Collared (Going to the Dogs) (4 page)

Most people were lucky to have one lifelong friend, but Harper had found six, the original dog park babes foursome expanding as each of her friends found her mate. Callie Lassiter had met Owen McKay when their Great Danes had sneaked off and mated behind their backs. Callie was a dog trainer and Owen owned FLASH, this trendy nightclub in the City. They were engaged and getting married in two weeks.

Brooke Palmer and Drew Hudson had traversed a rocky road to love. Brooke had been sued by a dog grooming client and Drew was the lawyer assigned to represent Brooke’s opponent. Brooke owned both Pawlish, an upscale doggie grooming spa and Bone Appétit, a doggie treat business. Drew was now an advocacy lawyer and they were getting married in October, just two short months from now.

And, last but not least, Poe Madigan, when she’d been threatened and Harper had meddled and hired Jared Taylor as her undercover bodyguard. Poe, an amazing vet with a cool Goth girl vibe, loved bacon and actually believed in the Zombie Apocalypse. Jared was a transplanted Texan and owned Taylor Securities, a security firm.

She thought wistfully of Poe and Jared and the bomb they had dropped on the group of friends only a week ago. Poe was pregnant and she and Jared had decided to get married…in Vegas…in a week…mostly because they were head over heels in love and didn’t want to wait. Now they were enjoying their honeymoon at the Sinclair villa on Gozo.

She saw the gang—minus the honeymoon couple, of course—at a table in the back, and made her way across the FLASH dance floor. People were having a great time. She saw more than a few celebrities, and waved to a couple that she knew. But she wasn’t in the mood to talk to any of them. She was fuming all over again about Detective Caleb Shaw.

It was bad enough that she’d just had a taste of closeness with Nate and now she wanted that more than ever. Then
he
had to walk into the penthouse.
Damn
, he was so amazingly gorgeous that at first she’d been speechless.

Thick black hair with heavy bangs parted to the side, fell just below his temple, and, even though he’d shoved them back a couple of times, the stubborn locks fell back across his forehead, giving him that tough, rebel look. The hair in the back just brushed his collar, probably not regulation, but she guessed this man often went under cover for his job and needed to blend in with the rough crowd he often worked as a robbery detective.

He had been carrying a weapon in the shoulder holster underneath his grey suit jacket, too. He moved with it like it was a part of him. His dangerous grace intense as he stalked after her through her expansive penthouse made it seem cramped and airless.

Those direct, deep-set, chocolate brown eyes full of street-wise bravado made her heart beat faster. This man had seen and probably done violence. He was so different from any other man she’d ever met. He was a shot of pure, hot adrenaline.

His features were finely chiseled, high cheekbones, firm mouth nestled in that dark, close-cropped, silky-looking beard that only added to his rugged good looks. With those hot, intense eyes, he seemed to be able to look right through her. She’d gotten close enough to see how deep brown they were, and her mouth had gone dry.
Her
. Harper Sinclair. As cool as a cucumber and as ruthless as she needed to be. She’d gone hot and even hotter. That alone should have been a huge warning sign that this man, and his impact on her, were beyond anything she’d experienced before.

Was that a bad thing? Maybe. Maybe not.

It wasn’t just his looks. She had to admit that to herself and step that much deeper into the danger zone. It was the way he interacted with her, as if her wealth didn’t intimidate him in the least. Damn, she really, really liked that. No bowing or scraping or inane compliments. He pretty much said what was on his mind, even though his view of her wasn’t exactly flattering.

But she could work with that. She could work him over good. Her heart fluttered just thinking about getting her hands on him. It would seem that a night with Nate hadn’t satisfied her libido at all. But, in all fairness, Caleb was definitely fantasy material.

Except Harper liked the tactile stimulation of a real man.

Illusion was overrated.

But…there was definitely a risk there. No man had ever gotten under her skin. She’d been much too reserved to allow that to happen. Except there was something about Caleb that made her itch and twitch and melt. He wasn’t the kind of man who fit into her world. A working professional, a cop. But that made him all the more appealing. He was rugged and raw.

