Page 27 of Scout’s Honor

She hung up. “They’re sending a unit over now.”

Dallas nodded. “I’d like to check the house.”

Bonhi moved closer to him and softly grasped his arm. “I’m going with you.”

He nodded again. They moved from room to room, arm in arm, turning on lights and checking closets and found nothing out of the ordinary.

Back near the foyer, Dallas released Bonhi, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she turned to face him, her expression asking the question he still hadn’t answered.

Shit.

He stared at her blue glow, letting it convince him to tell her everything.

16—The Fuzz

Bonhi stood inside her own house, wet hair and clothes plastered to her skin, exhaustion pulling at her, staring at the man who had singlehandedly saved her life. He was tall and built with a short haircut and gorgeous brown eyes, and his name was Dallas Manteo. He spoke with a clipped efficiency that turned her on, even in this crazy, horrible situation. He’d saved her life, she had no doubt about it. She could never repay him for that. And if he’d been shot?

The situation from earlier that day kept returning to her mind—Jameson in the forest, appearing exactly where she’d seen the white wolf. Men who could turn into animals and heal themselves with the change was a myth, a legend, a story to make women swoon, nothing more, and there was no way—

Blue lights flashed through the foyer. The police had arrived.

Dallas looked out the window, then back at her, a promise in his eyes. Later.

Bonhi tried to pull herself together. She was a mess, her hair tangled, her clothes wet, a shiny space blanket still pulled around her, and she was thinking crazy things.

She opened the door and stepped out to meet the police. Dallas followed.

The police car was parked and both doors opened, two big cops got out, one Black, one Latino. Bonhi knew a lot of cops, but not these two. The passenger honed in on Bonhi and came straight toward her, one arm resting on the implements hanging from his gun belt. He had short black hair, dark skin, and a rigid expression. His nametag said Officer Saluda.

He nodded at Dallas like he knew him, then said, “Evening, folks. What’s going on tonight?”

“I was ah-abducted from my office by this guy—"

The officer motioned toward Dallas, one eyebrow raised. “This guy?”

Bonhi shook her head. “No, he saved me.” She met his eyes and smiled and he smiled back, warmly. She couldn’t breathe for a second. She looked back at the officer and the feeling eased so she could speak. “The other guy is unconscious on the side of the road at—” she looked Dallas’ way, shaking her head. She had no idea where they’d crashed, but she didn’t want to lock eyes with him again. He was just so… handsome… and real… and unassuming. She liked him.

“Ah, just south of mile marker 164 on that road…” Dallas said, grasping for the name.

“Nevoc Highway,” Bonhi supplied.

Officer Saluda nodded at his partner and his partner went back to the car and spoke into the radio.

“He, uh, he’s not unconscious anymore.” He tried to catch Bonhi’s eye, saying, “He woke up right before we left. That’s why I got us out of there so quickly.”

“Oh,” Bonhi said, her chest tightening. She moved closer to Dallas. He put an arm around her, and she was able to relax. He would protect her, she felt it in the rigid set of his body pressed against hers, and in the way their heartbeats seemed to immediately synchronize. She’d never felt so safe in her life.

Officer Saluda nodded at the door. “Can we go inside?”

Bonhi nodded and the three of them went in, walking into the dining room. The other officer followed and closed the door behind them. His nametag said Brand and he had an evidence kit in his hands.

“I’ll need pictures,” he said, motioning that Dallas and Bonhi needed to separate. Bonhi moved out from under his arm, feeling the loss of his presence like a wound. She grimaced but did as the officer asked. He took pictures of her head to toe, then pictures of Dallas as well.

“Dallas, how about you step into the living room with me.” Officer Saluda said, confirming Bonhi’s thought that they knew each other.

Officer Brand got out a little kit and put it on her kitchen table. Bonhi knew the kit—she was about to get her fingerprints taken. They didn’t speak at all, and when it was finished, the officer swabbed the stains on her clothing with a giant cotton swab, but the rain had washed most of the blood away.

“I’ll need your clothing,” the officer said. “You can grab something to change into.”