His dark gaze traveled over her breasts, still flushed from her orgasm, down to the V of her thighs. “Fine,” he said, his face showing both anger and bewilderment, as if he couldn’t fathom why he’d failed to use protection again. Then the dryer fell silent, signaling the end of the cycle, and he went into the hallway to get his clothes.
Sidney pulled on a robe and wandered into the kitchen to make breakfast, feeling shell-shocked. He’d said he loved her. That he wanted her.
And yet, the only promise he’d made was that he wouldn’t stay.
Thanks to a Special Report by Crystal Dunn that aired over the weekend, women all over the city had been calling the homicide division to report uncommon canine behavior. After Detective Lacy narrowed the list down to single blondes with large breeds, she still had a dozen interviews to complete, and she couldn’t do them by herself.
Although Chief Stokes had partnered Lacy with another officer, a rookie from beat, she’d asked Marc to help out on the grunt work for the case.
He wouldn’t be able to stay at the kennel with Sidney.
A uniformed officer was posted on the street in front of Pacific Pet Hotel, but Marc was still reluctant to leave. “Do you have anything you use to control rowdy dogs?” he asked. “A stun gun or something?”
She looked at him like he was crazy.
“Pepper spray?”
Frowning, she rummaged through a drawer in her office and came up with a small yellow spray stick.
“Wear it on you. Clipped to your pants.” She complied in dutiful silence. “I’ll try to get back before closing,” he murmured, taking her into his arms.
She accepted his embrace stiffly, and it occurred to him that not only was he jinxing himself by saying goodbye, but he was doing it in the mushiest, most sentimental way possible, as if he was afraid he’d never see her again. He let her go long before he was ready to, disturbed by the cold wash of fear that struck him at the thought of losing her.
The uneasy feeling nagged him the rest of the day.
By late afternoon, they’d completed all but the last interview. Annemarie Wilsey was a kindergarten teacher who frequently walked her dog, Greta, along an undeveloped section of land bordering Camp Pendleton. Like Candace Hegel, she lived alone in a neighborhood of tile-roofed tract homes with large bedrooms and small backyards.
“Greta was acting strange, you say?” Lacy prompted.
Annemarie gave a nervous smile, patting the Rottweiler mix on the top the head. “Yes. We’d just left the house, and she wasn’t herself. She loves to go for walks, but that morning she was sluggish. Less than a block away, she just…collapsed.”
“Did she have convulsions? Seizures?”
“Not that I could tell. The vet thought she might be epileptic, or even diabetic, of all things. He said if it happened again, he would try medication.”
“But it didn’t.”
“No.”
“And how did you get Greta to the vet? She must weigh as much as you do.”
“A man came by and offered to help.”
Marc’s attention was piqued. “Go on,” he said.
“He wanted to drive us there. Since I was so close to home, I just ran down the block to get my own car. He helped me lift her into the backseat.” She blinked her guileless blue eyes a few times, looking back and forth between them. Then her pretty face went white. “Oh my God,” she said, raising a hand to her trembling mouth. “Do you think that was
“What did he look like?” Lacy asked.
She worried her lower lip. “Young. Dark-haired. Average-size, I guess.”
“How young? Like Lieutenant Cruz?”
Annemarie studied him. “Yes. Or younger.”
“Dark like him, too? His size?”
Her cheeks reddened. “Not quite as big. Darker hair. And his skin was more…pale.”
“He was white?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything else you can remember about him? Anything unusual in his appearance?”
“No. He looked like a regular guy, I guess.”
“What was he driving?”
She scrunched up her face. “Oh, I don’t know. I was so worried about Greta, I’m surprised I can remember the man.”
“A car or truck?” Lacy pressed her for details.
“Not a truck,” she decided. “Just a basic car, I think, nothing flashy.”
“Would you mind going to the station to work with our computer artist? You’d be amazed at what you can remember about a person’s features with a little help.”
“Of course,” she said, patting Greta again with absent affection.
Marc wondered what Annemarie Wilsey had in common with the other victims besides the fact that she was small and blond and pretty. “Where did you get Greta?” he asked, shifting his attention to the dog at her side.
“At the pound. She’s been a treasure.”
Greta looked friendly, but Marc wasn’t about to risk his hand by reaching out to pet her. Unlike a typical Rottweiler, she was pure black, with no tan markings. Her large head, stocky body, and cropped tail gave away her breed.
“Were you looking for a watchdog?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “My garage was broken into last year. There wasn’t much to steal, but it kind of scared me. A few days later, I got a phone call from a volunteer with the ASPCA. Greta needed a home. It seemed like a perfect fit.”
Maybe too perfect, he thought. “Is she trained?”
“Not really. I think she’s just naturally obedient.”
On a hunch, he ordered the dog to lie down in German. Greta complied instantly, stretching out on her barreled chest. He told her to roll over, and she did that, too.
Annemarie Wilsey was astounded. “How did you get her to do that?”
“It’s a gift,” he lied, standing to leave. “If you can go down to the station right away,” he began, and Greta stopped being obedient. She also stopped being friendly. Hackles raised in warning, she issued a low rumble from the back of her throat.
Marc froze.
“Greta!” Annemarie scolded, grabbing onto her nylon collar. “I’m sorry. She’s never acted this way before.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lacy said, putting her body between the dog and Marc, saving him. “Lieutenant Cruz always has this effect on females.”
In his car, Marc turned on the air conditioning full blast and rested his forehead against the steering wheel, trying to pull himself together. He could still hear growling, followed by the sickening crunch of Houdini’s neck bones in his hands.
“You are such a head case, Marcos,” Lacy complained affectionately. “Where’d you learn German?”
“I did a month there after Saudi.”
“You picked up ‘lay down’ and ‘roll over’ in a month?”
He smiled weakly. “Oh, yes. They were essential phrases.”
Instead of admonishing him, she regarded him with undisguised curiosity. “What were the women like?”
“They were…nice,” he said after some hesitation, and they both laughed at his understatement. At nineteen, he hadn’t been able to erase the disturbing images of war by scoring with sexy foreign girls, but he’d given the endeavor his absolute best.
Of course, all of them put together, and everyone since, couldn’t compare to Sidney.
