by Kallie Lane
“First off, my name is not cookie—so get it straight. Secondly, I didn’t say anything because I needed to pull myself together. Add that to the fact I was busy treating the Rottweiler and you get the picture.”
Sully wanted to believe her, but he wasn’t convinced. Grieving in silence only proved she had strength of character, not a helpful nature. Instinct said she wouldn’t tell him anything she didn’t want him to know.
How can I get her to open up to me?
He ran a hand along the dog’s smooth coat. “It’s a shame what happened to Bruiser. He’s a beautiful animal. I hope he recovers from his injuries and from losing his mistress.”
“He will,” Breeana said, conviction strengthening her voice. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“I believe you will.” His hand moved from the dog to circle her wrist, turning her toward him. Their gazes fused. “What about Rainey Dubé? Are you willing to help her, too?”
Sweat broke out across her brow, the only indication she had even heard what he said. She shrugged, lowered her eyes, and said nothing.
“Breeana, you may know something that could help find her killer.”
“I can’t talk about this now.” Turning her back on him, she stifled a sob with her hand and pressed a switch which lowered the hydraulic examination table to the floor. Wheeling an oversized crate over to the surgical table, she locked its wheels in place.
“Can I give you a hand?”
“I don’t need your help,” she whispered.
She was right. She managed to crate the dog, then busied herself inserting an IV drip to infuse what he assumed was saline solution and antibiotics.
And never glanced in his direction. Which was all well and good, except Sully had the nose of a bloodhound and a job to do. He wouldn’t be ignored for long.
“Look, there is no way I’m leaving here until you talk to me.”
She spun on him without warning, so fast she tripped over his feet and almost fell. His hands shot out to make the save and she ended up pressed hard against him. Close enough for him to see tears dampening her cheeks, and her mossy eyes widen with surprise. Close enough for him to want a taste of her full mouth.
She still smelled of coconut and lime, a light scent with a touch of spice that sucked the air right out of his lungs. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and took a quick step back. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one affected by their close encounter. She seemed to fight for composure as well. It was another few seconds before she found her voice.
“I will talk to you, but I need a couple of hours to get organized here first. It knocked me for a loop when I realized Rainey was dead. I didn’t know how to handle it, especially in front of Cody.”
“Look, I get it, but we’re alone now and your son’s out of earshot. Just give me a few minutes, then I’m out of your hair. I’m already peeved at you for pulling the stunt with the judge to get custody of the dog. Talk to me now and we’ll call it even.”
Her hand flew out and poked him in the chest. “Can’t you understand why I went to the judge? Rainey doesn’t have any relatives and she would want me to care for Bruiser.”
The redhead clearly had a temper to go along with her red-hot looks. Anger was good. It worked better for him than quivering lips and eyes overflowing with despair. The tip of a fingernail scored the skin beneath his shirt. He flinched, tugged on her wrist, and edged closer before she could jab him again.
Her curves fitted his length as if she belonged there. Her woman scent shot straight from his nose to his loins. He scowled inwardly, released his hold on her while wrestling with his body’s unrealistic desire to mold her harder against him.
“Easy, or I’ll arrest you for assaulting a police officer.”
“Go ahead. I know a great lawyer, not to mention a judge.”
Sully relented, softening his stance. “Let’s forget about the dog. I am sorry for your loss, but it doesn’t change a thing. If the murderer isn’t caught soon, chances are it will never happen.”
Breeana smoothed a lock of hair away from her cheek. “Of course I want to help with the investigation. Just give me a little time.”
“Fair enough, but I’ll be back.” His words hung in the air for a moment, before he ended their conversation on a more negative note. “Just make sure you’re ready to answer my questions when I get back. You don’t want to get on my bad side.”
Sully didn’t anticipate her bull-headed insistence on having the last word.
“You can cut the bad cop routine, Lieutenant. I said I would talk to you. At this point, I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of my life. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t like you.”