It had been wonderful to see his face when he realized she wasn’t the maid. Served him right with his preconceived notions of who she was. ‘Lady of the manor,’ indeed.

“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?” Brooke said.

Drew and Owen took one look at her face and exchanged a glance with raised eyebrows.

Damn Brooke and her maternal radar. “I was robbed.”

“Oh, my God,” Callie said, putting her hand on Harper’s arm as she sat down. “What happened?”

Drew said, “Someone got through your security system and your safe to get at your valuables? Damn. That couldn’t have been easy.”

Harper’s stomach jumped when he said that, then clenched as she remembered finding Blue lying so still, but it was anger that was evident in her voice when she spoke. “They drugged Blue, too. I thought they had killed her.”

“Oh, that must have been awful. But Blue’s okay?” Brooke said sidling closer and putting her arm around Harper.

Brooke was the only one who could get away with this kind of affection. In fact, she included Callie and Harper as well. Never before had Harper had such steadfast friends. She loved them all. “Yes, she’s fine now. I wish I’d had Poe to hold my hand, though, and take care of Blue…and Jared, too. He could have handled the police. But I took Blue to St. Mark’s Animal Hospital, and they gave her a clean bill of health”

“It is tough without our resident vet, but I just know she and Jared must be basking in sybaritic pleasures courtesy of your dad.” Brooke said.

Drew said, “It seems to me this must have been professionals—”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Caleb Shaw said, his deep voice rumbling through her and vibrating against her nerves until they were jangling. She looked up and had to catch her breath once again.

“What are you doing here?” she said.

He looked around the table, and she liked that he didn’t seem to feel out of place. But showing up here set Harper on edge. She’d been hoping for a little fun.

“I need to talk to you about the breakin.”

“How did you find me?” Her question sounded harsher than she meant it to.

He smiled at her like she was the village idiot. “I actually earned my shield, Ms. Sinclair.”

Her lips tightened when he threw her own mocking words back at her. He was pushing her buttons and she was actually feeling a bit…threatened. “How did you get into this club? It’s exclusive,” she snapped.

All four of her friends looked at her in surprise and Caleb’s eyes shuttered. She felt ashamed of the way she’d made it sound, like he was a nobody and didn’t belong here.

“I have a special pass to hang out with the popular people,” he said, tapping his badge, totally unaffected by the tension radiating off of her.

Owen stood up and reached out his hand. “Owen McKay, I’m the owner of the club. Welcome. This is my fiancée Callie Lassiter, and this is Drew Hudson and his fiancée, Brooke Palmer. We’re Harper’s friends and are willing to do anything to help her.”

“Sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. I’m Detective Caleb Shaw, and I’ve been assigned to Ms. Sinclair’s case.” He nodded to everyone around the table after clasping Owen’s hand. Then he turned back to Harper. “Ms. Sinclair. A word?”

Harper, trying to calm herself down after her rude behavior, got up and walked with him a few paces away from the table, close to the dance floor. The music was loud, but they were able to hear each other.

He wasted no time. “My preliminary conclusion is that this might have been an inside job.”

“What?” Dread settled in her stomach, along with outrage. Everyone who worked for her had impeccable credentials. They’d been vetted. “Are you telling me that there was no breakin, that someone got the security code and the combination to the safe?”

He looked so much like a cop, tough, knowledgeable, and dangerous. She wouldn’t want to face him from the wrong side of the law.

“No, the safe was cracked. However, I found no forced entry, so yes, someone got into your penthouse using a security code. I’d like the name of the company who provides your security.”

That statement was enough to clear her head in one startling blast of realization, and made her stomach churn with the next. “What are you saying?”

He softened his features at what must be evident distress on her face. “That someone you know and/or who works for you robbed you.”

“That’s not possible. All my staff is extremely loyal.”

“Ms. Sinclair, whatever you think of me, I’m good at my job. I know what I’m doing. I would suggest that you change your security code tonight. And only give it to key personnel until we get this sorted out.”

“Yes, of course. You’re right. Being outraged isn’t going to help.”

