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Another piece clicked into place. She’d insisted he sleep in his own bed when she’d seen him favoring his leg. It was a silent testament to either her stubbornness or his pain level that he’d finally agreed.
“Must have forgotten to change an alarm.” She slapped at the display to shut off the chime, realizing too late it had been a phone call. From her brother.
Thank goodness she’d declined the call. The last thing she needed at—she checked the display—a quarter past four in the morning—was a brotherly lecture on reckless behavior.
He’d probably driven by her place on his way out to hunt this morning. When would anyone in her family realize she was an adult perfectly capable of taking care of herself?
Aggravated with J.C.’s attempted interference, her body too accustomed to early days, she knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. As quietly as the recliner allowed, she sat up and tiptoed to the kitchen to check out the potential for breakfast.
She opened the fridge and peered inside. Eggs, bread, beer. She reached for a drawer and gave a start, smacking her head against the top of the refrigerator door frame, when her phone sounded again.
Rubbing at the ache, she saw this call was from the animal shelter’s office. She picked it up immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“Where are you?” J.C.’s voice slammed into her ear.
She’d expected to hear her friend Terry Watson’s voice. “J.C.? Why are you calling from the shelter?”
“Because you didn’t answer when I called you from my phone.”
Great. This was not the time for a brotherly interrogation. “Answer my question,” she snapped.
“There’s a situation and you’re needed out here. Now.” The irritation in his voice matched hers. “I went by your house to pick you up. Where did you spend the night?”
“Whatever it is can’t be too serious if you’re so concerned about my personal life.”
She could almost hear her brother grinding his teeth in frustration. She sympathized completely, but she went back to foraging for breakfast ingredients, unwilling to let him off the hook.
“Heather.” He paused to clear his throat. “Someone broke in and vandalized the shelter last night.”
“I beg your pardon.” She closed the refrigerator door and leaned back against the edge of the cold, granite countertop of the island. “What happened? There’s a security system.” Guilt racked her. “How is Terry?” She’d swapped with him in order to have dinner with Dale.
“No idea. We responded to an automated call from the security system, but…”
“But…” she echoed.
“Terry wasn’t here. Isn’t here. Best guess is he was in on it—”
“Not possible.”
“—or,” J.C. continued, “the perps tampered with the security system and set it off accidentally on their way out.”
It should have been her. Would have been her if Dale hadn’t swept her off to Columbia for a fake date and an even more fake engagement. She would have been there already, if she hadn’t agreed to his stupid scheme.
He’d wanted to see what would happen if they were seen together. Dear God. She rubbed at the ache in her temples. Now they knew.
“You need to get out here,” J.C. continued. “I think the crew needs your help.”
“I’ll be there.” Her mind was working out logistics when J.C. dropped more bad news.
“The animals are terrified. Looks like the warm up fights went down right here.”
“Warm up fights?” Her stomach rolled. “You said vandalism.” Her voice cracked on the word. “I’m on my way.” She needed to see it for herself, to help reassure those animals nothing similar would happen again. “My phone’s on. Keep me updated.”
Clutching her phone, she weighed how best to tell Dale. He’d seemed so detached about the plight of the dogs in the hands of the sick bastards who profited from the damned fights. There had to be a way to make him realize a change to his precious plan was necessary.
But her mind was blank. He’d shown nothing but logic and frustration with her ideas and dedication to the animals at risk. She couldn’t just take his car, he’d likely report it stolen just to keep her under his thumb. Her heart breaking, she decided to wing it, trusting she’d find a way to convince him once she started the conversation.
Turning, she came to an abrupt stop. Dale filled the kitchen doorway. A pair of black and gray plaid flannel lounge pants slung low across his hips. The man was bare everywhere else. So he didn’t sleep in a suit.