He leaned forward until his mouth was an inch away from hers.
“Understood. You don’t have to like me. But, cookie, you’d better get used to seeing me around. Because I will keep coming back until I uncover your deepest, darkest secrets.”
****
It was time to go home. The day had dragged endlessly after the lieutenant left. Breeana went through the motions of her daily routine operating on automatic pilot.
Her grief mounted faster than a lava build in Mount Vesuvius. She sensed it was only a matter of time before she blew like the volcano. She was heartsick and disillusioned, wanting nothing more than to get home and have a whopping good cry.
Her cell phone rang as she opened the door to her SUV and climbed inside. She dreaded answering the call in her present state of mind. Any more bad news today and the men in white coats would bundle her off to the funny farm. Still, the call might be an emergency; it could be Cody or her father. She glanced at caller ID but the display showed Unknown Caller.
“Hello?”
Silence greeted her from the other end of the line. She was about to disconnect when she heard breathing rumble against her ear. Was someone in trouble and unable to speak? “Who is this?”
A hymn started playing, softly at first, before building in volume to an ear-splitting crescendo. It belted out of her cell phone and grated her nerves. A crank call adding to the stress of a horrible day. She disconnected and turned her phone off.
Perfect, just what I needed.
Whoever had phoned her, it was a sick thing to do. He—of course it was a man, no woman in her right mind would make the call—had better not phone her again, or she would clean his clock. She waited a few minutes until her annoyance dissipated. Then she straightened behind the wheel, started the engine, and headed for home.
Home was east along Lakeshore Drive, a well-travelled route looping the north shore of Lac St-Louis. Sunlight dappled through trees as a breeze crested blue-green waves to life. Her mind derailed by the nuisance phone call, Breeana hardly noticed her surroundings, until her gaze cut to the canoeists heading in toward shore. They reminded her of another friend lost. Miranda had loved setting out on the lake, paddling hard, enjoying the peace and quiet around her.
The dam holding Breeana’s emotions broke without warning.
As she sobbed, tears tracked down her cheeks. Swiping at her eyes, she tried to reel herself back in, but the waterworks just kept coming. She wasn’t some prissy Hollywood diva. When she cried it was an all-out effort, with mascara smeared clear to her chin.
She pulled off the road and went through a box of tissues while making the necessary repairs to her face. Cody and her father would pitch a fit if they saw her right now. Damn it, Bree, pull yourself together!
Five minutes later, she was back behind the wheel and almost to her door. She veered onto the cedar-lined drive, pulled up in front of the garage, and killed the engine. Sliding out of the Pathfinder, Cody’s Golden Retriever moseyed up to greet her. She patted Bear and used her trusty bottle of Visine to disguise the fact she’d been bawling her eyes out.
Turning her key in the lock, she pasted a smile on her face and followed the sounds and aromas coming from the kitchen. The men were cooking up a storm; the kitchen rated as a disaster area with the dirtied pots and clu
ttered counters.
“Hey, something smells good.”
“It’s our own special recipe,” her son answered, withdrawing his head from the oven. “You’d probably call it baked macaroni and cheese with sun-dried tomatoes, but Gramps and I call it baked barf.”
“Right you are,” her father chuckled. He paused at the sink to wipe a smudge of tomato from the bridge of his nose. “It has the same consistency.”
“Dad! Cody doesn’t need any help from you in the gross-out department. He does fine on his own.”
Breeana hugged her father and planted a kiss on his handsome face. He was dressed casually in chinos, a Hawaiian print shirt and sport sandals. She noted Cody had used the sculpting gel on his grandfather’s hair again. Sixty-three and a widower, her dad still turned his share of female heads. “You’re supposed to set an example for your grandson, not encourage him.”
Her father cocked an eyebrow and harrumphed, before winking at Cody over her head. Breeana ignored both of them, surveyed the messy scene of the kitchen, and frowned.
