What hope would a regular guy from a small town have with a woman like her? Would she even look in his direction? Of course, if she was a crook, did it matter?
He cracked his knuckles so loudly the woman at the other end of the park bench glared at him and moved pointedly away.
Checkout time from five to seven was the busiest time of the day at Paws-A-While. Serena waved good-bye to the English bulldog’s mom and the Weimaraners’ dads. She looked at her watch. Twenty after six.
She started to tidy the designer dog collars in the reception area product display. Noted that the more expensive the collar, the more she sold. She was right out of the crystal-studded style that gave no change from a one-hundred-dollar bill.
She looked at her watch again. Shook her wrist as the hands hadn’t moved at all.
She started to sort the doggy beauty bar. Who would have dreamed she would sell so many luxury fur care goodies? The mega-dollar products were doing so well she needed to find more space for the display. And the new line of organic dog treats supplied by her friend Jenna was walking off the shelves. The doughnut shapes with carob frosting were runaway bestsellers.
She tried to concentrate on calculating her profit for the month, told herself she could not check her watch again. Then she heard the “Who Let the Dogs Out?” door chime as the door to the street opened.
She didn’t have to turn around to know it was Nick Whalen. She recognized the sound of his footfall, seemed somehow aware of the amount of air his tall, powerful body displaced in the small room. Despite all efforts to act cool, her heartbeat tripped into double time and a flush burned high on her cheeks.
All afternoon she’d been practicing what she’d say to him. With a friendly yet not-too-friendly greeting on her lips, she turned. But the carefully memorized words dissipated like a puff of vapor.
He knew.
She could see it in the way Nick forced himself to keep his gaze above her neck. That was what the nice guys did. Tried not to think about her chocolate-coated breasts. Even when it was all they could think about.
The more righteous men couldn’t hide their outright disapproval.
Dave the Valentine’s Day dumper hadn’t seen it that way. “Every man you meet imagines you naked and covered in chocolate,” he’d stormed. “They can’t help fantasizing about what they want to do to you.”
She’d protested and protested and protested that not every man who saw her posters wanted to undress her. But Dave could not, would not, believe her. And it had proved true: she had attracted unwanted attention. Scary attention.
But not from men like Nick Whalen.
It was obvious her new client was determined to act the gentleman. He looked above her head with inordinate attention at the beagle clock.
She cleared her throat. “Bessie had a good day.”
He cleared his throat. “That’s great.”
“Made lots of friends.”
“Glad to hear it.” He picked up a bottle from the counter and put it down again without seeming to register that it was labeled Sexy Beast, fragrance for dogs.
Sexy Beast. She could think of someone else worthy of that label.
She cleared her throat again. “Do you . . . uh . . . still want to finish your tour of the facilities?”
He nodded.
Talk about an elephant-sized bathtub of chocolate in the room.
“Well, uh, follow me out back,” she said, stepping toward the door to the playroom.
Would he still treat her the same way now he had recognized her? Or follow the track of so many other guys she’d encountered? Even a hint of innuendo from him and his tour would be terminated.
As she approached the door, Kylie came whirling through it.
Serena halted. She could sense Nick pull up to stop himself from colliding with her back. She braced herself, aware that his chest must be mere fractions of an inch from her spine. If she stood still enough, she would feel his breath on her hair. If she took just half a step back, she would rest against the hard strength of his body.
Just half a step.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. And keep her Birkenstock-clad feet planted firmly on the paw-printed floor.
Kylie greeted Nick. “Hi, Bessie’s dad. She’s all tuckered out and waiting for you.”
Serena swore she felt Nick cringe at the words “Bessie’s dad.” She frowned a warning at Kylie—she had briefed her about the new client’s aversion to the use of everyday dog-world words. But Kylie gave her the slightest and slyest of grins and a discreet thumbs-up. Serena felt the flush on her cheeks intensify. Was her interest in the new client so obvious to everyone?
Nick found himself kissing distance away from the nape of Serena’s slender neck. Her thick plait was coming unraveled and wisps of dark hair waved away from its constraint. Her head was bowed. In what? Guilt? Shame? Or just a feminine flurry at his proximity?
He hoped it was the latter.
When she’d stopped so suddenly, he’d put on the brakes, then braced himself so that he didn’t make contact. He didn’t want her to freak like she had this morning. But she kept still. So still he knew she must be as aware of their closeness as he was.
So what was that cringe thing this morning about? Him? Men in general? Or perhaps a bad experience with a man? Maybe a coconspirator?
Was that why supermodel Serena St. James was hanging out here in disguise as mild-mannered dog nut Serena Oakley?
Nick prided himself on his ability to interrogate the most difficult of suspects. To broach the most controversial of topics. Dammit. Why didn’t he just come straight out and ask her? Tell her he knew her true identity. Present himself as a confidante. Trick her into tripping herself up over details.
Deep down he knew the answer. Adam had nailed it. He was in serious danger of losing impartiality on this case.
Trouble was, the doggy day-care director aroused more than his suspicion.
Right now he badly wanted to press his mouth to the lovely hollow behind her ear. To breathe in the scent of her—warmer, richer, and even more intoxicating than this morning. To reach around her waist and pull her to him so her back nestled against his chest.
