Wonders Never Cease (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Salonen, Debra

Fortunately, Ben turned and sprang from the mattress to the bathroom door. “I’m going to take a shower. Do you want to go outside?”

  He lobbed the underwear overhead with a nice shot that wound up hooking the edge of the black plastic clothes basket sitting beside his closet door. Mesmerized by his fluidity and grace, Jill followed his movements—more dance than athleticism—enviously.

  He flipped on the light switch in the bathroom. He used the fingers on both hands to massage his scalp then he scratched a spot between his shoulder blades. His muscles bunched like coils of rope. He opened his mouth and made a weird aughing sound. Every movement was so masculine—so locker-roomish, Jill felt like a voyeur.

  You are a voyeur. No, you’re a dog. There’s a difference.

  He moved farther into the bathroom, and Jill heard the sound of a very solid direct aim hitting the toilet water. Peter would have let his kidneys explode rather than pee in front of her.

  A second later, she heard the sound of running water followed by a muffled hum. Something sad bubbled up in her throat to press on her windpipe. Although she’d experienced an initial relief after Peter left—their last few months together had been stormy and unpleasant—she had discovered right away that she missed the small intimacies of married life. Sharing a steamy bathroom mirror. Eating meals—even takeout—with another human being. Snuggling up at the end of a long day to discuss the trials and tribulations of life.

  In spite of their current living arrangement, her parents had provided Jill with a very solid model of married life. Once she graduated from college, Jill’s parents had gone their separate ways in a baffling move nobody talked about. Now they maintained separate homes in two states. But they’d never formally divorced, and Jill believed they still loved each other.

  “They’re independent people doing their own things, but just watch,” she’d told Penny the other day. “They’ll probably wind up in the same rest home together.”

  Ben’s off-key whistling interrupted her line of thought. He stepped from the bathroom with a fluffy, hunter-green towel snugged to his waist. He headed toward her with some obvious purpose.

  “Outside, pal. You need to do your business, because I’m leaving you here when I go.” He scooped her up by wrapping his arms around her middle, then deposited her gently on the Oriental runner beside the bed.

  Her legs were still a little wobbly but her vertigo was gone. With one eye on her, he walked to the door and nudged open the screen. “Come, boy.”

  Jill took a couple of steps, trying to concentrate on establishing a rhythm. It wasn’t as easy as dogs made it look, she thought. By mentally counting out each step to cue each leg, she made it outside.

  Ben didn’t say anything, but there was a worried look in his eyes as he watched her pace stiffly around the perimeter of the large backyard. Like many homes in this section of Bullion, Ben’s was built against a hillside. Scrub brush and spindly pines claimed space in the rocky red soil beyond the fence.

  The more she moved, the easier it became. Jill decided what bothered her most about her current condition was her size…or lack of it. Going from five foot seven inches to less than three feet was a bit unnerving, she decided. It made her feel vulnerable; she got dizzy trying to look everywhere at once.

  A quick glance at the doorway told her Ben was no longer watching. Good thing. She needed to relieve herself and didn’t think she could handle an audience. She selected a sturdy-looking ash. She was a male dog, after all. I can do this. How hard can it be?

  By focusing, she managed to lift her left hind leg. Unfortunately, the momentum screwed up her balance and she staggered drunkenly. She tried again, lining up the tree with her rear haunches. It took concentration, but she finally managed to empty her bladder. Panting from the exertion, she moved to a shady spot under the plum tree and sat down.

  The grass beneath her bottom felt soft and cool. She stretched out her front paws and lowered her tummy to the ground. This is nice. Suddenly inspired by sensory needs she couldn’t identify, she rolled to her back and put her paws in the air, wiggling in an invigorating body massage of sorts.

  A loud cracking sound made her stop, return to her belly and look around. By consciously opening her auditory receptors, Jill was suddenly inundated by sound—too many images, too sharp, too close: cars whizzing past, children’s voices cackling like geese at a nearby schoolyard, bees pilfering pollen from late-blooming roses.

  By concentrating, Jill discovered how to adjust her internal filter. Letting out a sigh, she studied Ben’s house in the daylight. One of Bullion’s fine older homes, it needed a loving touch, a family to bring it to life.

