by Kallie Lane
“I’m Dr. Breeana McGill, the veterinarian. I was called here for a police emergency, to treat an injured dog.”
His gaze missed nothing as it raked her over, apparently trying to decide if she was legit. She knew how she must look in her frou-frou gym gear, wanted to sink through the floor, and disappear from view.
A birthday gift from her son, she hadn’t had the heart not to wear it for her workouts, not after he’d tried so hard to pick out the outfit. So what if it was a little too girly-girl for her taste? Cody had made the effort, and she didn’t appreciate the cop’s reaction.
If it wasn’t for Bruiser and the gnawing, sick feeling about Rainey in the pit of her stomach, she would slap the smirk off his face right now and run hell-bent for freedom.
“You’re the vet? Really?” He cocked an eyebrow, pressing his lips together as if stifling a laugh. “Get some booties on your feet before you destroy more evidence.”
“What? I don’t care about you and your booties. I have a sick animal to deal with. Step aside.”
A full-blown smile edged his lips as he grabbed a pair of blue shoe coverings from a box on the kitchen table and waited for her to slip them over her Nikes. Only then did he reach behind her and touch the handle on the laundry room door.
“Cookie, this I gotta see.”
That stopped her in her tracks. Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she forgot the terror churning her insides about Rainey. “Cookie? Do I look like some fluffy confection to you, as in all sugar and spice with nothing between my ears?”
He leaned toward her, his minty breath closing the distance. “You really need to ask me that question? With the glitter stripes on your shorts and the matching, miniscule halter top you’re wearing? Workout fashionistas have nothing on you, waltzing in here all sweated up and smelling like coconut-lime spritzer.”
The corners of his mouth curved after giving her what could only be termed as a full body scan. “Now, let’s be real clear about this. The dog isn’t a Pekinese named Cutsie-Poo with silk ribbons in its hair. He’s a bone-crushing brute in a great deal of pain. So, if you’re not up to the task, tell me now. I’ll call in someone else and you can be on your pop-star way.”
Arrogant ass. She wanted to throttle him, but thought better of it. She needed to focus on what was important. On Bruiser. “I know the dog, and my qualifications have nothing to do with how I’m dressed. Quit wasting time.”
She pushed by him into the room and stared, goose bumps erupting across her skin. Bruiser lay on his side and whimpered. His muzzle and front paws were swollen to twice their normal size, imbedded with jagged splinters and covered in congealed blood. Her heart sank. It was worse than she had imagined. All kinds of questions echoed in her mind.
Shoving those aside for the moment, she knelt to stroke the dog’s massive head, soothing him with the sound of her familiar voice. “Easy, boy. I’m here.”
She turned with some surprise when the cop cleared his throat just behind her. His hands poised in the air on either side of her hips, he looked ready to toss her out of harm’s way the second there was any trouble.
Puh-leeze! Save me from macho men who think I’m the defenseless little woman.
“Pass me my medical kit. I’ll sedate him so I can transport him to the clinic. There’s a gurney in my SUV. I’ll need it and some men to carry him out of the house.”
He shook his head. “No way. The dog is evidence. You will tranquilize him so the criminalists can go over him here for trace. Then Animal Control will take him to their facility and you can leave.”
First the booties and now this. The man liked to have his way. Well, not today, not on her watch.
“I don’t think so.” Breeana jutted her chin out and gave him the look, hoping he would retreat a few steps. He didn’t. “Bruiser goes with me now. You can follow and take whatever evidence you need at my clinic. I only care about the welfare of the dog and he needs medical attention.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, Doc.” The cop blew out a breath and ran his fingers through sable dark hair, the resulting disarray standing up in short spikes. “Let`s not butt heads over this. Understand, it’s a homicide investigation. I won’t risk losing evidence if you drag the dog out of here. The dog stays. The decision is out of your control.”
Breeana ignored his words. Even so, a morbid chill prickled her nape. Homicide… Don’t think about the word, she told herself, or you’ll only fall apart. Focus on Bruiser. Do what needs to be done.
