She really cared about them. That was Willow—always falling for the dangerous types.
“We’ll find them,” he said. He knew exactly where they were. “Do they have a kennel or dog beds somewhere?”
“Shane’s mentioned their beds are in the living room.” She hesitated. “But I’ve never been in there. Shane doesn’t like having people over.” She looked around the place. “And who can blame him? This place is a dump. He really should talk to Grant and convince him to fix it up when he gets back.”
Jack had the feeling Grant was never coming back and just hoped he and Willow didn’t stumble upon his dead body while they were feeding the dogs. If the Rooster had any common sense he’d buried Grant in the orchards somewhere. In a deep grave.
Jack looked around and sniffed. “Is that beer I smell?” Yeah, he’d staged an explanation for the dogs’ drugged behavior.
“Yeah, I smell it, too, but that’s nothing. The house always smells like beer.”
“Ah yeah, but look at that.” He pointed to the counter where a six-pack lay tipped over. And then to the floor where two broken bottles lay, surrounded by traces of their contents.
Willow’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no!”
“Yeah,” Jack said, really playing for Willow’s sympathies. “Look at their water bowls—empty.”
Her eyes went wide. “The poor desperate things! Dogs will drink anything when they’re thirsty. Alcohol can kill them. We have to find them!” She took off for the living room.
“Wait a minute! Hold on. What if they attack?”
He followed her deep into the house.
She turned on lights and waved the dog treats around like talismans. “They won’t.”
He nearly ran over her as she came to a sudden stop in front of him. “There you are!”
The dogs lolled in their beds where Jack had left them, looking three sheets to the wind and smelling of beer. He’d doused their muzzles with it for authenticity.
“Oh, poor babies!” Willow squatted and called to them.
One of the massive dogs lumbered to his feet and swayed as he took a step toward her. The other just raised his head, looked at Willow as she waved a dog treat, and put his head back down.
“They look as drunk as you said their owner was,” Jack said.
Willow ignored him and ran to them. She fell to her knees to pet them before Jack could stop her. As she stroked them and tried to coax them into eating the treats, she looked up at Jack. “What’s wrong with all the dogs around here lately?”
“What do you mean?”
“When I came home this evening, Spookie scared me, too. She was so tired, she didn’t come running to see me when I came home, like she usually does. And she was too pooped to play.”
“But she’s okay now?” Jack’s alarm just popped out.
Willow looked at him, studying him. A triumphant look shone on her face, as if she’d pulled a fast one over on him and gotten him to reveal a damning fact. “She’s fine. Thanks for your concern.”
Damn.
The cause of Spookie’s tiredness hit him a second too late—he’d been playing with her while Willow was gone. He’d probably worn poor Spookie out. The little mutt was no doubt out of shape from too little exercise and too much pampering.
He would have laughed aloud if Willow hadn’t been there, studying him as if something was up as she rubbed one of the Filas behind the ear.
Jack put on an innocent expression. “How is it that those two let you get so close?”
“I told you, they think I’m their mistress. If Shane lets them outside, they’ll go to the end of the driveway and howl and whine for me. I’ve spoiled them, really.”
Jack gave her a quizzical look, hoping to prod her into telling the story without him having to ask outright.
“Do you think we should call the vet?” she asked Jack.
“They’re pretty big dogs. They probably weigh more than you do,” he said, slowly, knowing they’d be just fine but wanting to appear concerned. “I only saw two broken bottles. That doesn’t seem like enough to do them any real harm. I think they’ll be okay. Get some water in them so they don’t dehydrate and let them sleep it off.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Watch them a minute while I clean up the mess, will you? I don’t want them stepping in the glass.”
“Are you sure I’ll be safe with them?” Jack put on a worried expression and nodded toward the animals.
“They’re sloshed. I think you’ll be fine.”
“What if they’re mean drunks?”
Willow laughed. “You’ll be fine. They look like sleepy drunks to me.”
“All right then.” He tried to sound uncertain, though he was completely confident he was safe.
“If they make a move, yell, and I’ll come running.” Willow winked at him and walked off toward the kitchen. He heard her banging around in there and then the tinkle of glass as she swept it up and dumped it in the garbage.
Finally, she came back into the living room. “Come on, boys! Come on, Duke.”
The rusty-brown Fila stumbled after her. Buddy just looked at them and put his head down as if he wanted to go back to sleep.
Jack followed Willow and the dog into the kitchen. She led the dog to his water bowl and made him drink.
“Watch this guy while I give his brother a drink.”
“And she leaves me with a dangerous animal a second time.”
She rolled her eyes and ignored Jack as she went to give Bud a drink. She was back quickly with the bowl and set it by the other water dish. “I wonder where Shane keeps their food?”
“The pantry?” Jack suggested.
He watched as she went to the pantry with the dogs’ food bowls. She rustled around and opened a fifty-pound bag of dog food, grabbed a scoop, and filled the bowls to heaping. “The dogs are how I met Shane.”
Probably accidentally on purpose. The Rooster would have studied Willow and known exactly how to get to her, what she liked, what would attract her. He’d know she loved dogs and would have used them to meet Willow. How long had the Rooster suspected Jack was still alive?
