by LENA DIAZ,
She glanced longingly at the pistol. Why had she set it so far away?
Why wasn’t Lynch yelling at her?
Click, tap, click.
Very slowly, she looked over her shoulder. It wasn’t Lynch who was staring at her. An enormous grayish-white wolf-dog stood ten feet away.
Growling, it took a menacing step toward her, its long claws scraping against the floor. Click, tap, click. A low growl rumbled in its throat. Ice-blue eyes watched her as it lifted its snout, testing the air.
She inched her hands toward the pistol. “G-good dog. It’s okay. Good dog.”
The growls grew louder. Hackles raised. Muscles bunched.
Hayley lunged for her gun.
The dog launched itself at her like a missile.
Chapter Two
Hayley crooned soothing words to the wolf-dog and gently massaged its ears to distract it as the veterinarian felt for more injuries.
“Is he going to be okay?” she asked again, guilt riding her hard. It wasn’t this gorgeous, sweet, senior dog’s fault that his owner was a murderer. He’d been protecting his domain, or trying to. But when he’d leaped at her, she’d jerked to the side and he’d knocked himself silly on the desk. She’d realized a split second before she was about to shoot him that his blue eyes were cloudy and there were no teeth in that growling muzzle. Thank God she hadn’t pulled the trigger.
The white-haired vet glanced up, peering at her over the top of his glasses. “You seem awfully worried about a dog you found wandering on the side of the road.”
The suspicious tone of his voice was impossible to miss. But there was no help for that. All she could do was ensure that this magnificent animal was taken care of before she made her escape. She certainly couldn’t admit that she’d broken into the owner’s home and the dog got hurt while she was ransacking the place.
It whined and snuffled its head against her hand. She rubbed the velvety muzzle and pressed a kiss against its fur. When she realized the vet was still waiting for her response, she shrugged. “He was covered in blood and stumbling all over the place. Anyone would have stopped.”
Thank goodness she’d found the remote to open Lynch’s gate at the end of his driveway. Without being able to pull her Blazer right up to the house, she’d never have managed to get the massive dog to the vet’s office. She certainly couldn’t have coaxed him over the fence like she’d coaxed him into her vehicle, not as frail as he was.
The vet grunted noncommittally. “Head wounds bleed a lot, makes it look worse than it is. It was smart of you to tie that pillowcase around his head to keep pressure on the wound until you got him here. But those stitches I put in should do the trick. He won’t even need a cone of shame to keep him from licking them. They’re too high up.”
“What about his unbalanced gait? He could barely stand. Could he have a concussion or something?”
This time the doctor smiled. “He’s blind and old. That’s the way he walks.”
A spark of panic shot through her. “You know this dog?”
He blinked. “What?”
“You said that’s the way he walks.”
“I did? Oh.” He scratched his chin. “I meant that I’d expect him to walk that way, given his age and condition. In case you hadn’t noticed, he doesn’t have any teeth. He’s already well past his expiration date but too stubborn to head over the rainbow bridge just yet.” He ran his hands over the dog’s shoulders and ribs, then gently patted its neck before straightening. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take another look at that cut on your head? Or have one of my assistants drive you to the hospital? You need to get that taken care of.”
She self-consciously touched the bandage he’d insisted on taping over her left temple when she’d first arrived. “I’m okay, really. Like you said, head wounds bleed a lot. Looks worse than it is.” She grimaced at the cuffs of her shirt which were spotted with both the dog’s blood and hers. Her coat was even worse. She’d left it in her Blazer rather than drip blood in the office.
It had taken all her strength to roll the dazed animal into some bedsheets in Lynch’s bedroom. Then she’d half dragged, half carried him down the inside stairs and then the porch steps. By the time she’d jogged to her SUV and drove it back to Lynch’s house to get the injured animal, her legs were like jelly. She’d opened her door, stepped out, and did a face-plant beside the driveway.