She grabbed a syringe from her case and mechanically administered an anesthetic before Bruiser became more agitated, counting off the seconds until his tense muscles slowly relaxed beneath her touch. Once he slipped into unconsciousness on a noisy exhale, it was time to make her move. Taking a cleansing breath, she prepared to do battle with the cop barring the doorway.
“Perhaps I forgot to mention I have a Mallard Bay judge on speed dial? Yep, her aging Cocker Spaniel is one of my pampered pooches. Actually, I called her on my way over here this morning and got a court order in the works. Bruiser goes with me.”
She snapped her medical bag closed with finality and rose to her feet. “I’ll need the gurney now.”
He stared down at her and said nothing. His whiskey-colored gaze was unreadable and more than a little frightening. Still, she would move heaven and earth to save Bruiser from neglect and abuse, even if it meant facing off against a cop.
“Oh, don’t look so glum. Think of it as protective custody. I’m the most qualified person for the job and the judge agrees with me. I don’t give a damn what you say about it because it’s already a done deal. Call the judge if you don’t believe me.”
“I intend to. The Rottie doesn’t move from the room until I make the call. I won’t risk the chain of evidence because of your whim, cookie.”
Bruiser was wrapped in a blanket, loaded in a police-issue Tahoe, and headed for the veterinary clinic five minutes after the phone call to Judge Wells. Super cop drove and Breeana followed along behind him in her SUV, an inch off his bumper. The look on his face when he rolled to a stop at the back door of the clinic said it all. He was pissed off.
Well, tough sheep-dip.
Rainey’s cell phone had gone directly to voice mail when she’d called her again. Twice. Not an unusual occurrence, since Rainey hated her cell phone and rarely answered anyway. Still, what were the chances she was safe and unaware cops crawled through her house looking for clues to a crime? Not good.
Breeana shoved the phone in her purse and walked across the parking lot on shaky legs. The tubular steel handle chilled her palm as she swung the door open and entered the clinic. The cop followed behind her with the gurney rolling and then transferred the Rottweiler to the examination table when they reached her surgery.
“Cody?” She called to her son who was usually within hearing distance. “I need help in here.”
“Be there in a sec.” Clearing the doorway at a trot, Cody stopped dead in his tracks and gawked at the animal on the table. His fingers trailed a path along the dog’s sleek shoulder. “Jeez! What happened to Bruiser?”
“I don’t know yet, but I need you to assist me. It’s still early and Laura won’t be in for another hour.”
Breeana’s gaze cut from the clock on the wall to the police officer in the doorway while her son prepared a surgical tray with instruments, antiseptic, and gauze. Panic crawled up her spine. She shoved it back. Sticking her head in the sand obviously didn’t work for her. She had to know the truth. “How did the dog get hurt?”
The rhythm of her heart outraced the ticking of the clock while she waited for the cop to answer. Tick-tock, kathump, kathump. He hesitated as if deciding how much to tell her. She held her breath, hoping he would answer, but dreading what he would say.
Folding his arms across his chest, he seemed to be choosing his next words. “He did this to himself while attempting to chew and claw his way through a door. My guess is he’d been locked up without food, or water, f
or a few days.”
Breeana’s heart sped up again. “Where is the dog’s owner?”
“I’m sorry, that’s classified information.”
“Classified? Come on, man. The dog’s owner is one of my clients.”
He leaned back against the doorframe, his gaze searching her face. Oh, damn, she could tell by his cop-face mask of indifference—he was about to drop the mother lode of all bombs squarely in her lap. She dredged up her courage and swallowed the urge to flee whatever he said next.
Pulling his badge and identification from a jean pocket, he held them up to her face. “I’m Lieutenant Detective Sullivan Sauvage of the Montreal Homicide Division. This dog is a material witness in a pending investigation.”
Rainey must be dead. Otherwise, he would have told her. Any residual hope she’d clung to since answering the police summons to treat Bruiser drained from Breeana’s body in a rush.
