The door shuts and I look up to see the fireman standing there. The unbelievably gorgeous fireman.
What a cliche.
“Now, let’s spring you out of here and go find that dog of yours.”
“I told you, I don’t need your help, so you might as well turn around and march out of here, too.”
“Well, tough shit... I’m going to help find your dog whether you like it or not. And it will get done a lot faster if we work with each other rather than against each other.”
I’m momentarily shocked over his words and I give him another once-over. I’m suspicious of his offer of help, because... well, hey... I’m suspicious of all authority figures. I’d learned that long before I ever got messed up with Juice.
But his gaze tells me the offer is genuine and I take a moment to check him out a bit closer. First of all, he’s a pretty big guy... probably a good foot taller than my five-three height. He’s also stacked with muscle and I still have enough of my wits about me to notice that he has a face that would make most women fall over in a dead faint if he smiled at them.
It’s the eyes.
Definitely the eyes. Lashes so thick you would think they were painted on the border of the lightest pair of hazel irises I’ve ever seen. His dark brown hair, which he wears fairly short, only makes his eyes pop that much more. When he smiles, I notice he has a dimple on the left side of his mouth, but not on the right.
“So what do you say?” he asks, bringing me out of my perusal of his hotness.
Shaking my head, because the last thing I need to be thinking about is how gorgeous this guy is, I stand from the bed. “If you think that I’m going to spill my dirty secrets to you so you can run off and tell your cop friend, forget about it.”
Flynn holds his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “I could care less about that. I just want to help you find your dog, and then you can be on your way. Deal?”
My skeptical nature looks hard for the lie, but I can’t find it. And I’m a pretty good judge of character. For example, I knew Juice was bad news and trouble from the get-go. But just because I’m a good judge of character doesn’t mean I make smart decisions with my knowledge.
Still... he’s offering me a way to find Capone and that dog is literally the only thing I have in the world right now. I don’t even have any clothes and I have nowhere to live right now, but I figure Capone and I can huddle up together tonight until I figure something out.
“Okay... if you can manage to get me some scrubs to wear and if that beast of a nurse will get my papers ready, we can go.”
He shoots me a one-dimpled smile and turns toward the door. “I’m on it. I’ll have you out of here in thirty minutes.”
Flynn drives us back to Juice’s house and he pulls up to the curb. He had tried to engage me in conversation on the way over but after a few grunted answers, he gave up. Opening the car door, he steps out and I do the same.
“You come get in my car and start driving up and down the streets looking for him. I’ll go by foot. We’ll be able to cover more ground that way. Let’s meet back here in twenty minutes to check in.”
I just stare at him for a moment before my tongue works. “You want me to take your car? I’m a perfect stranger... someone who used to shack up with a known drug dealer. You’re really going to trust me with your car?”
Flynn shrugs his shoulders. “Well, it’s not like you can walk around looking for him. You don’t even have any shoes.”
Glancing down at my feet, it hits me harder than ever before that I truly have nothing except for a slightly too large set of blue surgical scrubs. Tears threaten to break free of my eyeballs but I curse them viciously until they retreat.
I look up at Flynn and shoot him a bitter smile. “Sure thing. Your loss if I decide to just up and steal your car.”
Walking by him to get in the driver’s seat, he reaches out and touches my arm. He doesn’t grab it, but just places his fingertips on my forearm. I stop at the silent command.
“You won’t steal it. Want to know how I know that?” His voice is low and soft, and I have to admit... it’s damn sexy.
Swallowing hard, I reply, “I’ll play—how do you know that?”
“Because that damn dog is more important than anything in the world to you, and you’re going to do everything in your power to find him. That includes using me to help you find him. No way you’re about to take off with my car and leave Capone out here to fend for himself.”
He has me pegged. To a tee.
Big whoop. He still doesn’t know shit about me. “Great job, Sherlock. You got me. Now let’s get to work if you don’t mind.”
Stepping past him, I climb into the driver’s seat and adjust it forward so I can reach the pedals. I don’t bother telling him I don’t have a license, nor that I’ve only driven a handful of times. No sense in worrying him.
Putting the car in gear, I drive away, glancing once in the rearview mirror at him. He’s already turned his back on me and is trotting across the street, before disappearing into a neighbor’s yard.
I methodically drive up and down each street with the windows rolled down. Every few minutes, I yell Capone’s name. I also yell out other words he’ll recognize like, “treat” or “ball”. As soon as I call out for him, I look frantically, left and right, expecting him to come bounding out from behind some bushes.
I’m disappointed time and time again.
As the minutes tick by, I’m starting to get panicked. What if he’s been stolen? Or killed? Or what if he’s hurt and can’t come to me?
I can’t lose that dog... not now. Not after everything that he’s been through with me. And there’s no way I’m ever letting Juice get him back. He only wanted Capone because of his pedigree and because he’s a beautiful dog. It was a way for him to show off to his druggie friends that he could afford a two-thousand dollar Bernese Mountain Dog shipped to him all the way from Colorado.
Once the puppy arrived, just over a year ago, Juice promptly named him Capone and then forgot about him. Which was fine by me. I was the one that raised Capone. I potty trained him, taught him how to sit, lie down, and to heel when we walked in the neighborhood. He was smart as a whip and we adored each other. He would sleep in bed with me at night, until Juice would come in and yell at him to get off.
Capone hated Juice and the feeling soon became mutual when Juice realized Capone was completely and utterly attached to me. He wouldn’t do a damn thing that Juice asked of him and it would piss Juice off that he would do anything that I asked.
Once, Juice yelled at Capone for a solid fifteen minutes because he refused to sit for him. After he slammed out of the house in anger, I watched in amazement as Capone calmly walked into the bedroom and peed in one of Juice’s tennis shoes. Of course, I had to clean it up before Juice got home, because he would have beat Capone if he knew he did that. I tried to chastise the furry monster but I ended up giggling every time I tried to say, “Bad dog” to him. It remained our little secret.
Turning back down the street where Juice lived, I can feel my throat starting to get tight. The burned-out husk of a house is just a block away.
I call for him again.
Nothing.
Pulling back up to the curb, I lower my forehead to the wheel and try to take a deep breath. It comes out in a stuttering gasp and tears pool in my eyes. I hastily blink at them and square my shoulders. There isn’t time to grieve for my dog when I’ve only been searching for twenty minutes. When Flynn meets me back here, I’ll tell him to go on home and then I’ll keep looking.
I’ll look all night and won’t stop until I find him.
Raising my head up from the steering wheel, I look out the front window and my heart almost explodes in joy.
