doglike dog? She should have been the perfect cover. Maybe he should have waited to find a bigger, more believable animal for him to own.

  But solving the identity frauds was too urgent to wait around while he searched for the right canine cover.

  He shrugged. “I haven’t been in San Francisco long.”

  Her dark brows lifted. “And you haven’t had Bessie for long, either, am I right?”

  Whoa! He was the one who should be asking the questions around here.

  “Long enough to want to make sure she’s looked after properly,” he said.

  Serena’s chin tilted upward. “She won’t get better care anywhere else in the Bay Area. My clients are my best advertisement.”

  “I can see that.”

  He didn’t have to fake his answer. Except for the huge black dog that still lay quietly by itself, the dogs looked healthy and happy. If dogs could feel the actual emotion of happiness, that was.

  “You can go to work without worrying about Bessie,” Serena said in her brisk, professional tone. “And if you still have doubts, there’s the doggy day cam.”

  She pointed to the wall-mounted camera lens that swung around the room in a slow arc. “I’ll give you the password and you can log in to our website and check on Bessie at any time.”

  As if.

  He could imagine what his tough, former special agent partner would think of him goofing off to check in on his pooch’s playtime.

  Hold on, Whalen.

  A camera.

  The place was under surveillance. Somehow he had to gain access to that footage.

  “That’s a great idea,” he said. “Make sure you get Bessie to wave to me when she’s on camera.”

  “Of course,” said Serena. “I pay Kylie extra just to waggle paws at the lens. All part of the service.”

  Was she serious? In an establishment that dyed dog fur bright pink and painted claws to match and where furballs had Facebook pages, he couldn’t be certain.

  “Uh, sure,” was all he was able to choke out in response.

  “That’s settled, then,” she said, making to turn on her heel. “Rest assured, Bessie couldn’t be in better hands.”

  He was being dismissed as surely as she might command a puppy to “drop it.”

  “No tour of the facilities?”

  She twisted back to face him. “There’s not much more to see.”

  “I need to see it all.”

  Dammit. He’d let his voice slip from doggy-daddy mode to interrogation mode.

  She frowned. “There’s really only the television room and the yard . . . I’m guessing you don’t want to inspect the potty area.”

  “Uh. Maybe not. But the treatment rooms sound . . . Well, they sound fascinating.”

  She checked her watch. “It’s time to get the dogs ready for their mid-morning walk. Can it wait until you come back for Bessie this evening?”

  Nick swallowed an impatient retort. “Sure,” he said.

  He had to gain access to that footage. And any other information that might be of use to his investigation. Legally if she showed him; otherwise if she didn’t.

  Serena Oakley was hiding something. He intended to uncover her secret. He wouldn’t let any inconvenient, unplanned-for attraction to her stand in his way.

  He’ll be back tonight. Serena gave a little shiver of excitement that she disguised by tugging down the edges of her shirt.

  Truth was, she had plenty of time to sort the dogs for their walk. She could easily finish Nick Whalen’s tour right now. In fact, she was proud of the state-of-the-art dog-potty facility. Would be happy to show it off.

  But she needed an excuse to spend more time with the hunky Yorki-poo owner when he returned to collect Bessie in the evening. She wanted to give him a detailed report of his little dog’s first day. Chat to him about Bessie’s likes and dislikes; discuss treatment options. Ask him to retie that amber-colored ribbon just to prove he could do it.

  Liar.

  It wasn’t about any of that stuff—except maybe the ribbon. It was about that buzz of awareness she’d thought she’d never feel again. The heady rush of hormones.

  She found this guy so attractive.

  Not that she planned on doing anything more than admiring him from a distance. Not with a client. Not with a guy whose inscrutable pale eyes didn’t show even a hint of any returned interest. Not when her sabbatical from sex made her feel so in control, so at peace with herself that she’d considered shipping her libido to Florida for permanent retirement.

  But what harm did it do to look?

  She did just that. Felt flustered when he caught her look and smiled. Managed a smile in return. “Get here by six and I’ll finish the tour,” she said.

  “I’ll look forward to that,” he said.

  So would she. All day she’d be looking forward to it. In fact she had already set a mental timer on countdown.

  She bent down to scratch behind the basset hound’s floppy ears in case any hint of interest in Nick showed on her face.r />
  At that moment when he’d trapped her hand beneath his, she’d felt protected, not panicked; reassured rather than ready to run. She’d thought she would never feel that way around a man again. Not after the Valentine’s Day dumping and the unpleasant incidents that had preceded it.

