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She looks up at me as I hear the ex’s attorney’s whiny voice. “Mrs. Roark.”
“I believe she told you to address her as Doctor,” I growl at him.
“I need to know your location so I can send any papers to you,” he says.
“No, you don’t. All communication is to go through me and my office.” Her attorney comes to stand beside her.
I look back at the house and then to her. She doesn’t fit this house. She doesn’t fit the life that was obviously here before. I walk away toward my vehicle, not hearing anymore and trying to push her from my thoughts.
* * *
An hour and a half later, I’m pulling into the driveway of the small house I rent in Smyrna. I had to file reports for Lydia’s break-in, and the state guys wanted to get my perspective on the damage. They showed up before I left, and I ended up staying instead of following behind Lydia and trying not to stalk her.
“Hey, boy, how was your day?” I pat Sully on the head when I enter the house.
The large Newfoundland’s tongue lolls out of his mouth. I got him from a good friend of mine’s cousin who trains dogs. He isn’t a working dog as much as he’s my companion. After I got out of the military, I was having lots of nightmares. My friend, Zeke, told me his cousin could help me. Sullivan has been with me for the last two years. He liked the cold of New York but is settling into the Tennessee weather now.
I give Sully more love and pet his long black-haired head before heading to my room to change out of my uniform. I throw on a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a T-shirt, then head to the kitchen to feed Sully and myself.
After dinner, I grab a beer from the fridge and move to the dining room table and makeshift desk. I fire up my laptop and settle into a chair to research my new fascination, Lydia Rorke.
CHAPTER3
MAVERICK
My cell phone rings, and I look at the dashboard in frustration. The call is from an unknown number. It could be work, but I don’t want to be called in again. It’s been a frustrating three weeks between the animal trafficking case and not hearing from Lydia. I think about ignoring the call when something inside of me urges me to answer.
“Yeah,” I say, praying it’s some telemarketer.
“Sergeant Whitlock, it’s Doctor Rorke.” I hear a catch in Lydia’s voice. “Sydney’s car has been vandalized in the zoo parking lot. I need help,” she says softly, her drawl thick.
I flip the lights on and whip the car around, back toward Nashville. I’m only halfway home, so it should take me about fifteen minutes to reach her.
“I’m on my way. Don’t go near it, and get security to you,” I growl into the phone.
“Okay.” She hangs up. Damn woman hung up on me before I could make sure she was okay.
I’m about to dial her back when the traffic in front of me zigs instead of zags out of my way. I hate that my safety lights cause people to panic or do stupid shit. I move into the carpool lane, making people get out of my way. With half a mile to go before the exit, I make my way over to the right lane. My tires squeal as I pull into the employee parking lot.
I’m barely in park when I’m out of the SUV and heading right for her.
“Are you okay?” I bark at her, my emotions taking over. I could have lost her without ever tasting her lips.
“I’m fine, but Sydney’s car has been vandalized.” She points behind her, turning away from me.
She’s in another pair of tight jeans, and I can tell she’s lost some weight since I last saw her. Her tiny waist is shrinking, as well as the curves I can’t wait to hold on to. Her leather jacket is open, and the shirt she’s wearing shows off the swells of her breasts. I look between her and the car a couple of times. She called me for her friend. I thought she was hurt.
“You called me for that?” I wave my hand toward the car.
“Well, yeah. I wanted someone to come help us right away. What if the perpetrator is in the area watching us? Look at the knife they left behind.” She points at a machete on the ground.
Fuck, she’s right. What if they are still watching and waiting to attack. I grab her hand and drag her to my truck. She fights me for a moment and then gives up. She’s in high-heeled shoes. For a fleeting moment I wonder if she’s going on a date, or if she and the ex-husband got back together.
“Come on, Sydney,” I yell at the redhead.
I open the passenger door and lift Lydia up into the seat. Just the feel of her waist causes my hands to tingle. I need to focus on her safety. I turn my back on her, blocking her from view and rest my hand on my holster as I question her friend.
“Do you have any enemies?” I ask her, then turn to Lydia. “Or is this the ex?”