The floor shifted beneath her feet and the blood nurturing her brain left for parts unknown. She sensed Sauvage trying to reach her before she hit the floor. Fighting dizziness and nausea, she grabbed the edge of the steel operating table, barely managing to stay upright and shove his arms aside.
“I’m all right.”
“Sure you are. I’ve noticed.” The lieutenant clenched his jaw, looking like he wanted to say a whole lot more. “Your skin is as green as swamp water scuz. Maybe you should sit down.”
“It’s nothing, just a touch of the flu.”
Breeana rubbed her hands along her arms. She was unbearably cold and feared she would never be warm again. One quick glance told her the lieutenant still had his antennae twitching in her direction.
She turned her face away from his scrutiny, hunched over Bruiser, and started removing the splinters. Pretended her world hadn’t just spun out of control.
Her son’s voice threaded through the ringing in her ears. “You never said you had the flu. Is it the hurl variety or the blow-your-brains-out-sneezing kind?”
“Give me a break, Cody. I’m trying to concentrate.”
It was all she could do to keep focused and not slide to the floor in a grief-stricken heap. She dug deep for endurance and tried to block everything out, except Bruiser. She couldn’t face the heartache of losing Rainey. Not now. Not with Cody in the room. Not when they both still grieved for Miranda.
Sauvage hovered in her peripheral vision. She felt trapped, didn’t need to see him. His piney masculine scent was a dead giveaway. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? She jumped when his fingers brushed her shoulder.
“Doc? Why not take a breather and talk to me?”
“Look, I’ve got to get this done. I’m fine, really.”
She inched out from under his big hand, uninterested in his concern. She wanted nothing to do with the man. After all, had the local police launched an investigation into Miranda’s death? No.
Had anyone on the force believed her when she had insisted Miranda was murdered? No again.
The Mallard Bay Police had labeled Miranda’s death an accidental drowning and closed the book on it. A senseless tragedy, they had said, and suggested Breeana take her murder theory to the nearest crime publisher and leave the real crime solving to them. Ha!
“Cody, take the lieutenant over to the sink and pour some antiseptic on his arm, then show him to the waiting room. He’s bleeding on my patient.”
The lieutenant shot her a steely look. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter Two
Sully glanced at his forearm after the boy removed the makeshift bandage, surprised to see a gaping wound oozing blood down to his wrist and between his fingers. The sight and coppery scent caused pain receptors to flare, like they’d only just realized he’d been bitten. He gritted his teeth, counted to ten under his breath, and focused on the vet.
Mistake number one.
Her sleek body clad in workout gear was one hell of a distraction. Against his will, his gaze traveled, taking her in, assessing how long it would take to get her out of all the spandex. Shit. The true problem? The doc piqued his interest for many reasons, most of which had nothing to do with his case.
Mistake number two.
He’d tried to adjust when he’d first seen her at the crime scene. Hell, he’d behaved like a jerk, playing the chauvinist card, attempting to screw his head on straight while she choked on the ‘cookie’ comment. It hadn’t worked, not after she blindsided him with frightened eyes, swayed on her feet, and almost passed out from the shock once she realized her friend was dead.
Talk about a damsel in distress.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and risked another glance in her direction. She was still there. Still trembling. Still packaged in an athlete’s body with a riot of auburn hair and the face of an angel.
He tried to switch gears, to categorize her as a person of interest in his murder investigation. He couldn’t. Withholding information about her relationship with the murder victim didn’t mean she was involved.
Hell, who am I kidding? Her duplicity was huge. Gigantic. The cop inside him reasserted itself and regained control.
He moved back against the doorframe after stepping away from the boy and snagged a fresh towel for his arm. His gaze zoomed in on her as closely as an entomologist would study a new species of insect under a microscope. He noticed how she shifted her bottle-green gaze everywhere in the room but in his direction. A guilty conscience, maybe? Or just plain unimpressed with him and his bad cop routine?