He gave her a skeptical look. “You still should get that checked. It might need stitches. It’s definitely going to bruise.”
“Thank you, I will,” she lied. She had no intention of going to the hospital today, or ever. Even if she was at death’s door, she didn’t think she could stomach a hospital visit. She’d seen enough doctors and experienced enough needle-sticks to last a lifetime. A repeat of that experience wasn’t on her bucket list.
“What kind of dog is he?” she asked. “He looks like a wolf hybrid.”
He chuckled. “To most people, a Siberian husky looks like a wolf.”
“He’s a husky?” She couldn’t help the skepticism that crept into her voice. The dog was huge, much larger than any she’d ever seen—with the exception of the rest of Lynch’s pack.
“A mix, probably husky and something like an Irish wolfhound. That would explain the blue eyes and size.” He waved toward his patient. “He’s probably got a good headache building if he doesn’t have one already. I’ll write a script for pain pills. We can fill them here. You okay with that?”
“Oh. Of course.” He was subtly asking if she was willing to cover the costs even though it wasn’t her dog. She would, somehow. Money was tight since she’d run out of paid vacation and was now on unpaid leave, living off her savings and the occasional side job updating websites. But the dog’s injuries were her fault.
“Can I pay now and board him here overnight? I’ll pick him up in the morning and try to find his owner.” Actually, she’d anonymously let Lynch know that he needed to pick up his pet at the vet’s office.
“Sure,” he said as he crossed to the door that led to a back hallway and the inner workings of the office. A cacophony of dogs barking and the occasional howl of a cat never seemed to stop. Hayley imagined he was used to the noise and barely noticed it. “But can you wait a few minutes until I get an assistant in here? We’re, ah, a little full right now. We’ll have to get a kennel ready.”
The dog whimpered beneath her hand and she realized she was clutching him too tightly. She eased her grip and feathered her fingers down his neck until he settled back onto the table. “I really do need to leave. Will it be quick?”
“I’ll get someone in here as soon as possible.”
Was that a yes or a no?
He held out his hand. “Thank you, Miss Nelson.”
Her face heated at the fake name that she’d given him as she shook his hand. “Thank you, Dr. Cord. I appreciate you working him in so quickly.”
He nodded and left, closing the door behind him with a sharp click.
Hayley regretted the lie. But she couldn’t risk someone recognizing her name from her social media attacks against Lynch or the one TV interview she’d snagged when she’d first tried to get the public interested in her friend’s case. She wasn’t exactly famous, but no point in taking any more risks than she already had.
She continued to pet the sweet animal, which was settling down into a gentle snore on top of the stainless steel table. The old-fashioned round clock on one wall had her inhaling sharply. Over an hour had passed since she’d run into the lobby asking for help.
This had been the closest vet’s office to Lynch’s home. Looking back, she probably should have gone somewhere else, just in case he used this place. But the assistants who’d carried the dog into the examination room didn’t say anything about recognizing him. And neither had the vet. She’d been lucky. But she wasn’t counting on her luck holding much
longer.
She really needed to get out of here before Lynch got home and found the disaster she’d left for him: broken glass and mud downstairs, blood all over his desk and bedroom floor upstairs, sheets missing off his bed and the comforter piled on a nearby chair. She belatedly realized she should have worn gloves. But her fingerprints weren’t on file anywhere, so it shouldn’t really matter even if he did file a police report. As long as she stuck to her story and didn’t admit she’d been inside his house, they couldn’t compel her to provide fingerprints. Could they?
She blinked and pressed a hand to her throat. Good grief. Was she really rationalizing how to avoid being arrested? Unbelievable. Before today, the worst crime she’d ever committed was speeding. Now she could actually go to jail, or worse, if caught.
When she’d planned her little escapade, she’d assumed she’d be able to pick the lock, take some pictures of some documents, and leave with no one the wiser. It had never occurred to her how quickly things could escalate out of control. She shouldn’t have broken that glass pane in the kitchen door.
