Defender for Hire. Shirlee McCoy

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      She reached for him, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Warm fur, and something sticky and wet. Blood?

      She had to get him home.

      Had to call the police and get help.

      First, she had to move.

      She rolled to her side and pushed up to her knees, touching Bentley’s silky head. “We need to get out of here.”

      She stood, her legs shaking, and Bentley struggled to his feet, huffing quietly in the darkness. He limped beside her as they maneuvered down the steep path.

      She pulled out her cell phone and called 911, her voice raw as she explained the situation and gave her address. Her throat ached, her head pounded and she shivered with cold and fear, but Bentley was her first priority.

      She disconnected, cutting the 911 operator off midsentence and dialing Bentley’s veterinarian. Dr. Amy Spenser was almost as new to Pine Bluff as Tessa was. Neither of them had family or kids, and it had seemed natural to strike up a friendship. They’d gone shopping for furniture together, accepting that each had her secrets and a limit to how deep a connection she wanted to make.

      “Hello?” Amy answered on the first ring, her voice soft and smooth with just a hint of an accent.

      “It’s Tessa. Bentley’s been hurt.” Tessa didn’t have time for long explanations. Sirens were already blaring through the quiet night. Tessa’s house loomed ahead, lights shining out from every window. Since Daniel’s murder, she always left the lights on. Tonight, she was more than grateful for the habit.

      “What happened?”

      “I don’t know. We were out on a run and someone attacked me. Bentley tried to help...” She recalled the pop and Bentley’s whimper. Tried to make sense of it. “He may have been shot.”

      “Are you okay?”

      “Yes.”

      “I’ll be at your place in ten minutes.” Amy hung up, and Tessa shoved the phone back into the pocket of her running vest.

      “You’ll be okay, boy,” she murmured, more to reassure herself than Bentley. He limped beside her, slower than usual, but still moving.

      That had to be a good sign.

      Didn’t it?

      The woods opened out into her backyard, the long expanse of grass unobstructed by trees or shrubs. No sign of anyone lurking nearby, but her heart raced as she urged Bentley across the half-acre lot.

      She rounded the side of the house and froze as Bentley barked.

      A man sat in the old porch swing, his dark blond hair gleaming in the porch light, his scarred face familiar.

      Seth Sinclair.

      “What are you doing here?” she asked, taking a quick step back.

      Seth watched Tessa back away from the porch and from him. The sirens he’d been hearing for the past few minutes grew louder, the sound blaring though the darkness.

      “I brought the tarantula to the pet store.” He held up the white envelope he’d come to deliver. “I thought you might want this.”

      “Just leave it on the swing.” She eyed him warily, her hand clutching the leash of an oversize dog. Loose hair fell across her cheeks but didn’t hide what looked like bruises on her neck.

      Something was wrong. Very wrong.

      Seth stood slowly, afraid if he moved too quickly, she’d run. “What happened?” he asked, walking down the porch stairs, the sirens still screaming.

      “We ran into some trouble in the woods.”

      Seth thought they’d run into more than “some trouble.” Tessa’s running pants were ripped at the knee, her vest covered with dead leaves. “You need to sit down before you fall down.”

      He touched her arm, and she jerked back, her eyes wide with fear. “Who gave you my address, Seth?”

      “I asked around. It wasn’t difficult to find you in a town this size.” He took her arm as gently as he could and tried to urge her up the porch stairs, but she held her ground.

      “You can go home. Bentley and I will be fine.” She tugged at the dog’s leash, calling to him as she tried to walk to the house.

      The dog whined but refused to move.

      “He’s hurt,” Seth pointed out, though he was sure that Tessa already knew it.

      “The vet is on the way.” Her voice sounded hollow, her face so white, he thought she might collapse.

      He needed to get her inside, and he needed to do it now. He crouched next to the dog and let Bentley sniff his hand. He’d seen some homely mutts before, but Tessa’s was about as ugly as they came. Ugly and huge.

      “Come on, boy. Let’s get you inside where it’s safe.” He slid his arms under the dog and was rewarded with a sloppy kiss that he would have wiped away if he’d had a free hand.

      “You can’t carry him. You’ll hurt your shoulder,” Tessa protested.

      “It’s already hurt,” he grunted, the strain of the hundred-pound dog dragging at his injured arm. “And if you don’t open the door so I can get inside now, it’s going to hurt more.”

      She frowned, but ran to the door. Dirt clung to her pants and her down vest. Her elbow peeked through a rip in her long sleeved T-shirt, the skin raw and bleeding. She was worried about her dog’s well-being—Seth was worried about her.

      She ushered him through a large foyer and into a nearly empty living room. A dark brown couch stood against a wall and a rocking chair sat in front of a fireplace. A throw rug in muted greens and blues lay in the middle of the floor. No coffee table. No shelves. No books or magazines or photographs. A blank slate with cream-colored walls and dark wood trim.

      “You can put him on the couch,” Tessa said, her voice trembling. “He’s bleeding. I really hope his vet gets here soon.”

      He placed the dog on the couch and took Tessa’s arm. “Let’s worry about you now, okay? Sit,” he commanded, leading her to the rocking chair.

      “The police—”

      “I’ll handle it,” he cut in.

      She leaned her head back against the rocking chair and closed her eyes.

      “For the record,” she murmured, “I’m not good at taking orders.”

      “I’m not ordering. I’m helping. But I’ll keep that in mind for the future.” He pulled a throw from the back of the rocking chair and tucked it around her. She still smelled like vanilla, under the musty aroma of earth, dead leaves and fear.

      He shoved the envelope he’d brought her into his pocket and opened the front door, waiting impatiently as a police СКАЧАТЬ