Edging to the table, he ignored her chilling stare, extracted several baggies from his forensic kit, and got to work. Over the next half hour he immersed himself in the job, sealing bloodied splinters and bits of fluff combed from the animal’s fur into individual bags. Labeling and setting them aside for the lab. Swabs of blood taken from Bruiser’s muzzle, teeth and gums were added to the evidence. Sully hoped the lab would find the killer’s blood in the mix. Bruiser may have had a chance to do some damage before being locked in the laundry room.
He intentionally crowded the vet, wanting to see how far she’d take her “I don’t know anything” stance. Brushing up against her, he moved to the Rottie’s hindquarters. The clatter of steel on steel resonated as tweezers tumbled from her grip, clanged against the table, and broke the silence. So did her sharp intake of breath. The woman was a bundle of nerves.
“Cody, please call someone to drive the lieutenant to the hospital. Bruiser took quite a chunk out of his arm.”
“I’m staying with my witness.” End of discussion as far as he was concerned.
“Hey, I’ll drive the lieutenant.” The kid piped up from his perch in the doorway, ignoring him as if he hadn’t spoken. Sully was pretty sure he wasn’t invisible. He returned his focus to Bruiser’s paws, intent on probing the pads and clipping the nails.
“Nice try, kiddo,” his mother said. “You’re only thirteen and don’t have a driver’s license.”
“Aw, come on, Mom. Gramps taught me in the driveway in case of emergency.”
“In your dreams, pal.” Sully’s brain grappled with the vision of the teen behind the wheel of a vehicle. NASCAR here we come. “If I ever catch wind of you out on the roads without a license, I will toss your scrawny butt in jail. Are we clear?”
“Sure, Lieutenant,” the boy snickered. “It was just a thought.”
“Hmm, driving without a license.” The doc’s brows shot up. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’ve decided on a life of crime?”
The woman bantered with her son as if the topic of homicide had not reared its ugly head. She was obviously stalling for time. His gut said she had a story to tell.
What is she hiding? Come on, come on...tell me what you know. Don’t make me drag it out of you.
“Yeah, right.” Cody patted his mother on the head, smooched her cheek, and slid a hand along the sleeping dog’s flank. “If there’s nothing else I can do, I’ll go finish up those cat cages. Since it’s a school holiday, I’m meeting the guys at the deli for pizza.”<
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“Mmm, pizza sounds good.”
“Sweet, Mom. Can you spot me some cash?”
The doc pulled some bills from her lab coat pocket and handed them over. Sully almost laughed at the exchange. Breakfast was barely over and the boy had already lined up his lunch. Maybe his mother paid his meal ticket just to get him out of her hair. She was still washed-out and shocky looking. So much so, he was tempted to wrap a comforting arm around her.
Whoa, where had the protective urge come from? Coddling her wouldn’t give him the answers he needed.
She grabbed a cell phone off the counter and tossed it to her son. “Don’t forget your paper route today. Keep your cell on and stay in touch.”
“You got it.” As an afterthought, Cody added as he headed for the door, “Can we take Bruiser home until Rainey comes to get him? Where is she anyway?”
The brilliant flash of tears in the vet’s eyes softened Sully’s initial take on her more than he wanted to admit. “We’ll talk about Rainey later, but Bruiser will come home with us tonight. It’s only fair he stays with people he knows.”
Her son gave a two-fingered salute and sailed out the door.
Sully moved to the doctor’s side and tapped her on the shoulder. “All right, cookie. He’s gone, so let’s have it. Tell me what you know.”
Her gaze jerked to his face, her voice thick with tension. “What do you want me to say?”
“I saw a photograph of you with the deceased at the crime scene. Nice glossy by the way. Sure looked like you girls were great friends.”
Bingo. She froze like a fox cornered in the chicken coop.
“I recognized you the second you walked in the house this morning. Oh, don’t look so surprised. Why didn’t you just tell me you were her friend from the get go?”
She recoiled as if he had just delivered a physical blow. His instinct to calm her down nearly overpowered him. Damn, he couldn’t afford the luxury, not if he wanted to get at the truth.