She shouldn’t have gone over there to start with.
Somehow she needed to reset, get back on track and look at the investigation with fresh eyes. Crossing to the dark side, becoming a criminal in order to catch one, wasn’t who she was, and she couldn’t stomach doing anything like this ever again.
She glanced at the clock again and frowned. Surely it didn’t take this long to get a kennel ready. Or send in a vet tech. She crossed to the door where Dr. Cord had disappeared. But when she tried the knob, it wouldn’t turn. It was locked.
Her pulse leaped in her throat. She drew a shaky breath and told herself not to panic. It made sense that the doctor wouldn’t want clients going into the private back areas, probably an insurance liability thing. She’d just use the door to the lobby. Then she’d ask someone at the front desk to watch the dog while she paid for its treatment.
She started toward the other door just as it began to open. Her relief quickly turned to alarm. It wasn’t a vet tech stepping into the room.
It was Dalton Lynch.
Chapter Three
Six foot three inches of intimidating male stepped into the room, then shut the door behind him, signature Stetson and trench coat in place. Lynch seemed surprised, and not at all pleased to see her. But instead of confronting her, he crossed to the examining room table and bent over the dog.
He stroked its fur, making soothing sounds with his deep voice, as if to reassure the animal even in its sleep. When he gently traced the area of shaved fur over the dog’s eye, just above the small row of stitches, his mouth thinned into a tight line.
Hayley moved past him to leave. But he straightened and grabbed her arm.
“You aren’t going anywhere until you explain how you ended up at a vet’s office with Denali, Miss Nelson.”
Panic had her throat tightening. She frantically pushed at his hand on her arm. “Let go of me,” she choked out.
His eyes widened in surprise and he immediately released her. But when she would have grabbed the doorknob, he used his body to block her way.
She scrambled back, putting the table and the dog between them. Spots swam in her vision. A strange buzzing sounded in her ears. Her chest hurt, as if someone was standing on it. Good grief, what was happening?
“Breathe, Hayley,” he ordered. “You’re hyperventilating.” He took a step toward her.
She slammed back against the wall, hands outstretched to ward him off.
He swore and yanked open the door, then disappeared into the lobby.
Hayley gasped like a fish, desperately trying to suck in air, but nothing was happening. Her lungs were empty. The room swirled around her, going dark.
“It’s okay.” The kindly voice of Dr. Cord sounded beside her. “Sit down, Miss Nelson.” Gentle hands guided her to a chair.
The wicker seat creaked as she slumped into it, still gasping. The doctor held something over her mouth, spoke calmly, giving her instructions. And finally, blessed air flowed into her oxygen starved lungs. A few moments later, her vision cleared.
The first thing she saw was Dalton Lynch kneeling by the door, his handsome face lined with worry as he watched her. Beside him, the dog, Denali, whimpered and scratched the floor as if he was trying to reach her, his nose in the air, testing the scents.
The doctor smiled and patted Hayley’s hand. “Denali is worried about you, young lady.”
She drew another ragged breath, then gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you, Dr. Cord. Thank you for helping me.”
“Thank Mr. Lynch. He yanked me out of another patient’s room and insisted I come in here.” He patted her shoulder and wadded up what she now realized was a paper bag that he’d held over her mouth. “I’ll come back to check on you in a few minutes. There’s an irate pregnant poodle and her disgruntled human waiting for me to finish my exam next door.” He chuckled.
Before she could fully grasp what was going on, he was closing the door behind him, cocooning her in with Lynch.
The dog whimpered, almost knocking him over in its attempts to get to her.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, “can I let Denali check on you? He’s been frantic hearing you struggling for breath. Since he’s blind, he relies heavily on scent and touch.”
In answer, she slid to the floor and held out her arms.
He let go of the collar and Denali lunged forward, nearly knocking her over in his enthusiasm. He licked her face and excitedly wriggled his body like a puppy, desperately trying to get closer to her.