“He’s a private man, kept to himself except for going to Beck’s several times a week and Bluff Country to have coffee in the morning.
“Then he bought Duke and Buddy from a breeder across the state. He brought them into town in the back of his truck. They were practically pups and so cute. They’d howl for him while he was in having his coffee. I couldn’t stand it. The poor things were so lonely. They needed a mama.
“So I started making larger batches of treats when I baked for Spookie and bringing them along when I went to Bluff Country. Duke and Buddy fell in love with me. Didn’t you, Duke?” She rubbed the dog’s head.
Who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Jack thought.
The furnace shut off. The house popped. Something banged overhead on the second story. The house shook and the sound of irregular footsteps echoed on the stairs.
Duke gave a pathetic, weak growl that any self-respecting Fila should be ashamed of. The dog took three steps as if he was going after an intruder, then stumbled, and fell over.
Great, just great. Thanks to me, even the guard dog can’t walk a straight line.
At the same time, Willow screamed. The next thing Jack knew, she was wrapped in his arms. And she felt damn good there.
He curled himself protectively around her. Jack cursed beneath his breath, ready to go for his gun, hoping Willow didn’t feel either gun bulging in his pants.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
This operation was going to kill Jack in more ways than one. Or blow his cover. All kinds of dire thoughts crossed his mind, like a SMASH assassin hiding in Kennett’s house, waiting to take him out for double-crossing RIOT. And Willow and Jack being in the wrong place at the wrong time and ending up as collateral damage. Although Jack was responsible for the double-crossing. He might have appreciated the irony if he hadn’t been worried about Willow’
s safety. SMASH was RIOT’S death squad. They were ruthless.
Jack hadn’t gone to all this trouble for the cover of death to be killed as a by-product of someone else trying to take out Kennett. And yet if he acted to protect himself and Willow, he’d blow his cover. Hobson’s choice.
For the moment, he chose protecting his cover. Only because the house had gone stonily silent.
And so had they. Neither of them spoke.
After a safe, but tense, interval, Jack whispered, “What was that?”
Willow looked up into his eyes. He had to hold himself back from kissing her. She smelled of something that gave him ideas of a tumble in bed, and if there were a SMASH assassin on the premises this might be Jack’s last chance to kiss her before his death became real.
She looked up at him, inching her lips closer to his, totally unaware of the real potential for danger. “Old Man Terrence haunting the bomb shelter?”
Oh, shit! She thinks we’re playing scary movie or haunted house here.
“Bomb shelter?” Jack stared at her intently. “I’ve heard rumors about one and a ghost. Is it beneath the house?”
“Beneath the apple barn. The entrance is a trapdoor just behind the cash register. Shane keeps it locked with a padlock.”
Jack arched a brow, trying not to inch closer to Willow’s lips now that the threat of danger seemed to be waning. A SMASH assassin would have shot them by now if he intended to. Still, losing his head in a kiss wasn’t the smartest idea. “A padlock will keep a ghost out? Never heard that before. Maybe someone should tell those guys on TAPS.”
“I love your accent,” Willow said, out of the blue. “It’s sexy.” She pressed into him.
Good thing he still had the designer jacket on. It kept him from feeling the soft, delicious warmth of her body and losing control.
“I think the lock’s more to keep curious kids out.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked.
Willow let out a heavy sigh. “I believe in life after death.” She paused. “I have to.”
She didn’t know how on target she was. After all, he was still alive after his official death. He wished he could reassure her; instead he kept his face neutral.
Beside them, good old Duke staggered back to his feet and lumbered toward the door into the living room, doing his best to growl and bark. His bark still didn’t score high on the menace scale. But Jack gave him credit for trying. If that drugged guard dog was game for checking out the house, so was he. No one could say a dog outdid him in the courage department.
Jack forced himself back away from the siren look in Willow’s eyes that was calling him to renounce his cover, took a step out of kissing range, grabbed a can of soup sitting on the counter next to him, and handed it to Willow. “Duke and I are going to check out the house. Stay here and defend yourself.”
“With soup?”
“Sure; paired with a strong throwing arm, soup is good ammo. If someone threatens you, let him have it.”
“My fastball won’t make the majors. And this will float right through a ghost.”
“If you see a ghost, run like hell for the car.” Jack shrugged and pointed after Duke. “My partner’s leaving without me.”
“No way.” Willow shook her head. “I’m not staying here alone. This reminds me too much of a scene from Halloween.”
“Which one?”
“All of them.”
“You aren’t babysitting.”
“I’m watching the dogs.”
She had him there. “Okay, I guess that counts. Just stay back.” He followed Duke through the living room toward the stairs.
Duke howled, made as if he was going to dash to the stairs, and fell over with the effort. Jack took pity on him and moved toward him, hoping to help the poor dog to his feet. It was the least he could do. But Duke growled at him and bared his teeth as Jack approached and reached for him.
“Jeez,” Jack said, pulling his fingers back out of nipping range just in time. “Dogs usually like me.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Willow said, sounding completely unconvinced. “Duke, leave Con alone.”