“We’re missing a major food group here. I smell garlic bread and I see the macaroni but I do not see veggies. Come on you two, set the table in the sunroom while I toss a salad and open a bottle of Merlot.”
“All right!” Cody’s fist pumped the air.
“Nice try. You’re drinking milk, kiddo.”
Dinner discussion was murder, literally, once she announced in as calm a voice as she could that Rainey was dead.
Cody put down his fork and looked from her to his grandfather and back again. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, honey. Lieutenant Sauvage told me after you left the clinic today.”
“God, that’s crappy. We should keep Bruiser with us then. There’s no one else to take care of him.”
Thank God for the simplicity of a child’s thought processes. Cody insulated himself against the tragedy, breaking down the details to focus on what he could control. Rainey’s death, combined with Miranda’s, was a terrible blow. The fact he’d lost his father a few years earlier only compounded the grief of this newest loss.
Her son took advantage of Breeana’s silence to fill his grandfather in on the day’s events, including meeting Lieutenant Sauvage. She tried hard to stay in the here and now. It wasn’t easy. Miranda and Rainey consumed her thoughts.
While Cody cleared away the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, her father turned his attention on her. “You’re not saying much, pumpkin. I can’t begin to imagine how upset you must be.”
“Rainey must have died horribly, Dad.”
“I hear you.” He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table, and clasped her icy fingers in his warm palms. “I know she was a close friend. Are you going to be all right?”
“Of course I am.” She held back the tears and swallowed hard. “Even if I do want to crawl in bed, hide under the covers, and cry for a week. It’s hard to lose both of them. We grew up together…I loved them.”
“I know, pumpkin.” Breeana focused on his thumb rubbing circles on her hand.
“Bree, you should talk to the homicide lieutenant about Miranda. It seems too much of a coincidence the women died within a month of each other. I’m telling you, I don’t like it.”
“I plan to tell him. I just hope he believes me and doesn’t listen to those jerk detectives on the Mallard Bay force. I’m sure they’ll have a few choice words to say about me.”
“Horse hockey. Who cares what they say? This is your chance to have the case reopened and set the record straight.”
“I do want Miranda to have justice, Dad.”
“That’s my girl.” He kissed the top of her head and tossed his napkin to the table. “I’d better get going. You know where to find me if you need me.”
Cody returned from the kitchen as her father pushed away from the table. “Leaving so soon, Gramps?”
“It’s been fun, folks, but I have to get to work. Laura will tan my hide if I’m not there in time for the evening appointments.”
Besides being her father, Jack Forest was also her partner at the veterinary clinic. It was a family affair. Splitting the work schedule allowed her adequate time for Cody’s many activities, while her father used his spare time for playing golf and “Old Timers” hockey.
“I’ll stop by with Bruiser on my way home tonight.”
****
Breeana’s nerves were wound tighter than a Slinky by the time Cody went to bed. Her father had dropped Bruiser off hours ago and left her alone with her snarly mood.
She paced the length of the living room, her mind honed razor-sharp by a sense of foreboding she couldn’t ignore. Frustrated, she gave up the pacing before she wore a hole in the carpet and headed for the shower.
A half hour later, she pulled on boxers and a T-shirt and slumped in front of the wide-screen to watch Ghost, a favorite DVD. Two wine coolers later, she nodded off to dream about Patrick Swayze.
Except Swayze’s face soon became the police lieutenant’s, and the passion of those kisses escalated into a pornographic dream fest. Breeana stirred in her sleep, her body heating with the expertise of her phantom lover.
A chiming sound broke into her dream and almost shot her off the couch. She glanced at her watch—eleven o’clock. Shoving the mop of hair out of her face, Breeana rubbed her eyes as the chime vibrated again. The doorbell? Who would drop by at this ungodly hour? She stumbled to the door, Bear and Bruiser beside her launched into a vicious guard dogs’ routine. Poor Bruiser. While he tried hard to look the part, his limping gait was a dead giveaway.