But not only was she a possible perpetrator of a serious crime; she was also Serena St. James, chocolate goddess, who could have any man she wanted eating from her . . . well, lapping from her . . .
Whatever.
Do not think about chocolate-coated anything.
He called upon all his FBI training to mask his feelings.
He took two steps back from her.
And made sure he stayed a good distance away as he followed her into the playroom.
After hours, the big room seemed very different. Play equipment sat idle. Just the occasional yip and yelp echoed around the walls. But the doggy cam on the wall still slowly scanned the room, its red light blinking.
Of the few dogs that remained to be picked up by their owners, most were subdued. Bessie was actually asleep, snuggling with Snowball on one of the raised dog beds that punctuated the floor space.
But the huge black dog was in virtually the same position as Nick had last seen him. He still lay on the floor, the massive head with the lopsided ears resting on his front paws. His wrinkled brow gave him a worried expression.
Nick stopped and nodded toward him. “Is there something wrong with this guy?”
“You mean Mack?” said Serena. Her voice was a downward slope of sadness. “He’s not having a good day.”
At the sound of his name, the big animal raised his head and gave a slow thump of his heavy, white-tipped tail. He had one of those appealing dog mouths that curved upward to give the impression of a smile. It seemed at odds with the depressed look in his eyes.
“I don’t get it. Is he sick?”
“His knee is injured. I guess it’s like humans; some days he feels it worse than others.”
“You mean he’s in pain?”
Serena nodded. “He’s on medication,
but I don’t know that it helps much. The vet says he’s torn his anterior cruciate ligament.”
“Ouch.” Nick automatically flexed his right knee as he remembered the agony of his own injury. “I tore mine playing football.”
Serena screwed her face up in sympathy. “Poor you.”
“Yeah. It hurt.” He looked again at the big dog, this time seeing him in a new light. Wanted to pet him. Share some kind of knee-injury-veteran camaraderie. But printed notices around Paws-A-While specifically asked owners not to touch dogs other than their own.
“The vet says Mack probably did it by running and stopping too suddenly. Apparently it’s not uncommon in dogs this size.”
Or big athletic men like himself. “I had surgery and got my injury fixed. Nearly as good as new.”
Serena nodded. “Mack needs surgery on his knee. As soon as possible.”
“So why doesn’t his owner do something about it?” Nick didn’t like to think of anyone—or any animal—enduring the pain he’d endured with his knee. He scanned the room. “Shouldn’t they be here by now?”
“Mack doesn’t have an owner. Or at least he did, but he never came back for him.”
“Some guy just abandoned his dog here?”
“Paid the first week in advance. Cash. Picked Mack up the first day. Picked him up the second. Then I never saw the owner again.”
So the pain in the dog’s eyes wasn’t just about his knee. Nick might not believe in ascribing human emotion to dogs. But he knew dogs got genuinely attached to humans.
For the first time in a long time he thought about his childhood dog. A working dog first and foremost but also a family pet that got taken to the vet when it needed it. Nick came from a line of unsentimental farmers. But not one of them would let an animal suffer unnecessarily. “How could someone be so irresponsible?”
Serena’s lush mouth set in a grim line. “Ask the people who run the animal shelters that question. The answer isn’t pretty.”
The big dog hauled himself upright. Nick noticed he put scarcely any weight on his back right leg. The same knee as his own injury. He winced in sympathy.
“What kind of dog is he?”
“Maybe a mix of black German shepherd, mastiff, and Labrador? It’s anyone’s guess.”
“Why’d they call him Mack? Because he’s the size of a Mack truck?”
Serena smiled. “That, too, I guess. But he’s got a serious fast-food habit.”
Nick wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Tell me that again?”
“Fast food. Burgers and fries. The more mayo and ketchup, the better. His owner told me Mack was a rescue dog. The shelter people were concerned because he was so skinny yet wouldn’t eat. Then a volunteer brought in a burger for lunch and Mack nearly snatched it from her hand.”
“You’re kidding me?”
Nick looked down at the big dog. Felt again a sense of kinship. He had pigged out on fast food when he’d first left home to go to college. He’d reveled in every bite of every burger. But he’d gone to college on a football scholarship. Optimum performance meant eating well. He had learned how to cook. Now he prided himself on his culinary skills.
“No. His owner told me he gave up feeding him the good stuff because all he wanted was burgers and fries. No onions of course; they’re bad for dogs.”
“Burgers and fries are on the menu here?”
Serena shrugged. “Not for the other dogs but . . .”
“You seriously feed this dog fast food?” He didn’t mean to sound disapproving, but Serena seemed to take it that way. She went immediately on the defensive.
“I’ve tried with the other stuff, believe me. My friend Maddy has even made him organic burgers in an oat-bran bun. He eats them. And the kibble that’s shaped like fries. But he’s really only happy with the real deal. He’s not overweight, just big.” Her voice went to mush. “And he’s such a sad sack of a boy, he needs treats sometimes.”
Chocolate was Nick’s favorite treat . . .
Mack lurched toward Serena, limping heavily.