  Something about that idea got to her; it reminded her of all she’d be missing out on as a dog: a husband, kids, work, play, language, friends, movies, hamburgers, wine, chocolate, computers. How can I do this? How can I live this life when mine was so rich, so full of potential? Why didn’t I realize that then? Why did I play games with the Time God—thinking I always had tomorrow to live the life I wanted?

  Jill knew one thing for sure. If she ever got her body back, there’d be no more waiting, no whining and no what-ifs. She’d embrace life with complete abandon. She’d throw herself at Ben and beg him to love her. She’d be a better friend to Penny and Dorry. She’d be a better daughter.

  The sound of a phone produced a sudden unconscious response that took Jill by surprise. Powerful muscles in her hind legs catapulted her past two levels of deck in a single bound, through the open patio door and across the Oriental runner. When she reached the phone, panting, she knocked the receiver off the cradle with her nose.

  “Hello. Hello. Jacobs, are you there?” a male voice asked.

  She tried to muster a bark but still didn’t know how to contact her vocal cords on demand. She felt Ben’s gaze and looked up. Black jeans. Zipped partway up. No shirt. The trail of dark curly hair starting at his belly button—an “inny”—disappeared into the fly.

  “Aren’t you gonna answer it?” He had a cockeyed smile on his lips that made Jill’s heart flip-flop. She sincerely hoped dogs couldn’t blush.

  He lifted one shoulder in feigned exasperation then reached down for the telephone. “Jacobs here.” Crisp, polished. Professional.

  Jill watched his expression, trying to read the news. Impatiently, he brushed back a lock of wet hair, exposing his wrinkled forehead. “Are you sure?”

  The look that followed wasn’t very attractive. In fact, it made Jill shiver. She knew she’d never want him mad at her. He listened intently then hung up with a gruff but polite acknowledgment.

  He looked at Jill and said, “That was Amos. They caught the guy who attacked Jill. Someone from the newspaper reported him. They said he’d been stalking Jill for weeks.”

  Bobby Goetz? No way. He’s too lazy to take a swing at me, and he’s certainly not smart enough to figure out how to get into my house—even if there was only one hide-a-key to pick from.

  Ben seemed to share her doubt. “Something doesn’t feel right about this. I’m going to stop at the jail on my way to the hospital. Maybe I’ll run by Jill’s house, too.”

  Jill nodded. Good idea. I need to check on my cat.

  Ben walked to the closet and selected a neatly pressed shirt. White, long sleeves. As he was buttoning it up, he glanced at Jill and said, “You do understand you’re staying here, right?”

  Over my dead body.

  She gulped. That wasn’t what she meant to say. Giving a silent apology to the Word God—and any other benevolent soul that might be listening, she did what any good dog did to get her way. She started to whine.

  BEN GLANCED at his watch. Amos was due back in the office any minute. He was interrogating the suspect. The suspect that didn’t feel like the right suspect to Ben. Just why that was, Ben couldn’t say.

  Amos walked into the room with his head down, his gaze on the papers in his hand. Czar greeted him with an uncharacteristically friendly woof.

  Amos jumped a full fo
ot to the left, bumping into his desk. “What the hell are you doing here? This is your day off, and that dog is supposed to be resting.”

  Ben understood that the gruffness in his commander’s voice stemmed from lack of sleep and stress. Ben was just as edgy. Life was slightly off kilter, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He didn’t like the changes he sensed in Czar, either.

  The dog had actually whined so pathetically Ben had caved and brought him along. “He’s…not comfortable being left alone,” Ben admitted with reluctance.

  Amos dumped his papers on his desk and sat down. “He’s not what?”

  Czar’s tail thumped on the floor. The noise seemed to take him by surprise. A shot of acid hit Ben’s empty stomach. He swallowed. “He isn’t quite himself yet.” Please let it be from shock, he silently prayed. Or drugs. Or post-traumatic stress syndrome. Anything but what Ben feared—brain damage.

  Amos eyed Czar with concern. “Well then take him home and stay with him.”

  “I can’t. I need some information. I’m trying to track down a woman named Dorry Fishbank. Lives in the hills. Family’s reputed pot farmers. There may be a link with Jill.”

