Page 28 of Lock ’N’ Load

When the door clicked shut behind her, she retrieved her glass from the kitchen table and took a healthy slug. Matt hadn’t bothered to tell her what CODIS was. He knew she was an analyst and understood she’d be familiar with virtually every database in existence.

Since 1990, the Combined DNA Index System contained profiles from samples taken of anyone arrested. If the police lab got a hit in CODIS, it would mean her attacker had a criminal history. It would also mean they would then know the identity of the man who’d tried to hurt her.

A cold, terrifying shiver ran through her. With a shaky hand, she placed the glass on the table and ran to her front door, slamming home the dead bolt. Her pulse quickened as she raced to check the back door and all the windows in the remainder of the house. When she was satisfied her house was secure, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Meow.

Poofy sat in the middle of the hallway floor, his long, fluffy white tail swishing back and forth. Sorely needing feline comfort, she scooped the cat up and sat with him on her living room sofa. Poofy’s soft, rumbly purring against her chest soothed her itchy nerves.

Why did Matt really come to my house?

He could have just called or texted, although she had to admit that she hadn’t minded him showing up unannounced. There was something about the man that got to her, and it wasn’t just his incredible good looks or all those manly muscles. There was an intensity about him, something dark and brooding just below the surface. Stupidly, she wanted to know what it was. Her interest in him was perplexing, but it was there. Plain as day.

Poofy stretched up a paw to her chin, and she took it in her hand, stroking her fingers along his fur. Much softer than a dog’s paw, she imagined. Although she wouldn’t know, since she’d basically never touched a dog in her entire life. Not by choice, anyway.

An old, frightening memory clawed its way to her thoughts, and she squeezed her eyes shut, struggling unsuccessfully to push it back into the box containing old images she’d rather forget.

She’d been six years old, in a park in St. Petersburg with her mother, who’d gotten distracted reading one of her computer magazines and didn’t see the dog charging through the playground. Trista had been sitting on the ground, blissfully playing, when the dog attacked, snatching her doll away from her. Even though the animal hadn’t bitten her, the experience of being so helpless and frightened had forever left her petrified of dogs.

Being a K-9 officer, Matt could probably never understand that.

Resentful and exasperated didn’t begin to describe how she felt about him. He’d single-handedly ruined her life by undermining the most important thing in her world: her job. She should have known he would have to file his own report whether she did or not. He was a cop, and they always filed reports. But her issue with him ran deeper. He piqued her on a basic, feminine level she hadn’t seen coming. He was altogether too…too…male.

When she was around him, she couldn’t think straight. Hell, she couldn’t talk straight, either. Except when they were arguing about something. During those conversations, her brain had backed up her tongue with glib expertise, and she hadn’t stammered once. Why was that?

And he would have to have a dog as a partner. The dog was an extension of him. Even Poofy smelled her on Matt when he’d tried to pet him. A shudder ran through her. Just thinking about Matt’s dog made her edgy.

Sheba. Pretty name for a vicious dog. Or, at least, she assumed the dog was vicious. Then again, Sheba had bitten her attacker, then given chase and ripped off a piece of his clothing. Remote as it might be, that bloody cloth could become useful evidence if her attacker was in CODIS.

Dog aside, if Matt hadn’t ruined her life, she might like the guy. She’d certainly enjoyed his kiss.

Groaning, she let her head fall back against the cushion. “I more than liked it,” she whispered, running her hand over Poofy’s back. In response, the cat began purring, nuzzling her belly, his eyes big and blue as he demanded even more attention.

Instead, Trista closed her eyes, touching two fingers to her lips and rubbing them back and forth, imagining Matt’s mouth on hers. Warm, curly tingles wound their way to her nipples, hardening them to the point where they jutted sharply against the thin fabric of her tank.

Poofy meowed, interrupting the direction of her X-rated thoughts. Get real. Fantasizing about kissing Matt again was about as realistic as her ever loving dogs. She needed to find something productive to do with all this time to kill.

Easing Poofy from her lap, she gently deposited him on the floor. “Sorry, I’ve got work to do, Poof.” The cat glared up at her, unblinking, as if he couldn’t believe she’d actually had the gall to dethrone him. Then in true discontented feline fashion, Poofy turned his tail on her and stalked regally into the hallway.

“Cats.” She giggled, shaking her head as she got up and sat at her desk. Immediately, the purple-and-black icon on her laptop’s toolbar caught her eye. Dark Curtain. Though she’d developed the program herself, it had been while employed by the CIA, making the program CIA property. If anyone knew she’d installed it on her personal laptop, that would be the breach of CIA protocol, not being the victim of a random attack outside a bar.

For all intents and purposes, she’d been suspended from her job, whereas what she was pondering could get her fired. It was a risk, but her job really was everything to her. If she couldn’t work officially, she’d do it unofficially. “Should I do it, Poofy?” The cat eyed her from the hallway then stalked back into the living room and stretched, arching its back with its tail high in the air. With the grace and agility of a gazelle, he hopped onto the far end of the sofa and curled into a fluffy white ball. “I know I shouldn’t, but who will know besides you and me?” No one. And it would be worth it to maintain her sanity while she was stuck at home.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she double-clicked the icon and, when the program opened, typed in the name she’d heard in Karakurt’s chat room: Iqaluit.

Chapter Eight

The digital clock on his personal F-150’s dashboard told Matt it was well after midnight, and he was already late to meet his friends at the Moose. They’d driven in earlier in the day while he’d been working, and the small parking area south of his house was now jammed with other K-9-equipped Explorers.

As he drove past the lot and onto the main road, he yawned. All these double shifts were killing him, and he’d never quite caught up on sleep since pulling an all-nighter the evening Trista was attacked. That had been four days ago. Now it was Friday, and as much as he could use a quiet, uneventful night at home, followed by an equally quiet weekend working on his place, he was looking forward to hanging with the guys.

It had been over a year since he’d seen any of them, but when they hooked up, it was as if they’d never been apart. Going through basic training with them had forged an iron-tight bond. They were like his brothers. Each of them would be there to back him up without question, and he’d do the same for them in a heartbeat.

As he drove past Trista’s exit, he found himself asking the same question over and over. Why had he gone to her house? She’d been right, of course. Calling her would have accomplished the mission of finding out how she was doing and to ask her questions. But then he wouldn’t have been able to see her in person, and fuck, that was why he’d done it.

You wanted to see her, you dumbass. You want to get to know her better.

Part of Trista Gold was exactly as he’d surmised. She was an intelligent, analytical genius. Sure, he’d suspected there was something else hiding beneath that drab gray, but what he’d discovered had blown him away. Whether she realized it or not, she was an intriguing combination of sexiness and brains. He couldn’t deny it. He liked her…to the point where when her friend Kevin had invited her to stay with him, a seriously annoying prick of jealousy rankled his ass. In fact, it bugged the shit out of him, and the thought had him gripping the wheel tighter.