He nodded. “I’m going to need access to all your staff. I’ll need a list. I’ll also need a list of your friends.”

“What? Seriously, my friends?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Harper swallowed hard. “All my staff. What exactly are you going to do?”

He frowned. “Question them.”

“Sure. About that? You look more like you’d be a hard-assed, scary interrogator. Not a kinder, gentler asker of questions.”

His smile was wicked and it made her heart jump. Focusing on his mouth made her yearn, something she’d never experienced before. Yearning. Her life had been about having her every whim fulfilled. Oh, God! She
was
a brat.

“I promise not to break out the blackjacks,” he said, raising his eyebrows when he noticed where she was staring.

“Are you sure? With some leather across your chest, armored pants, and spiked mail boots, you’d look like a medieval torturer.”

Harper felt a rush of heat just thinking about him in that outfit. Her eyes collided with his at the worst possible moment—exactly as that provocative thought streaked across her eyes. And he saw it. His amused gaze played with hers, his dark brown eyes drawing her nerves taut and raw. She couldn’t look away. Something hot and sultry arced between them like invisible lightning. His face was so classically beautiful, like a Roman god.

But with those locks of hair lying on his temple, he looked more like a tough, kick-ass Roman god.

He didn’t just look at her, he captured her gaze, held it—and her—spellbound. He gave her such a heated look she felt the fire lick her body, settling into her bones and cells.

“Ah, wouldn’t you know it? My brass knuckles are at the cleaners,” he said.

There was that trembling again. What the hell
was
that? Her knees felt weak.

He stepped closer, and then the shaking felt like an earthquake, because the ground beneath her feet was shifting. He leaned down, and the smell of him, a combination of leather, just-showered clean, and a provocative, wholly male scent, made that shaking go from one on the Richter scale to a full-blown ten.

He leaned down and got close to her ear. “You can picture me any way you want, honey. As long as I get to talk to your staff and friends.”

“I have a pretty good imagination, detective.”

He inhaled suddenly, then turned his face away from her and exhaled as if he was trying to gather his badly shaken composure. She was right there with him. He licked his lips, his pink tongue sliding along that full, sensuous, bottom lip she wanted to get between her teeth, god-like lips accentuated by the dark beard clipped close to his cheeks and upper lip. It looked so soft.

He faced her again. “This is a rocky road.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you mind a few bumps and bruises, detective.”

Someone jostled him and pushed him roughly into her. He caught her against him to keep them both upright just as the music softened into a slow dance. She grasped his shoulders to maintain her balance and discovered they were rock-hard with muscle. Her breasts were pressed against his chest.

He didn’t let her go.

“What’s happening here, Ms.—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, call me Harper. I think you can figure it out. I heard you were a hotshot detective.”

He laughed and that earthquake inside her turned into a tsunami, an overwhelming force of nature.

“How about I call you princess? That tone makes you sound like you’re sitting on a throne and I’m your doting subject. As long as I don’t have to curtsy when I’m in your presence.”

“I have other ways to bring you to your knees.”

He bit his bottom lip and shook his head. “You
are
coming on to me.”

“If there was any doubt, I must be doing it all wrong.”

“Wrong isn’t exactly the word I’m looking for here. Stupid. Now that’s a word.”

Was he actually turning her down? That was something else that had never happened to her before. This man was full of surprises, but she liked it. Men didn’t really play hard to get. That was a woman’s thing, so what was going on with him? “Aren’t you attracted to me?

“Fuck, yeah, but I like my job, and getting involved with you isn’t a good idea.”

“How would this affect your job?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but when the commissioner pulls me in from medical leave to work a case with a missing dog collar and a socialite, I have to think that he’s not going to be too keen about me messing with said socialite.”

She draped her arms over his shoulders as they moved slowly together. Her hand played with a lock of his soft hair. “You’re not afraid of Tripp.”

He just stared at her.

“That would mean you were afraid of me.”

He gave a short laugh. “I’m not afraid of you.” She moved closer to him. “Look, I get it. We have some chemistry, and you’re a very beautiful woman, and a man would have to be blind not to notice.”