  Amos reached for a can of soda sitting in a pool of condensation that had spread to some nearby reports. After a loud gulp, he set down the can and looked at Ben. “Close the door and have a chair.”

  Ben paced two steps to a wall adorned with framed photographs. The room felt too small. “I’d like to check out this lead right away, sir. I spoke to the mechanic on my way here, and I have to say, I think Jill had reason to be concerned about her safety. When you combine that with what happened last night, I feel I should check out the whereabouts of her source. The woman seems to have disappeared.”

  “Sit.” It was a command.

  Czar sat, crisply, his attention on the man behind the desk.

  Ben gave Czar a sharp look; he wasn’t supposed to do what other people ordered. This small disloyalty was the pin that popped Ben’s composure.

  He swung around, marched to Amos’s desk and pounded one fist in a fairly clear spot. The thud echoed like a gavel. “I need your help. And I need it now. I know you think you’ve got the perp, but I don’t agree.”

  Amos shot to his feet. He gave Ben a piercing glare, placed both palms flat and leaned across the desk. “Sit down.”

  Three or four heartbeats passed before Ben found the control he prided himself on. He sank into the proffered chair.

  “Thank you.” Amos sat, too. He looked at Czar as if expecting the dog to explain Ben’s sudden change in behavior. “I’m assuming lack of sleep and worry about your partner’s health is to blame for this unpleasant change in your usual rock-steady temperament.” A hint of humor shaded his tone, along with kindness. “And maybe a certain amount of guilt over what happened to Jill, but believe me Ben, you couldn’t have prevented it.”

  Ben slumped lower. Guilt. Yes, he felt guilty. He’d let his feelings blind him to what Czar had sensed right off. “I should have been paying attention. I almost got them both killed.”

  Amos sighed. “I figured that was eating at you. That and the fact you care for her.”

  Czar dropped his chin to Ben’s knee. Ben saw the stapled gash below his ear—red and ugly. So much to lose. So close to losing it all.

  Ben looked his commanding officer in the eyes. “I apologize. That outburst was deplorable. There’s no excuse for dumping my problems in your lap like that.”

  Amos gave a dry snort. “Don’t sweat it. Everybody likes to pound on my desk. Makes ’em feel better.”

  They sat in silence a moment, then Amos said, “Bad things happen, Ben. Sometimes they happen to people we love. You aren’t clairvoyant. You don’t possess the highly developed sense of hearing and smell that Czar has. Quit kicking yourself about something outside your control, okay? Now, tell me about this new lead.”

  Ben knew Amos was right. Hadn’t he learned that lesson years ago? He’d done everything in his power to change his father, but nothing had worked. So he’d joined the Navy and moved on with his life. Ben couldn’t undo last night’s attack but he could follow Jill’s hunch.

  After briefing Amos on the background information Jill had shared with him, Ben said, “I honestly believe her inquiry isn’t a grudge match or flight of fancy on Jill’s part. She claimed she and Dorry had unearthed proof of the contamination right before Dorry disappeared. The two things might not be related, but what if they are?”

  Amos drummed his fingers on the desk. “Did I tell you we found a ski mask and gloves down by the bridge where the indigents hang out?”

  “Jimmy told me on the way in. He’s pretty happy about the collar. But Jill mentioned this Goetz guy the other day, she called him a loser. She said he’d been bugging her to do a follow-up article, but she didn’t sound afraid for her life.”

  A tight frown encompassed Amos’s thin lips. His gray mustache turned down at the corners. “How’s she doing?”

  Ben shook his head. “I didn’t see her this morning. Her mother wasn’t thrilled about having a dog in the same room with her daughter.”

  Both men were silent for a few minutes, then Ben said, “A couple of months ago in Santa Ignacio all five members of the planning board were indicted for taking kickbacks from a developer. That scandal didn’t have anything to do with bad water—just broken faith, hollow promises, sewer hookups that weren’t up to code, stuff like that. Once the press got hold of it, the whole thing got very messy, and the city was stuck holding the bag. A very costly bag.”

  Amos seemed to ponder the information. “The Excelsior project is supposed to be a biggie, huh?”

