by Zoe Dawson
He swore softly. He looked back at the empty bathroom and the clothes lying in a heap on the floor. The woman was running around buck-assed naked?
He would like to see that. What an exotic beauty, with her alluring mix of big dark eyes and elfin features, her rich black hair and her very curvy body. But he wasn’t here to admire her. He was here for a very specific purpose.
Her accidental death.
Kia breathed shallowly. It was all the space she had for her lungs to expand. It was the only time in her life that she cursed her five-foot, nine-inch frame. She suddenly wished she was smaller.
And had someone she could turn to, someone tall and strong. Someone so handsome he made her lungs seize. Someone that she hadn’t seen in ten years. She sighed. Dammit. Now was not the time to daydream about Wes McGraw.
She could only be thankful that she hadn’t washed and dried the majority of the towels that would have occupied the space she’d wedged her body into. A space that barely accommodated her. Bone deep fear tightened her stomach and froze her limbs as she heard him swear. She realized that he was at the window she’d opened. Thank God she’d gotten that fire escape ladder. He went for the ploy.
But it seemed that her sense of relief was premature. She heard his footsteps stop as he stood right outside the closet. She bit her lip. Her hands tightened into fists that she pressed against her mouth to keep the whimper of panic from slipping out.
Her heart was beating so hard, she was worried that he could hear it. If it occurred to him that she had hidden herself instead of running, she was dead.
Finally, he moved away. She heard his retreating footsteps and then the closing of her front door. Breathing a sigh of relief, the panic and adrenaline receding, Kia let out a shaky sob. Tears of relief squeezed from her tightly closed eyes.
When she was sure she was alone, she extricated herself from her fetal position, groaning softly as her stiff muscles protested.
She clutched the edge of the doorframe as blood rushed to constricted extremities, the pain spikes almost welcome.
They reminded her in vivid detail that she was alive.
As soon as she got dressed, she found her cell phone on her coffee table and called the police. She sat on her sofa just breathing deeply to waylay the panic that kept climbing up her spine.
It hadn’t been her imagination. Someone had been watching her. Was her secret out? Did it have to do with her very long, very clandestine investigation that had brought her to nothing but dead ends?
She opened the door when the police knocked. After settling down on her couch, she answered all the questions they asked.
“We’re sorry about what happened to you, ma’am, but it was most likely a vagrant looking for what he could sell.”
She looked from the local fresh-faced deputy to his more experienced partner and realized that they hadn’t taken what she’d said seriously. That shouldn’t really surprise her. As a woman always looking in, she felt like the establishment, i.e., the Sheriff’s Department had written her off as a kook a long time ago. But she wasn’t going to allow that to bother her. She was pretty much an elastic band, and she always snapped back. She was determined to act normal.
“I don’t think so. I think this was the man I believe has been following me.”
“Yes, you did mention that, but you don’t have a description or any information for us to go on. You never saw this guy, right?”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ll let you know if we come up with any leads.”
Which basically meant she was screwed. They were right. She didn’t see his face; she had no description, no proof that he was following her, watching her.
As she closed and locked the door, she felt that same panic crawl up her spine. She backed away from the door, her senses heightened.
She went back into the bathroom and closed the door. Stripping down she turned on the water, but she tucked her vanity chair under the doorknob. No one was going to intimidate her, not here in this place she had built for herself.
She showered, hyperalert to any noise. Maybe she should get herself a dog. A big one with a deep bark and a menacing growl. At least she would have another warm, dependable body in the house. She decided that was an excellent idea. She was going to get herself a guard dog.
