Page 14 of Armed ’N’ Ready

He turned to find Andi had followed him into the kitchen. As she passed Saxon, she paused, hesitantly laying a hand on his dog’s back and running it along his spine. Saxon turned his head, his nostrils flaring as he gave the back of her hand a sniff.

“You’re gorgeous.” She continued stroking, and since Saxon didn’t seem to mind, Nick didn’t stop her.

As her fingers sifted through the thick, shiny coat, he stared at her blunt, neatly manicured nails. Saxon had scared her at least twice, but she’d barely hesitated to pet him, and it was done in such a natural way.

No shit, Sherlock. She owns the Dog Park Café. Shouldn’t come as a shock that she likes dogs. Speaking of which… “Where’s your dog?”

“Locked in the bedroom.” She jerked her head up, worry filling her eyes. “Why?”

“Will she be okay up there?” Not that he gave a shit if the dog crapped all over Myer’s pristine bedroom carpeting or tore everything in the master bedroom to shreds, but he didn’t want the animal stressed more than she must be already by being locked up.

“We were up early and went for a long walk. She’ll be fine.” Her gaze narrowed on him.

“What?” For some reason, his inquiry about the dog’s welfare seemed to make her think he had some kind of ulterior motive.

“Nothing. I was just…” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Trying to figure you out.”

Don’t, he wanted to say. The last thing he needed was a woman rummaging around in his messed-up head. “Cox give up questioning you?” he asked, sorely needing to shortcut her train of thought.

“One can only hope.” She scrunched her lips in a way that made her look cute. “He’s filling out paperwork for me to sign, so we’re taking a break.” She opened another cupboard door and reached for the china bowl next to the box of Pop-Tarts. As she did, the box fell on the floor, and Saxon lunged for it.

Nick got there first, snatching it away and setting it on the counter. “Not a chance, buddy.”

A high-pitched whimper sounded from the back of Saxon’s throat, and he lowered his head as if he were pouting.

Andi laughed and began filling the bowl with water. “Loves sweet treats, does he?”

Nick nodded. “Too much.” Renewed suspicion rankled his gut. “For someone who doesn’t live here, you seem to know your way around this kitchen.”

She groaned. “Don’t start that again. I told you the truth about my relationship with Joe. On the few occasions I’ve been in this house, he and I spent most of the time in the kitchen. Before the restaurant’s kitchen was renovated, I’d come here to try out recipes on him. Poor guy. I think he got sick of my cooking.” She set the bowl on the floor, giving Saxon’s ears a quick massage as he bent his head to begin lapping at the water.

He watched in surprise when Saxon turned to give her hand a quick lick, as if to say thanks. His dog was trained not to attack someone just because they touched him, but bestowing an affectionate lick on a total stranger was definitely not in his repertoire.

He’d occasionally seen that kind of instant rapport between humans and canines, and Andi Hardt seemed to have it. He also trusted Saxon’s instincts the way he trusted only a few people in his life—friends like Eric and the other guys he’d gone through K-9 school with. Saxon was a good judge of character, and it wasn’t lost on him that the dog’s immediate acceptance of Andi didn’t jibe with her being a criminal.

It would take time to prove her innocence or complicity. His dirtbag radar was pretty damned infallible, but he wasn’t sure about anything. Still, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d been surprised by someone.

Loud slurping had them watching Saxon as he made quick work of drinking every drop in the bowl. When he was done, he continued licking until the bowl began inching across the hardwood floor. Then Saxon sat in front of Andi, panting with a gratified look on his face. His long tongue slipped from the side of his muzzle. Droplets fell onto her sandals, calling attention to the pale-pink nail polish on her toes. Even his dog was drooling over her.

She picked up the bowl and filled it again. After Andi reset it on the floor, Saxon got to work lapping up more water. “He looks purebred. Is he?” Nick nodded. “I’ve heard black shepherds are rare. Either the sire, the dam, or both have to have the recessive black shepherd gene.”

He leaned his hip against the black granite counter, also watching Saxon as he took great, sloppy gulps of water. “You know your shepherds.”

“I love dogs.” She shrugged then quickly looked away.

A moment of awkward silence passed between them. As if there could be any other kind, under the circumstances.

“I’m sorry about the girl,” she said quietly. He must have had a puzzled expression on his face because a moment later, she added, “The teenager caught in the crossfire last week. It must have been horrible finding her that way. I can’t imagine what goes through your mind at a moment like that.” Her eyes clouded with genuine sorrow.

“You get used to it,” he lied. He’d never gotten used to it.

“Really?” The clear skin on her forehead wrinkled. “How?”

“By keeping it impersonal so I can do my job.” The acid boiling in his gut made him feel sick. Five years after the fact, and the grisly images of his dead wife remained imprinted in his memory as if they’d been stamped there yesterday. There’d been no need for an autopsy. Even if she hadn’t left a suicide note, the unregistered firearm in her lifeless hand and the bullet wound to her head told the story.

Except for where she got the gun. A gun with its serial number filed off—the same as the guns sold by this dealer.

“If I let it get to me every time I see a gunshot victim, I’d be worthless.”