  But he still made her feel edgy. She still felt he wasn’t a Yorki-poo kind of guy—and that there was something not quite right about the mismatch. There was no way this guy had a valid passport for dog world.

  Of course she would make darn sure she was around when he dropped off and picked up his dog. Even if she had to fight the other girls for the privilege. But that was as far as it would go.

  Because when it came to Nick Whalen her instincts were on red alert. There was too much unexplained about him for her to trust him.

  Three

  “She’s hot, man, is she hot,” Nick groaned to his buddy and business partner, Adam Shore. He rocked back in his chair, feet propped on his desk. “She tries to look like some frumpy schoolma’am, but man, she’s so not that. She. Is. Hot.”

  As he drove from Paws-A-While in the Marina District to the South Beach office of S&W Investigations, Nick had spent way too much time thinking about Serena Oakley. And his instant, unprecedented attraction to her.

  Adam looked up from his desk. “That’s three times you’ve used the word ‘hot’ about this possible perp,” he said. “I suggest you stay more detached.”

  At age thirty-four, with his already-thinning-at-the-temples dark hair and frameless glasses, Adam looked more like a bank executive than the powerhouse FBI special agent he’d been when Nick and he became friends. When Adam had suggested Nick leave the agency and go into partnership with him, Nick hadn’t hesitated.

  Nick had had a gutful of bureaucracy. And an incompetent manager who’d blocked his promotion and made it very clear he was going nowhere soon. There’d been the money, too. A special agent’s salary beat the minimum wage but not by a hell of a lot. He hadn’t left a comfortable life in his hometown in far northern California to live in debt.

  Nick swung his legs back onto the floor and got up. He paced the wooden floor of the small but smart office in a remodeled bond warehouse on Delancey. Right now S&W Investigations comprised just him and Adam and a part-time bookkeeper. But this was only the start.

  “Detached. Focused. Maintain suspicion. I know all that.” He cracked his knuckles, a habit he had never been able to get out of. “But you should see her, she’s—”

  “Hot. Yeah, I get it.”

  “I was going to say funny and warm and charming. Despite her back-off tactics.” He cracked his knuckles again, in spite of—or perhaps because of—Adam’s shudder. “The damndest thing, the more I think about her, the more I have this feeling I’ve seen her somewhere before.”

  “On America’s Most Wanted?”

  Nick glared at Adam. “No.”

  “It’s possible,” Adam replied. “Better check up on this crazy dog woman.”

  “Don’t call her that.” Nick surprised himself at the vehemence of the tone he used to his partner.

  “Isn’t that what you called her yourself?”

  Nick stopped his pacing and stood in front of Adam’s desk. “Guilty as charged. But that was before I met her.”

  Adam took off his glasses and narrowed his eyes. “Watch out, Nick. This is a big job for us. The insurance company wants quick results.”

  Nick ran his hand through his hair. “I know that. And I also know the most corrupt criminals can appear charming and funny, etcetera, etcetera. It’s part of their stock-in-trade. It’s just she . . . I dunno.”

  No way would he admit to his partner the feelings the doggy day-care director aroused in him. How far his imaginings had gotten to him. That, in spite of her height and businesslike manner, she had an air of vulnerability that appealed to every protective instinct he had.

  “Better check her out ASAP, then,” said Adam, putting on his glasses and returning to his screen.

  Nick settled back at his desk. Investigating a suspect wasn’t as easy as it was when he’d had access to the vast FBI network. And the San Francisco Police Department wasn’t known for its happy sharing of information with private investigators.

  But it was amazing what could be found by good old-fashioned investigation and surveillance. And then there was the Internet. Sometimes Googling brought him just what he needed.

  He’d scrolled through the website of Paws-A-While before he’d called to inquire about Bessie. But at that stage he had been anticipating just a routine check and a quick “all clear.”

  Now he Googled the name “Serena Oakley.” Nothing came up except references to the operations of Paws-A-While. That in itself was unusual. There were no pictures of her on the site or elsewhere. That again rang alarm bells. There must have been publicity surrounding the opening of Paws-A-While. Especially with the connection to the millionaire mutt.

  He Googled “Brutus.” Was staggered by the thousands of references to the millionaire mutt and his inheritance.

  He Googled Brutus’s owner, “Maddy Cartwright,” to find a cute redhead who was a celebrity chef and magazine food editor. She also had her own show on lifestyle television promoting her healthy recipes for feeding dogs. Forget the cans and the kibble, her recipes were canine gourmet. Just another aspect of that whacky alternate dog world Nick found himself thrust into.