She dried her hair, leaving it loose and dressing in a sheer black blouse with bats all over it, a black bra underneath paired with a pair of ripped fishnet and a black denim skirt, and her kickass black studded cowgirl boots with the metal heel that made her feel invincible. She smudged her dark eyes with black eyeliner, foregoing mascara as she was blessed with thick dark lashes and a shade of red lipstick that contrasted with her pale skin. She worried the lip ring at the corner of her mouth as she grabbed her black cowboy hat, bag and keys on the way out of the house, locking the door behind her. Her shoulder blades tingled as she walked to her car, her three horses all nickered at her, Quicksand, a big tan buckskin gelding that was a challenge, Twilight Star, a black and white paint gelding with beautiful brushed patterns who loved apples, and Saragon, a brown appaloosa with a blanket of white with rust dots on his hindquarters, a solid trail horse. She’d already fed them early this morning, so they were set for the day.
“See you guys later. I might have a friend for you to play with soon.” She got into her Jeep, all silver and black, looking like a mini-hummer. As the house disappeared in the distance, the feeling of being in danger passed.
She’d lived here for eight years. She had her moneymaking business—hacking. She had her bar. She had her horses and the four-stall barn on her meager ten acres. She was on the outskirts of town, a bit isolated. She was solid and stable.
When she reached her bar, she parked behind the structure and entered through the alley. Reddick was a mid-sized town, mostly comprised of ranchers and people who supported the cattle trade. But it was more than that and with a population just under six thousand, it had grown since she’d been in high school. Between history, food, shopping, the beautiful scenery and close to the ocean, Reddick was a tourist magnet, people loved soaking up the charm of the Texas Gulf Coast.
Her cell rang as she slipped the key in the lock. “Hello,” she said entering the building and walking toward the bar.
“Howdy, Kia. This is Evie Marshall. We’re all getting together next week for the decorating party at The Barn.” A meeting and multi-purpose venue at the edge of town would serve as their site for the reunion. “Just checking to make sure we’re ready to go.”
“Yes, I’ve assembled everything.” Kia had gotten roped into this reunion committee and she’d been thrilled at first until she realized the group wanted her to do all the work. She rubbed the back of her neck, her stomach twisting. This was silly to immediately think about how many times in high school Evie had called her a freak. That was so long ago. She saw these people every day, but her isolation, her fairy bubble kept her protected. Did these people still think she was a freak? Probably. She still was too different and weird for anyone to understand her. Why wasn’t being herself enough?
“Well, girl, with your businesses, I’m sure you’re always straight out. This won’t tax you none, will it?”
“Nope, I’ll be there.”
“Good. We’ll have plenty to do. I’ll see you then.”
“Wait, Evie, do you know someone I might be able to get a dog from?”
There was silence, and Kia realized that she was probably wondering what the hell Kia was asking her for. Yeah, keep building that freak cred. Then Evie said, “I can’t think of anyone right now, but check the local paper. There might be some ads in there.”
“Good idea. I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye.”
Kia went to the front door and unlocked it. She could already hear movement in the kitchen. The breakfast crowd would be in soon. She walked to the curb, slipped in a coin and grabbed the paper out of the bin. Walking back inside, she opened it t
o the want ads, setting the newspaper on the bar. She looked under “Dogs for Adoption,” and found several prospects that might work, one with a fine description for a German Shepard/Pitbull mix. That sounded like an excellent combination, a herder with a pitbull mentality. The companionship was also going to be nice as people drifted in and out of her life just like when she’d been in foster care. Dogs like horses gave their owner unconditional love. Unlike people, once the bond of trust had been forged, there was no going back. Animals were uncomplicated and lived in the moment.
She could provide a good home for him.
But as an orphan, a foster kid, home was an intangible concept. And that summed it up. She went from home to home because most people thought she was weird or strange.
She was sure she was a changeling, one of the fairy folk who had replaced a human baby, a dark fairy, one who could never find her way home. That elusive dark den where she belonged. A place that defined her with all the other dark fairies. Strangely, her magic was technology based. The computer world was where she felt most at home, a language of zeros and ones that when she saw it, gave her a vast open universe of not only discovery, but creation. A life she’d never known. It was her dark Oz.