“Not quite ready for action yet, eh buddy?” She stroked his head.
Breeana glanced out the hall window and recognized the lieutenant’s Tahoe parked in the circular drive out front. Holy smokes! The smooth muscled male with a flirty smirk on his lips leaned against the porch rail. She stood there half naked while he signaled her to open the door.
What should I do? A futile attempt to paste straying hair into some semblance of order had little effect. She resembled Sasquatch on a bad hair day. Added to that, her emotions were in an uproar, percolating about Miranda’s and Rainey’s senseless deaths. And the phone call from her pervert had not helped matters.
God, the lieutenant will think I’m a nutcase if I don’t pull myself together fast.
She inhaled a steadying breath, turned the handle, and swung the door wide.
****
Sully was used to a certain degree of hostility from reluctant witnesses, but Breeana seemed unreasonably put out to find him on her doorstep. As he considered why, he knelt to give his attention to the killer beasts who seemed eager to lick the aftershave from his chin.
“Hey, pups, at least someone’s glad to see me. Whoa, is this Bruiser? I can’t believe he’s doing so well.”
“His wounds were superficial; it’s amazing what a lot of love and a good meal can do. He’ll be fine. Speaking of which, how is your arm?”
“Almost as good as new,” he lied, eyeing the bandage taped from his wrist to his elbow and feeling the ache throb beneath it. “It just needed a few stitches and some antibiotics.”
“I’m glad you had it looked at.” She frowned, and he tried not to notice the adorable pucker between her brows. “Is it normal for you to barge in on people in the middle of the night?”
Her voice was more of a sultry exhale. She was entirely too sexy with those emerald eyes flashing and her hair looking as if it’d been tousled for a photo shoot. The swell of her breasts filled a red T-shirt. The striped red and white boxers—hugging the contours of her tush—reflected in the hall mirror; the effect certainly wasn’t lost on him. He could feel his body heat escalate. Damn.
“I know it’s late, but it’s not the middle of the night. This won’t take long and it is official business. You did agree to give me some time, Dr. McGill.”
She sighed and stared up at him for a moment. “Please…call me Breeana. And come inside. How do you like your coffee?”
“
Black would be great.”
Breeana went through to the kitchen while he dropped into an oversized chair in her living room and propped his feet on an ottoman. Ah, yes, it worked for him, the first chance he’d had to get off his feet all day. The dogs settled alongside him with their tails thumping, or stump wagging in Bruiser’s case.
A few minutes later, she returned with the coffee and a robe covering her from head to toe. It even had a hoodie. He figured his grandmother had one just like it for those cold winter nights up in Labrador.
Face it, she could wear a tent and still be the most provocative woman to cross his path in a very long time. He had run a security check on her this afternoon and found out she was widowed. Double damn.
“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.” She passed him a mug and sank down across from him in a matching leather chair. “The dogs will be bringing you slippers next.”
“No kidding? Do they have anything in a size thirteen?”
The beginnings of a smile curved her lips, a nice touch in comparison to her green-eyed stare. He imagined she’d put in one hell of a day after learning her friend was murdered. He wanted to cut her some slack, but it was time to get down to the business of catching a killer.
“You know why I’m here. I came to check on the dog and question you about Rainey Dubé. I’m sorry it’s so late, but it has taken this long to process the crime scene.”
As soon as the words left his lips, Sully wanted to bite his tongue off. Tears gathered on the doctor’s lashes and dripped into her coffee mug when he mentioned the crime scene. Hell, I’m a first class heel.
“I’ll be right back.”
She left the room, no doubt to dry her eyes somewhere else. He started to worry when she was still missing-in-action some five minutes later. He should have gone with her. “Hey, do you need some help?”
“No, I’m okay.” She returned to the chair and almost staggered into it. “I had to do a few things.”
Uh-huh. He could see she’d been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed, the lids swollen. He guessed she hadn’t wanted to fall apart in front of him.