Jack gave up on the dog. A tennis ball lay at the bottom of the stairs. Jack was certain it hadn’t been there before. He picked it up and held it for Willow to see. “Looks like this may be our culprit.” He looked up the stairs.
“Poltergeists?”
“Settling houses. There’s a bin of balls for the dogs at the top of the stairs. When the furnace shut off, the house shuddered and this ball rolled out and thumped its way down the stairs. That’s what I’m guessing. It was only footsteps in our imaginations. Stay here while I check the second floor out.”
She rolled her eyes. “What about the bang we heard before the footsteps? That was right over our heads.”
“That’s what I’m going to check out.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No way.” Jack used his firm don’t argue with me tone. “You stay here and run for help if I don’t come back in a reasonable amount of time.”
She looked at him, shrugged, and went to comfort Duke as Bud snored in his bed. “Call if you need help and we’ll come running.”
Jack laughed. “Maybe you will, but I’m not counting on the dogs.”
At the top of the stairs, out of sight from Willow, Jack drew his gun. A floorboard creaked as he entered the master bedroom. He scanned the room, gun in front of him, ready to take out any intruder.
Kennett’s dead friend Grant really needed to fire his interior decorator and his cleaning lady. The place was a mismatched hodgepodge of ugly and uglier. A lot of the old-lady décor up here, too. And the musty smell of a house that needed airing and dusting.
Jack hadn’t had much time in this room before Willow called, but everything looked pretty much as he remembered. Except for a work boot, which had toppled off a shoe rack onto the floor. That explained the thump they’d heard.
He relaxed. Simple explanation—an old, settling house, and sloppily stored shoes falling off shelves. Nothing sinister there.
He surveyed the room all the same. His gaze fell on the nightstand and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Someone had been here. In the last fifteen minutes while he was doubling back for Willow.
Kennett’s alarm clock was in a different spot. Jack could tell by the dust pattern on the nightstand. There was now a clean spot on the wood where the clock should still be. The settling hadn’t caused that.
He checked the closet and underneath the bed. Then he moved to the bathroom and two remaining bedrooms.
“Everything okay up there?” Willow called to him from the bottom of the stairs.
Yeah, just peachy. But empty. Whoever was here is long gone now.
“Yeah. I think I found the culprit.” He raced back to Kennett’s room and grabbed the boot. He carried it to the top of the stairs to show Willow. “This fell out of the shoe rack.”
Willow put a hand to her heart, let out a breath of relief, and laughed. “Scared spitless by an old shoe.”
“Yeah, we’re a pair.” He grinned, trying to keep his anxiety from showing. “I think our job is done here. The haunting is debunked.”
She shook her head. “This time. Next time we’ll have to be more scientific. We’d better bring a deluxe EMF meter and an EVP spirit box.”
The kind of spook that worried Jack wasn’t the kind that showed up on EVPs. Still, he grinned. “Those sound cool. I like gadgets.”
“Yeah, I can tell by the way your eyes lit up.”
“Let’s get out of here.” He grabbed her arm. “It’s creepy being here uninvited. What if Kennett comes back and finds us?”
She nodded.
“This stays between us. Neither of us can mention anything about being here, feeding the dogs, them being drunk.…” Jack tried to sound casual. But his sense of urgency must have slipped through.
Her eyes went wide. She nodded. “Sure. Mum’s the word. This random act of kindness is
just between us.”
* * *
Con drove Willow home and walked her to her door.
“Thanks for coming with me.” She paused, not wanting Con to leave, not wanting to go back into the house alone. These past few days had just been too much. And tonight—all the hurt and injury, she was overwhelmed. She needed comfort. She needed Jack.
Con took her in his arms. “Hey, it’s all right. The dogs are fine, thanks to us. Shane will live. You’re just tired and need some rest.” He tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes.
Her breath caught.
His face bent to hers.
She leaned up into him. Their lips met and it was like coming home. To Jack.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to him. The Sense screamed at her, This is Jack. This is Jack!
It was an ethereal knowledge deep in her soul. This man was Jack. She just knew it. He had to be. And if he wasn’t, she wanted him anyway.
She opened her mouth to him and suppressed a groan of pleasure. He tasted like Jack. He kissed like Jack, with a gentle probing dance of his tongue. With pressure to keep her melded to him as if they really were one.
But this man kissed her hungrily, the way Jack did when he’d been away on a mission too long.
Jack had been gone too long. Far too long.
Con pulled away from the kiss suddenly. He ran his hand through his hair and stuffed both of his hands into his pockets as if he didn’t trust himself to keep them to himself. As if he was on the edge of losing control completely.
She thought about pushing him, this man who could be Jack, to the edge, inviting him in. Begging him to come in. She wanted her tiger. She wanted to know for sure whether Con was Jack or simply a man she could love. She wanted to make love to him and hear Jack’s sexy chuff. Or Con’s grunt of pleasure. Either sound would tell her the truth.
The chuff would give him away as her Jack. She wanted Jack back, no matter what he’d done, or where he’d been, or where he was planning to go from here. But she hesitated just a second too long.