She’d had the ruby slippers for a long, long time, but the question was: How could she click them to get back home when she’d never had one in the first place?
2
After Thorn “Tank” Hunt settled Echo at the base kennel, he headed home to a modest-sized house in the San Diego foothills. He wished he could keep Echo with him, but that’s not the way MWDs operated. They weren’t pets, but highly trained and valuable navy assets. Tank knew that, but still wanted the Malinois with him. There was no doubt that Echo was an alpha dog. He proved that every time in the field like the interrogation of Balik. Echo had just sat there, looking fierce as hell, and Balik couldn’t stop giving him fearful glances. Every so often, Echo would growl low in his throat. Balik wasn’t as intimidated by eight US Navy SEALs brimming with automatic weapons, but he was daunted as all get out to have Echo’s intelligent, feral eyes on him. Ruckus used it to his advantage, their LT was so damn good at his job both in leadership and in getting information he wanted. That guy was top dog and Echo knew it, the pack of them ran like wolves.
Tank knew about being a wolf, being an alpha and making sure that all the other wolves were aware that he was the one who was large and in charge. It didn’t really stem from being half-Hispanic or as anything as simple as being macho. It was all about survival on the streets of East LA. That urban battlefield prepared him not only for BUD/S, Basic Underwater Demolition/SEALS training, but for combat.
When he pulled into his driveway, he groaned softly at the powder pink Porsche parked at the curb. It even had a frothy name: Cabriolet and cost a hundred grand and a quarter—for a car. Yeesh. He hit his head a couple of times against his steering wheel. He needed a shower and some downtime, not the pink cotton candy juggernaut that was so self-absorbed she wouldn’t know empathy if it hit her in the head.
Princess Rebecca Dassault or Becca for short always had a sixth sense when he’d be home. She didn’t hesitate to show up unannounced because…well…the world revolved around her. Truth be told, she would take his mind off battle, conflict, the fact that Echo was getting on in years. Anyone who looked at that dog wouldn’t see it, but Tank noticed him slowing down which meant he’d be retired and Tank would have to contend with another dog.
He didn’t want another damn dog.
“Yoo-hoo, Thorny!” she called out, totally ignoring the person she was currently talking to on her phone. She flitted through the grass in a pair of high heels that had pom poms on the instep. Fluffy pink balls of spiky fur that jiggled when she walked. She wore a lot of pink and when he’d remarked about it, she said: I love pink and pink loves me back. It’s that simple. As he emerged from the car, she threw her arms around him. She was such a tiny little thing—most people were compared to his two-hundred and forty-pound, six-feet-four-inch frame. “Ooh, you feel delicious. Hop, skip into the house and shower and change. We’ve got a night of clubbing ahead.”
She didn’t even bother to wait for his answer, but just kissed him on the mouth and returned to her phone call as if he wasn’t there. He shook his head, used to her antics. They had a loose relationship. When he was in town, they fucked. When he wasn’t here, she fucked who she wanted.
“Ah, no, sweetie, not tonight. Winding down. If you want to stay home with me and give me a BJ, that works for me. I haven’t had a woman in months.”
She stopped talking and turned to look at him. Her mouth curled up at the corners. “BJ, huh?” She said into the phone. “I’ll call you back, Lacy. I’m busy right now…serving my country.”
He chuckled, grabbed his duffel and headed for the house. He heard her lock her car and follow him.
He was of the Gaston mindset. You give women books and before you know it, they’re reading, getting ideas and thinking. Actually, he enjoyed intelligent women, but Becca was nothing but froth and foam with a slamming body he enjoyed as much as she enjoyed him. Uncomplicated was what he liked at this point in his life—really malleable women who did things his way.
He dropped his gear at the front door and headed up the stairs. When he turned around, she was already shedding her clothes. The pretty little heels looked so out of place near his dirty, muddy olive drab kit. In fact, she looked like an exotic bird in her colorful print sundress that was now a heap on the middle of his stairs. Dressed in hot pink satin and lace, the sight of her made his dick rock hard.