  Ben pictured the crowd dressed in tuxedos, glittering dresses and jewels. “Big.” He thought about the chilly look in Clarice Martin’s eyes when she suggested that Jill might upset things with her false accusations. “A lot of money on the line. The mayor is very gung-ho.”

  Amos’s mustache twitched. “I’m not surprised.”

  “He doesn’t like Jill much, either.”

  Amos sighed. “Bud and Jill have knocked heads over several issues. So, what do you want to do about the Fishbank woman?”

  “I just want to talk to her—so I can tell Jill she’s okay.” He reached out to bury his fingers in the thick scruff at Czar’s neck. “I’ve heard that people in comas can still hear things. And I know this was bothering her. Maybe with one less thing to worry about, she can concentrate on getting well.”

  Ben waited while Amos doodled on the corner of his blotter.

  “I’ll look into it. The emphasis in that sentence was on the word I, in case you missed it,” Amos said sternly. “You are taking a couple of days off. Czar is on medical leave. You need rest, too. Understood?”

  Ben felt like a kid being grounded. He couldn’t remember his own parents ever exerting their parental authority. Maybe because they knew it would be a waste of breath.

  A FEW HOURS LATER, with Ben safely occupied on the phone, Jill looked for a path of escape from his backyard. She put her nose to work. Her wonderful, incredible nose. She was getting good at screening out the scents she preferred not to acknowledge.

  She sniffed around until she found a path leading to an opening beneath a rotted grape arbor. Keeping low to the ground, she crawled through without a hitch. Once free, she set out toward home. She felt guilty leaving Ben, who was obviously worried about her—Czar, but Jill had to check on Frank, her cat.

  After a couple of blocks, Jill figured out how to lope. Czar’s well-conditioned body functioned flawlessly as long as she kept her mind out of its business. Unfortunately, the jarring motion gave her a headache, so she had to slow down.

  At first, she stuck to the sidewalk like a good pedestrian until a voice inside her head said, I’m a dog. Dogs go wherever they want. Lawns, alleys, jaywalking. The novelty of such freedom made her want to bark with happiness.

  She was feeling pretty smug as she approached her house—until she realized she didn’t have a key—
or hands. Fortunately, her broken gate—sealed with a chest-high piece of yellow crime-scene tape—provided access.

  She sniffed the perimeter of the slump stone and stucco wall that framed her patio. Most residents had opted for privacy over view and found a way to extend the height of the wall. As soon as Peter moved out, Jill had hired a contractor to build a redwood extension with staggered landings for potted plants.

  Jill could smell Frank everywhere. She knew he wouldn’t appreciate a strange dog poking around his territory. Cautiously working her way to the patio doors, Jill glanced up just in time to see a black bomb hurtling through space, accompanied by a screech that would have set a vampire’s skin crawling.

  Frank’s claws sank into Jill’s skin—needle pricks in a dozen spots at once. Jill cried out in pain and bucked to dislodge the cat that seemed attached like Velcro. Howling and spinning in hopeless circles, Jill was about to bolt for home when she heard the sliding glass door open.

  Help me. Somebody. Please. Jill shot into the house, cat still firmly stuck to her back.

  A loud epithet was followed by a crash—a bar stool hitting the floor. A man’s voice cried, “Whose dog is that? Jill doesn’t have a dog.”

  Peter?

  A second voice boomed. “Czar?”

  Ben? Jill froze. Frank disappeared. One minute an instrument of torture, the next gone. Frank didn’t like men, especially Peter.

  Overcome with gratitude, Jill ran to Ben, her delight making her whole body wag, from her tail to her ears.

  Ben went down on one knee and clasped her head in his hands. He looked worried and upset. “How’d you get here, boy?”

  On foot, of course. What are you doing here? I thought you were still on the phone with Amos.

  “You know this dog?” Peter asked.

  Ben quickly checked her bandage, her coat. “Czar’s my partner. The same person who attacked your ex-wife shot him. He’s supposed to be asleep on my bed.” So you snuck out without me? Me. Your poor wounded partner. Hmph.

  Jill turned around and sat down so she could look at Peter. His dove-gray, three-piece suit fit in that certain hand-tailored way. Who are you trying to impress?