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“It’s going.” Delaney got a sneaky little grin on her lips. “I can tell a lot about a man by working on his Willie.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sean was suddenly aware of the warming sun burning down on him. “Like what?”
“Like how well he took care of it. How hard he rode it. If he’s worthy of it.” She slowly slid her hand away.
For a moment, Sean was paralyzed. How the hell was he going to take things slowly if she was going to keep talking like that? “I better go get Wyatt.” Just like that night at her apartment, distance was probably the only solution right now.
“We don’t want him to miss the judging,” Delaney agreed, the faintest of smiles on her lips. “Besides, I have to go register my bike.” She pointed toward a table that had people filling out forms.
Sean got his hand stamped on the way out, then drove fifteen minutes to Delaney’s shop, his mind on her lithe body in her jeans and tank top and the way her eyes looked gold in the sun. He briefly wondered what color combination had created hers: green and brown, maybe? Then he wondered whose eyes were green and whose were brown. Green for the vagabond dad, he decided, the color of mystery, magic and new beginnings—because Delaney wasn’t fooling anyone about why she loved this dog that Sean was going out of his way to collect.
He unlocked the shop and stepped inside. It smelled of motor oil and coffee. There was a standard drip coffee maker to the left of the counter, on a little table with cups and packets of sugar and creamer. There was a white coffee mug by the register with a vintage motorcycle printed on it and the name Pipsqueak above, like it had been personalized. It was a quarter full of coffee, black. Sean wondered if Delaney was Pipsqueak, and if that had been her father’s nickname for her. The thought made him smile. The mug was otherwise clean, no ring of bright pink lipstick on the rim like Kim’s. Sean didn’t think he’d ever seen Delaney wear lipstick, now that he thought about it.
He was about to check the storeroom when he saw that Wyatt was on his dog bed, at the foot of the staircase. Delaney had been somewhat successful in moving the bed, but obviously hadn’t made the final leap to upstairs. Wyatt perked up at the sound of Sean approaching, his face curious. “Woof.” It was a unique bark—almost like the sound of a person sayingwoof.
“Hey, boy.” Sean collected the leash and gave the dog a wave.
Wyatt rose to his feet, his curious look ceding to something more apprehensive.
“I know,” Sean said. “I’d be disappointed, too, if I was expecting Delaney and I walked in the room instead.”
Wyatt backed up, moving away from Sean until his butt hit the edge of the staircase.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Sean held up both his hands, like one of his suspects, under arrest. “I’m a friend. She asked me to come get you.”
“Woof.”
“What does that mean?” Sean was starting to feel increasingly foolish. First, he’d waved at the dog. Then he’d held up his hands, like he’d been caught during a robbery. Now he was asking the dog what he meant bywoof.
Wyatt leaned harder into the staircase, physically rearing back, even though Sean had not approached any farther.
“C’mon, Wyatt.” Sean dropped to one knee. “I know this will surprise you, being a cop and all, but I’m a cat person. I don’t know what to do with this.” He gestured to Wyatt’s flinching body. “I take it you don’t like men very much. It can’t be me, right? Because I’m pretty cool. I may not look it, but I’m one seriously cool dude. So maybe just let me...” Sean leaned forward, extending the leash.
Wyatt bolted up the stairs. In a flash of white fur and scrambling paws, he was gone, around the corner and into the apartment.
And this day just kept getting better. “We’re going to miss the judging!” he called up the stairway. “Delaney’s counting on us!” The sound of paws scrambling over the apartment followed, then silence. Wyatt had settled in somewhere to hide. Sean sighed. He really didn’t want to go up to the apartment without permission but Delaney wanted Wyatt and that left Sean little choice. He headed upstairs and found the apartment completely silent. The living space was tidy, the pink-and-green quilt draped neatly over the back of the couch, the television off.
No dog.
“Wyatt? Where’d you go?” Sean called out, but nothing. His only saving grace was there weren’t a lot of places to hide in a studio apartment. He put himself in Wyatt’s head. If Sean were hiding from a large man—and he didn’t like large men—he’d probably go wherever it smelled the most like a sweet woman. Sean poked his head in Delaney’s bedroom, which was also tidy and quiet. Wyatt was not on the bed, where Sean thought he might go, nor in the bathroom. The small closet was also devoid of canines.
“What the hell...?” Sean mused aloud. His gaze settled on a laundry basket in the corner. It was full of white linens and towels, like Delaney had just changed the bed sheets. The mound of linens shifted.
“Wyatt.” Sean spoke softly as he neared the basket. “Are you hiding in the laundry?” Once Sean was right on top of the basket he could see that part of the white mound was Wyatt’s rump. The dog wasn’t just in the basket, he was deep in the laundry, too. The sight was cute enough to make Sean chuckle but it also made his heart ache. Wyatt was scared.
The pittie was found, but what now? Sean wasn’t about to reach in and haul out a frightened dog. He stared at the ceiling and thought about all the ways he’d used to get Callie to come out of hiding—she always knew when it was time to go to the vet—but Sean didn’t think putting out an empty box or building a tent with blankets would entice the dog.
While he was thinking, something about the drop ceiling caught his eye. One of the panels in the far corner was slightly pushed in, like someone had popped it open and neglected to nestle it back in the runner. The ceiling had not been like that the night ’33 was returned and Sean cased Delaney’s apartment. He would’ve noticed. Sean fetched a stool from the kitchen, brought it back to the bedroom, stood on it and poked his hand through the dislodged panel. He felt around inside the ceiling space, but came up with nothing.
Sean carefully replaced the panel and returned the stool to the kitchen, his brain puzzling. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe the ceiling had always been that way. He suddenly felt guilty for poking around in Delaney’s bedroom so decided he’d check to make sure all the doors were locked before he left, and if so, he’d just not mention this.
Meantime, Wyatt still hadn’t come out of the laundry.
Sean headed back downstairs and spied Wyatt’s empty food bowl on the floor near his bed. Well, that was one thing that worked universally on all species. He searched behind the counter and came up with a box of dog biscuits. On a whim, he shook it. Silence. He shook it again.
A moment later, the sound of paws over the ceiling came faint but certain. One more shake of the box and Sean was rewarded by the sound of paws lumbering down the stairs.
“The good news is,” Sean said, when he arrived over an hour later, Wyatt trotting at his side and Sean looking a little too sweaty for having simply collected the pit bull, “I know how to get Wyatt to go upstairs to your apartment.”