She removed her bra and he had to admire her generous, pink-tipped breasts. His back hit the wall, and she walked right up to him. “I love it when you come off deployment looking so rough and tough.” She ran her open palm against his dark beard, her direct eye contact stimulating. She might look like a demure princess, but there was some good ole bad girl in there, too.
She molded her hand to the hard length confined beneath the fly of his NWUs or Navy Working Uniform, and she nipped playfully on his lower lip, sending a shock of arousal straight to his already aching groin. “I’d rather blow you than go clubbing.” She tugged his head down and followed that comment with a gust of warm, damp air into his ear that made him shudder.
“I’ll make it up to you, honey,” he rasped, aching for her mouth. “They don’t call it a job for nothing.” She laughed softly, and he dragged her into the bathroom. “Take my clothes off.”
“I do love a man in uniform, but I love one even better out of it.” She reached for his waistband while he twisted and turned on the water, getting it to the right temperature.
Divesting her of her panties, he dragged her inside the shower. “Wash me.”
She complied, using her soaped-up hands to touch every inch of him. “That’s no hardship. I love your muscles. There isn’t an ounce of fat on you. Every inch of you is so lickable.” She proved it by sending her tongue over him, and he leaned back closing his eyes. She bit and stroked her tongue over the ridges of his abs then settled on her knees. The soft wet warmth of her mouth closed over his dick, enveloping him in the moist heat of her mouth. She took him all the way to the base of his shaft as a deep, tortured groan rumbled up from his throat.
His mind was now totally on his pleasure. Mission accomplished, princess pink.
Kia got no response when she knocked on the modest ranch house door. The guy had just texted her to come around and take a look at the Shepard. She walked around the house to the barn and called out, “Hello?”
A tall, lanky man poked his head out of the barn door and said. “Howdy, ma’am. Come on over.”
She walked toward the man even as he gave her a once over and immediately she could see that he’d pegged her as different. He took in the ripped fishnet and the unique cowboy boots. “You’re an interesting one,” he drawled. “You here about the dog?”
“Yes. I’m Kia Silverbrook. Nice to meet you.” She reached out her hand and they sh
ook.
“Marty Carpenter. Likewise.” He set down the brush he was using to groom a beautiful bay gelding. Kia rubbed his forelock when he sniffed toward her curiously.
“He’s beautiful.”
“Samson is that, but spoiled.” Marty smiled. “I’m happy to show you the dog, but I want reassurances that you have the right disposition to handle him, and he’ll have adequate exercise and nutrition.”
“I love animals and have three horses, one of them a challenge. I can handle him.” She followed him. “Why are you giving him away?”
“I have too many puppers as it is with a hound giving birth just a few days ago. My wife is giving me the evil eye. This is a stray I found on the side of the road. He’s a good dog.”
Already she was hooked. A stray, like her. “I need a guard dog, one who will protect me and my home.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place. He’s very vigilant. He’s been herding my small flock of sheep since he got here.” The affection in the rancher’s voice was evident, and Kia already liked him.
He brought her to a pen and emitted a shrill whistle. The sheep parted, and she got her first glimpse of the dog. Her eyes connected with his warm amber eyes and…powie. It was like she was struck by lightning as if it was kismet.
“Come here,” Marty said. Wow, he was muscularly built, very solid but that wasn’t a surprise. He was almost completely fawn-colored except for totally black ears and muzzle and a streak of black on his back. But his snout was shorter and his face showed the influence of the pitbull, wide head, powerful jaws.
“Someone trained him very well, and I’ve tried to find the owner, but no luck. Maybe he died or some other issue keeps him from claiming him. Either way, he needs a home. I’d keep him in a heartbeat if it wasn’t for—” His cell phone rang and he said, “Excuse me,” and walked off.