“Denali. Back,” he ordered. “You’re going to hurt her.”
She wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck. “No. It’s okay.” She buried her face in his fur, enjoying the hug as much as Denali. Once he finally settled down, she reluctantly let go and turned him back toward his owner. “I’m okay now, sweetie. Go on.”
The dog gave her a last lick, then hurried to Lynch and rubbed its muzzle on his leg. He attached a leash to its collar and nodded at her. “Thank you. He was inconsolable while you were hyperventilating.”
“He...he’s a great dog. Thanks for sharing him. I needed that hug.” She smoothed her hands down her jeans, then pushed herself up into the chair. “I can’t believe I almost passed out. I’ve never done that before.”
“Understandable, given the circumstances.” He gave her a tight smile, silently acknowledging the elephant in the room, that she thought him a killer.
Would a killer insist that a doctor help someone who’d been waging a war against them, trying to put them in jail? Or show affection for his dog, wanting it to be comforted by touch since it was blind and confused over what was going on? The last few moments had thrown her off-kilter. Her thoughts and long-held convictions were all a huge jumble.
“That bandage on the side of your head,” he indicated, “did Denali do that?”
“What? Oh. No, no. I fell. It wasn’t his fault.”
He nodded, looking relieved. “He can be overzealous, as you saw. Could you please tell me how you ended up with him? And how he got hurt?”
“I...” She coughed, her throat so dry she could barely speak, probably from gasping for breath moments earlier.
He pulled the other chair to him and sat across from her, but kept the chair pushed against the wall. Was he trying to help her not feel intimidated by giving her space and not towering over her? The answer to that seemed to be yes, when he also cracked the door a few inches. Not enough for Denali to get out or another animal from the lobby to slip in, but enough so that she didn’t feel trapped.
“There’s some water over there.” He waved toward the sink behind her. “I think I see some disposable cups in the corner. I’d get you one, but I don’t want to frighten you.”
She clasped the arms of the chair. “Why are you being so considerate, so nice?”
>
He let out a deep sigh. “I’m treating you the way I would anyone else. Look, we both know what you think of me. And I’m not going to waste either of our time trying to convince you otherwise. Just get some water, and then tell me what happened. Okay?”
She coughed again, then pushed out of her chair and got a cup of water as he’d suggested. A few gulps and the tightness in her throat began to ease. She took another sip, then tossed the cup in the waste can before resuming her seat. “How...how did you know I was here? That your dog—Denali—was here?”
“Dr. Cord called me. Denali’s microchipped. All my dogs are.”
She fisted her hands beside her. Of course they were. And naturally the vet hadn’t told her. She didn’t remember anyone checking for a microchip. But then again, the doctor had insisted on bandaging her own wound while a vet tech got Denali ready for his exam. That must have been when they scanned for the microchip.
No wonder he’d taken so long with the dog and talking to her. He’d wanted to figure out what was going on, and then he must have stepped into the back hall to call Lynch. He’d been stalling ever since, waiting for Denali’s owner to get here. Thankfully, Lynch must not yet realize that she’d broken into his home. If he did, he’d have led with that rather than ask how she’d ended up with Denali.
“Hayley, how did you—”
“I prefer that we use our last names.” Keeping some sort of formality between them was an act of desperation at this point. She was having a hard enough time keeping her guard up and reminding herself that he was a bad man. Thinking of him as Dalton, and hearing his kind-sounding, deep voice say Hayley was shredding her defensive shields. So much for thinking she was immune to his charm.
He gave her a sad smile. “I prefer that you call me Dalton, but do what makes you comfortable. About Denali—”
“He was weaving around on the side of the road and I brought him here. That’s all I know.” The lie had her face turning warm. Which was ridiculous, of course, considering who she was lying to. Somehow she needed to turn this around, regain her equilibrium. She’d never expected to actually like Dalton Lynch if she ever got face-to-face with him. And yet, that’s exactly what was happening.
