“Is that your dog?” I ask.
“No, it came with the apartment. Yes, it’s my dog,” the man snaps. “Getout!”
My phone starts ringing. I should go, leave this guy and his dog in peace, but he’s irked me so badly that I want to irk him right back.
Is “irk” your word of the day, Ella?
So instead of leaving, I stay right where I am and answer the phone.
“Ella speaking,” I say sweetly.
The beautiful stranger throws his hands into the air and huffs out a sharp exhale.
“Have you forgiven me yet?” Deacon asks. He sounds exasperated, but it’s me who should feel like that, not him.
My sweetness quickly sours. “No, I haven’t. What do you want?”
“Where are you?”
“Why do you care where I am?”
He sighs. “Because we need to talk, Ell.”
I tap my foot, deciding to annoy two men at once.
“I’m at Barnaby’s.”
A pause. I can almost picture him running his hands through his hair. “What the fuck are you doing there?”
“You’re the detective; you figure it out.” I hang up on him.
Chapter 2
Gable
Iam two minutes away from murdering this woman.
Not an exaggeration.
Literally murdering her.
She hammered her way in here, all dark hair and insults, and has no idea what she almost walked into. Actually, what she did walk into, because Asher had only just dragged Barnaby’s body into the bedroom before she barged her way in. This woman stormed into a literal crime scene and is shouting at me over a pen. A fucking pen.
My knife is tucked up my sleeve, and I was about to use it—until she’d said, “You’re the detective; you figure it out.”
Those seven words saved her life, because there’s a detective looking for her, and that’s out ofmyremit for the day. I need her to get out, right now, before things spiral and I have to kill herandthe cop. But Motor is staring at her, ears up, his feet fidgeting.
Do not move, boy. Do not fucking move.
Motor is a good dog. Mostly. He listens to commands, follows them to a T, and has saved my life more times than I’m comfortable admitting. The dog ismy best friend, but he also has a weakness when it comes to women. And right now, Motor is staring at the brunette like he wants nothing more than to lie on his back and get his belly rubbed. I just hope she doesn’t?—
“You’re so cute. Come here.” She kneels, holds her arms out, and that’s all it takes. Motor loses all training, all sense, and bounds over to the woman like a hapless puppy, tail wagging, tongue out.
The dog that has saved my life is on his back, paws in the air, kicking out his hind leg as the brunette scratches his belly.
“Who’s a good boy? You are!” she croons.
“Do not do that,” I snap, pointing at her. “He’s a trained guard dog. Don’t talk to him like he’s a baby.”
