Weird.
The kitchen was to the right. Tiny and spotless as if it were never used. Sunny didn’t cook. One strike against her.
To the left, a small door that I guessed led to the only bathroom/laundry room. I lifted my gaze to the loft, where a four-poster king bed centered the small space, a deep crimson comforter against the dark wood walls. The bed was made, and based on the immaculate cleanliness of the rest of the house, I’d be willing to bet my next paycheck on hospital corners.
The decor was minimal, bordering on masculine if not for the oil diffusers, candles, and stack of Cosmopolitans on the coffee table.
Once I pushed away the image of me and Sunny rolling around naked in those crimson sheets, I stepped back outside and made my way to the back of the house. Nothinginteresting to note back there. No lawn care equipment, tools, shed, no sign of a man. I began down a narrow, pebbled trail that led through the woods. The path wasn’t manicured, but someone had done the arduous, back-breaking task of cutting through the underbrush and leveling the trail, and hauling up river gravel.
Sunny?
Beams of early morning sunlight shot through the thick canopy of trees where birds took notice of my presence, squawking loudly as if announcing the unannounced visitor.
The sound of rushing water grew closer. I was halfway through a bend in the trail when I stopped cold. Call it that finely tuned instinct from decades running special ops, but I knew I wasn’t alone anymore. As my hand drifted to the gun on my belt, a growl so low vibrated behind me—inches, if I had to guess—that every hair on the back of my neck stood up. A list of wild animals flashed through my head. Bear? Mountain lion? Rabid coyote?
I froze and weighed my options, my hand inches from my gun. The animal had gotten the drop on me.
The growl intensified, along with a scraping against the dirt floor. Definitely not a bear. I ran down my Boy Scouts list of what to do when you cross paths with a mountain lion. Number one, do not run. Running from a mountain lion is like playing hard to get. It triggers the mountain lion’s instinct to chase and attack. Two, do not crouch or bend over. No problem there as I wasn’t in the habit of bending over for anyone. And three, hold your ground.
“Whoa, there now, buddy, calm down,” I said over my shoulder, emphasizing my southern drawl as if that somehow made me less of a threat. Holding my breath, Idecided to face my fate, the snarling now accompanied by a viciously snapping jaw.
I turned like a ballerina on a spindle and my eyes locked on the jagged teeth of the largest—and most pissed-off—German Shepherd I’d ever seen in my life. Its paws, twelve inches from my boots. It’s snapping jaws? Six inches from my dick.
That alone was enough to make a grown man pee his pants, but it was the pistol pointed directly between my eyes that really got my blood pumping.
22
JAGG
Amane of dark curls cascaded behind the gun pointed at my head. The steadiness of the barrel told me it was locked, loaded, and ready—and wasn’t the first time it had surprised an unannounced visitor.
“Miss Harper, lovely to see you,” I said swallowing the knot in my throat. “I’m going to need you to lower that gun.”
“Detective, lovely to see you as well. I’m going to need you to tell me what you’re doing on my land.”
“I’ll tell you once you pull Cujo away from the two marbles that were once my ball sack.” My gaze slid up to hers. “Which, by the way, is one millionth of their original size.”
Sunny muttered something to the dog that wasn’t “hey, this guy’s funny,” and in an instant, the barking ceased and the beast backed up, settling next to its master’s feet but keeping his beady, black devil-eyes on me.
I snarled back.
The gun dropped from my face, revealing an emerald gaze just as intense.
“You can lower your hands now.”
I dropped my arms along with the inch of pride the woman had just peeled off of me.
It had only been five hours since I’d seen her, but the knot below her eye had gone down and was replaced by speckles of purple bruising. The scratches on her neck and arms were an angry red. A white bandage covered the stitches on her arm. If her ribs were sore, her stance wasn’t showing it. If she were in any kind of pain, or if she was emotionally shaken, she wasn’t showing it. In fact, she seemed to wear her injuries like a badge of honor.
My heart gave a little kick.
She wore a black tank top and faded jeans revealing hints of tanned skin through holes at the knees. Her feet were covered in a pair of strappy sports sandals. Her toenails, a cherry red as electric as her eyes. And that damn hair, dancing on the summer breeze, a rogue strand tickling across red, shimmering lips pressed into a thin line of scrutiny.
Sunny was gorgeous.
My thoughts short circuited between the rabid dog at her feet and the stunning natural beauty in front of me. I didn’t like how only her presence seemed to spin my thoughts like a blender. Sunny Harper had a way of knocking me off my game, and I didn’t like it.
I squared my shoulders and said the first thing that came to mind.