  There was an item on Maddy Cartwright’s wedding to attorney Tom O’Brien on the website of Annie, the magazine where she was food editor. Even more on the weirdo double wedding with Brutus and Coco.

  Then pay dirt.

  Most of the pictures were of the dogs. Unbelievably, Brutus in a blue bandanna and Coco in a tiny white veil and glittery collar. But standing behind Cartwright in one small picture of the wedding party was a tall, beautiful, dark-haired bridesmaid.

  He zoomed in on the image as tight as he could. It was Serena all right. Smiling that knockout smile. Her hair caught up behind her face but tumbling around her shoulders. Her lips painted a luscious red.

  And she was . . . Well, she was hot. More than hot. Sensational. So lovely that just looking at her made his body react instantly. In a striking, figure-hugging long dress, she fulfilled all the promise of the beauty he had perceived behind her disguise. To his eyes, she outshone the bride.

  “Gotcha,” he said.

  Adam got up from his desk. “What have you found?”

  Nick took a step aside from his desk so his partner could see his computer. Adam peered at the screen. “That’s the crazy dog woman? You’re sure?”

  “Yes. Or it’s her double.”

  Adam turned to face him. Nick was disconcerted to see the gleam in his eyes. “What did you say her name was?”

  “Serena Oakley.”

  Adam shook his head. “That’s not Serena Oakley. That’s Serena St. James. No wonder you thought you recognized her. For God’s sake, man, Serena St. James.”

  Nick stared at him. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Where have you been? On another planet?” Adam paused. “Oh yeah. Of course you were. Sort of.”

  “You know I was in Australia for two years.”

  His last posting had been to the Australian capital city, Canberra. His cover—legal attaché to the U.S. Embassy. When he got back to DC it had been to the post with the promotion-blocking manager. Not long after, he had resigned.

  Adam rolled his eyes in a manner Nick found disconcerting. “Serena St. James. In the time you were away she must have been on every billboard in the country.”

  Adam grabbed Nick’s computer mouse. Googled again.

  “This, my friend, is Serena St. James,” Adam announced.

  Within seconds another image filled the screen. A breathtakingly beautiful, dark-haired woman lay seemingly naked in an old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub of liquid chocolate. Her shoulders were slightly raised as if she were about to get out of the tub. The dark chocolate streamed o
ff her shapely, olive-skinned shoulders and molded her perfect breasts. The peaks of her nipples were visible through the layer of chocolate. Her face wore a slow, seductive smile Nick recognized instantly, and one chocolate-coated finger rested on the full lower lip of her lush mouth. Eyes the color of dark honey were lit with a multitude of sensual promises.

  Nick felt like he had been kicked in the gut.

  Unless she had an identical twin, this chocolate-coated goddess was Serena Oakley.

  He stared so long at the screen the image went fuzzy.

  Somewhere he must have seen this picture; that was why he thought he’d met her before. Though how he could have forgotten it . . .

  With fingers that felt suddenly thick and clumsy, he clicked and scrolled through some of the multiplicity of websites devoted to “girl in bath of chocolate” and other salacious tags that involved the words “lick” and “eat.”

  He learned how she was a part-time model who had been photographed in the bath of chocolate for Maddy Cartwright’s “The Ultimate Chocolate Fix” food feature for Annie magazine. The chocolate company had loved the pictures so much it had bought some of the images for their national advertising campaign. Then the photographer had sold the rest of the series for a Chocolate Girl calendar that had sold squillions.

  Serena St. James was a fantasy figure to countless men. But liked by women, too, for her funny takes on chocolate and how hard she had to work to keep in shape. She’d been featured on the covers of magazines. Been interviewed on television. Appeared on Oprah.

  He’d been on the other side of the world in Australia and missed it all.

  But there could be no doubt she was the alter ego of Serena Oakley, doggy day-care director. What was her game, burying herself in disguise as a geeky animal nut?

  Nick shut down the websites. Muttered to Adam he was going outside for some fresh air. In the green patch of park outside the office he slouched on a bench and stared ahead across the Embarcadero to the masts of the yachts and the span of the Bay Bridge.

  He felt empty. Drained. Like he’d woken up from a dream to find he was living in a nightmare.

  Serena Oakley. Serena St. James. Whatever she cared to call herself, she was famous. A modern-day pinup. A celebrity.