Immediately Serena’s eyes welled with compassion. “Poor baby wants a hug,” she crooned.
Baby? The beast must weigh in at 180 pounds.
Serena sat down on a dog bed, tucking her long legs beneath her. “Watch this,” she said. “He thinks he’s still a puppy and can climb into my lap.”
Nick found it difficult to reconcile the image of the alluring siren in the bath with the woman looking so at home on a scruffy dog bed in baggy jeans, a shapeless shirt, and the ugliest shoes he’d ever seen on a woman. But the face was the same. And even the frumpy clothes couldn’t completely disguise her curves.
She was beautiful just the way she was.
The dog plonked one enormous paw and then the other onto Serena’s lap as he scrabbled for purchase against the fabric of her jeans. Then, still favoring his injured knee, he attempted to launch his outsized frame onto her lap. He got only as far as his forelegs before he ran out of room. Serena laughed, put her arms around his neck, and hugged the big dog.
Nick masked his envy with a grin. “What a wuss.”
“He must have been owned by a woman when he was a pup. He never tries it with a man.” Serena bent backward to avoid an overenthusiastic licking. “Isn’t he adorable?”
“I don’t know about adorable,” said Nick before he remembered his doting-doggy-daddy persona. “But the guy certainly seems like a . . . like a big cutie pie.” He nearly choked on the last two words.
“What did you say?” asked Serena, not looking at him, her attention on not getting squashed flat by the 180-pound pup.
Nick started to repeat the cutie pie thing.
But she didn’t wait for his answer. “No, no, no,” she spluttered, laughing, as she twisted away from Mack’s slobbery attentions.
Her face was flushed and those remarkable eyes were lit with affection and pleasure. Nick realized he had not seen her so relaxed.
So that was her story: she felt more comfortable with dogs than with people.
What would it take for her to look like that at a guy?
“Silly boy,” she admonished the dog, with another peal of laughter.
Lucky boy, thought Nick.
Serena crooned to the outsized mutt as she scratched behind his ears and patted his neck and chest. The dog drooled in ecstasy.
As you would.
“He’s a gentle giant. A really nice dog.” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.”
Nick frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve had him for four weeks,” she said. “I kept thinking the owner would come back, that he had gotten caught up in something.”
“But no show?”
She shook her head. That strand of hair had fallen across her cheek again. Nick clenched his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out and brushing it away.
“Nada. No answer on his landline and the cell phone number he gave me was disconnected. It’s a real mystery. He seemed so fond of Mack.”
A dog abandoned. An owner disappeared. Could Mack’s owner be involved in the identity fraud? Even if only on the periphery? It was a long shot, but somehow he had to get the guy’s name.
Serena gave Mack a final, vigorous pat-down and pushed him gently but firmly away. “That’s enough, Mack.”
The dog obeyed immediately. He sat meekly back down on the floor, though his woebegone eyes didn’t leave Serena.
“He’s well trained,” said Nick.
“At his size he has to be.”
She stood up and brushed herself down. Nick restrained himself from offering to help brush the dog hairs off her chest. Refused to let himself think about how that chest had looked covered in chocolate . . .
He cleared his throat. Kept his gaze concentrated above her neck. “So what’s next for Mack?”
“I can’t bear to send him back to the shelter. It would be like adopting a kid and then returning it to an orphanage. But I’m not ha
ving any luck finding him a home.” She sighed again. “He’s so big. And the surgery he needs costs thousands.”
Finally she pushed the strand of hair back off her face. The gesture was a weary one and he noticed there were bruise-like shadows under her eyes. “Thousands I don’t have right now. But I’m working on it.”
By skimming clients’ details from their credit cards and doing a number on their bank accounts?
This woman was crazy about dogs. Would getting the money for an essential operation be motivation enough to steal? He got a pain in his gut at the thought she could be capable of it. But Serena was still his prime suspect.
“Mack seems like a nice fella.” He paused. “Fella. That was the name of the dog I had as a kid. He had another name but that’s all we ever called him. He was big like this guy but not this big.”
Serena tilted her head to one side. She frowned. “You like big dogs, but you end up with a purse-sized pooch like Bessie?”
She was smart. He’d nearly let his guard down then. Not a good idea to talk about his personal life to a possible perp.
He shrugged. “Different times of life have different needs. We lived on a farm. My family still does. There’s plenty of room for big dogs. We always have them.”
“Lucky you,” she said. “I wasn’t allowed to have a dog when I was little. My parents were vegans. No carnivores permitted in their household.”
“That was tough.”
“Yeah, especially to a kid who loved steak and hamburger.” She pulled a face that made Nick smile. “We moved around a lot, too, which they gave as an additional excuse not to have a dog. Or cat for that matter.”
“You moved around a lot?” Itinerant parents. A background common to many criminals.
“I lost count of how many schools I went to.”
Oakley or St. James? He’d have to check out those dubious-sounding parents.
“I guilted them into a pet eventually,” Serena continued. “I was an only child and I played the lonely card. But they never felt comfortable around my dogs.”
“What do they make of all this?” Nick gestured around him.
Home Is Where the Bark Is Page 5
