Page 3 of Armed ’N’ Ready

“Then when can you do that?” she cried with more force than intended. Now that her initial shock was wearing off, reality was kicking in hard and fast, leaving her confused and scared. “And stop looking at me. What are you, one of those perverted voyeurs? A peeping Tom?”

God, what had made her say that? She was acting like a petulant child, which would only make things worse. And actually, she hadn’t caught him checking her out once. Not that she’d seen, anyway.

“I’m sorry.” She clamped a hand over her forehead. “I just don’t understand why this is happening.”

His square jaw clenched, then he took a deep breath that made his massive chest even wider. “You will, ma’am. For the record, my name is Sgt. Houston. I’m with the Massachusetts State Police.”

She rolled her eyes but kept her big mouth shut this time. They were probably around the same age, and if he called her ma’am one more time, she’d be tempted to slug him. Probably a bad idea.

“Step out of the shower. Slowly.” He backed away, as did his dog, although both kept their eyes glued to her, as if any quick movement on her part and she’d find herself in handcuffs, or the main course of that demonic dog’s breakfast.

Only now did it register that the dog wore a protective vest over its torso, as did the cop, she assumed. Normally, she loved dogs and they loved her back. Her mother once told her it was a gift. Dogs inherently sensed when someone liked them, and they returned the sentiment a hundred times over. But this dog was a cop, and one of the largest shepherds she’d ever seen. It had to be over ninety pounds.

Hesitantly, she placed one foot on the bath mat outside the shower door, pausing to glance over her shoulder, gratified that Stray hadn’t budged, although the dog’s ears were laid back, her head lowered. When Andi turned, her gaze quickly took in the rest of the trooper. It was impossible not to. She was around five-seven, and he had to be close to six-three or four. He could easily crush her with one hand tied behind his back.

A muscle in one of his sunken cheeks flexed as he clicked the mic on his lapel. “Malloy, this is Sgt. Houston. I need you upstairs. What’s the delay?”

“A little tied up, Sarge,” a female voice responded, making her realize he was doing his best to get a female officer on scene.

Seriously chiseled jaws clenched again. “Get up here ASAP.”

“Ten-four.”

He made a quick motion with one arm, and his dog trotted out of the bathroom. Next, he surprised her by reaching for the other towel on the rack, extending it to her.

Not understanding, she gave him a questioning look.

He tipped his head to where Stray still sat obediently in the shower. “For the dog.”

Well, huh. His unexpected thoughtfulness momentarily fried her brain synapses, and all she could do was stare at him in disbelief.

“You don’t want her shaking all over this pricey marble tile.” He arched a brow. “Do you?”

“Um, no. Thanks.” She accepted the towel then made quick work of giving Stray a rubdown that made her reasonably dry. Oblivious to the seriousness of what was going on, Stray groaned with pleasure at the body massage, then shook. When Andi turned to hang the towel back on the rack, she glimpsed the smattering of water spots on the trooper’s uniform shirt. His face remained impassive. Either he hadn’t noticed, or he didn’t care.

“After you.” He indicated the bedroom, and when she started for the door, Stray began to follow. “Probably wise to keep her in here for now.”

Andi turned and held up her hand. “No, girl. Stay.”

Uttering a low whine, the dog stopped and looked at her with mournful, disappointed eyes.

“Have a seat on the bed,” he said after closing the bathroom door behind them.

She stepped into the bedroom to find the black K-9 sitting in front of the door to the hall. No escape.

A chill crawled up her spine as the enormity and seriousness of what was happening sunk in deeper.

Turning, she planted her hands on her hips but thought better of it when the towel began slipping. Grabbing the edges just in time, she held it tightly to her breasts. “Not before you tell me what’s going on here. I have a right to know. And I’d really like to get dressed. If you don’t mind, that is.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and strode toward her unpacked suitcase resting on the luggage rack. She reached for the zipper, and the next instant found herself lifted into the air as if she were no heavier than a matchstick.

“What are you doing?” This is unbelievable.

Strong hands grasped her waist, and her legs dangled as Sgt. Houston walked her back to the bed and deposited her ass-first on the mattress.

“Pass auf,” he said to the dog, which came closer, ears pricked high, golden gaze fixated on her every move.

Sgt. Houston pointed at her with a long finger. “Stay.”

“Stay?” She barked out a laugh. “I am not a dog, and I don’t respond on command.”