Running Free (5 page)

“Frankie,” Cliff mutters from behind the counter.

He doesn’t meet my gaze and instead pops his gum loudly while he surfs the internet. Pups are yapping like crazy, probably eager to leave this godforsaken place, and he ignores them as if they’re not even back there. It boils my blood. They just want someone to hold them and tell them everything’s going to be okay. Both real dogs and the ones who are shifters.

“Do your job, asswipe,” I grumble and lean over the counter. “Any newbies?”

Unaffected by my tone, he shrugs. “I can’t remember but I think they’re all the same.”

His eyes never leave his computer screen and I’m beginning to get pissed. Sure, I come in here every damn day but he acts like I’m a huge fucking burden or something.

Bouncing on my toes, I hoist my belly over the counter and peek at what he’s looking at that’s more important than a customer.

Porn.

Stupid-ass porn.

Our eyes meet and I glare at him. Most people are affected by my power of intimidation. The only men in my life who haven’t shrank away from me with their tail between their legs are Otis and Luca.

And Gunnar Mason.

I push away thoughts of the sexy detective and roll all of my anger into a menacing stare that has Cliff stuttering.

“I, uh, I’ll… ” he trails off when the door opens.

A deep chuckle vibrates its way all the way to my core and I slip off the counter. I turn to glare at the one who had stolen my thoughts only moments ago. In the broad daylight, he’s even better looking. Today he’s wearing a fitted black shirt which hugs his perfect frame and another pair of dark jeans which showcase his impeccable body. When I finally meet his eyes, he’s smirking at me.

Fucking smirking.

“Oh,” I groan, “It’s you. Officer Doolittle.” Even though I’m attempting to trick myself that I’m not happy to see him, that’d be a lie. Something about his strong presence draws me in like a damn magnet.

His smirk falls and he approaches me, sadness eating at his expression. “About that, Frankie. Listen. Your friend Acey was found murdered last night. I’m so sorry.”

Of course I already know. I knew before I met him but he doesn’t know that.

“Yeah, Otis told me,” I lie. “Any leads on who killed my friend?”

He frowns at me and I sense that he knows I’m lying. It only serves to agitate me.

“No, but we’re working on it,” he promises. “Are you in the market for a dog?”

I sigh and nod. Another lie. “Yep.”

“Every fucking day,” Cliff mutters under his breath.

Snapping my gaze over to him, I flip him the bird and then use it to point to the back. “Let me in lazy-ass and show me what you’ve got.”

He stands and tugs the lanyard full of keys from his neck. Cliff used to hit on me but I’m not into ginger porn addicts who smell like bologna and piss.

“What about you? Cop need a little protection?” I sass over my shoulder as I wait for Cliff to let me in.

His laugh is back and it irritates me how my flesh reacts to it, rising in a scattered mess of goosebumps.

“Actually, I get kind of lonely sometimes. I was looking for a little companionship.”

My heart squeezes at his words and I bite my lip to keep from asking why a good looking cop like him is lonely. How a man with such a beautiful laugh has no one to share it with. And why he sounded so vulnerable when he uttered those words.

Then I remember I don’t care.

But sometimes I do care. And that’s the part about myself I wish I had more control over. I want to compartmentalize everything in my everyday life. Helping the kids is something I want to do because they’re like me — lost and afraid.

Humans though. I could care fucking less.

Joe was a human who hurt his foster children.

Clarice was a human who liked starving the kids she took care of but the fat bitch never missed a meal.

Gunnar Mason is a human. And he probably sucks too.

“Hmmm.” It’s the only response he gets as Cliff opens the side door to usher us inside.

“Knock your socks off, Frankie. Show the big boy the rules. I have work to do in the office,” Cliff says blandly before leaving us alone in the stinky-ass kennel full of dogs.

As I approach the first cage, Gunnar suffocates me with his heat as he stands a little too closely behind me. The animal in me craves to lean back against his chest — begs for him to roam his large palms all over my chest and belly.

Shit!

“Am I really that big?” he questions in a whisper, his hot breath tickling my hair. “I’ve been watching what I eat.”

The playfulness in his words combined with the warmth enveloping me distracts me and I risk a glance over my shoulder at him.

Would it be playing with fire to have sex with the god of a man behind me?

Of course it would.

Shifters don’t fuck humans.

“What a cutie,” he mutters and casts a glance at the mutt in the cage. I follow his gaze and shake my head.

“Seriously? He’s not cute. At all. Poor thing’s been here for months. I wonder why they don’t just put him down and out of his misery.” My words are cold and harsh but truthful. If it were up to me, I’d euthanize them all. They’re sad and unhappy. The only ones that ever get adopted out are the ones I find. The shifters.

Gunnar reaches a thick arm past me and his chest brushes against my back. His finger pokes through the cage and the dirty, bony dog sniffs at him.

“Don’t get his hopes up.” I sigh and sidestep out of his confusing closeness. Everything about him — his scent, his natural body heat, his beautiful stature — muddies the water in my head. I need to think.

Scanning the cages, I inspect each puppy and dog. I’ve managed to do a pass through the whole kennel area, ignoring Gunnar all the while, until I lock eyes with two frightened brown ones. A toy poodle, with the blackest of curly hair whimpers and cries, begging me with words only another dog would understand.

She’s a shifter.

“Oh, honey,” I coo as I approach, “Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see.”

But just as I near her cage, Gunnar steps in front of me and pops the latch on it. “Frankie, check this one out. Her eyes. Shit, it’s like she knows what we’re saying!”

His excitement unnerves me and I try to shoulder past him to reach her but he’s already tugging her out of the cage and into his arms.

“Give her to me. I saw her first,” I snap.

He turns to me and his eyes are wide with shock but he quickly schools it away, a scowl taking over. “Says who. She likes me,” he states and the little thing sets to licking his face as if to help him prove his point.

“I don’t care,” I growl. “I was here first, so she’s mine.”

“Where were you between the hours of seven and nine last night?” he blurts out, his arms still firm around the puppy.

My anger explodes from me. “What? We’re talking about a damn dog not an alibi here. Hand me the dog and I’ll tell you where I was.”

Concern for the little thing paints his features and guilt washes over me. She seems quite happy to have him as her savior but she needs me. I can help her better than some lonely human ever could.

Lonely.

The guilt digs a little hole in my heart and decides to live there.

If she were to go home with him, he’d have a sweet little companion and she’d have a protector — a cop no less. All would be well in the world.

Until…

Until one day he’s petting her in his lap and she shifts before his eyes into a naked pre-teen girl.

Then what?

Fucking chaos, that’s what.

She needs me. End of story.

Gunnar

I’m curious as to why she’s so damn adamant about adopting this puppy. It’s like they’re connected and it’s apparent she’s not about to budge.

“Tell me where you were and she’s yours,” I promise.

She lets out a relieved breath and blurts out her response. “The bar.”

I roll my eyes at her and shake my head. “Not good enough, Frankie. Do you have any witnesses to corroborate your whereabouts?”

Her glare is wicked but I don’t back down from it. She needs to answer the damn question.

“You’re annoying, Gunnar. Jesus. Ask anyone. All the regulars. Gordon Lightfoot was there all night — he’ll back me up. Now give her to me.”

I’m thankful to know she has an alibi. I didn’t want to think she was the murderer but I’m a cop and we don’t discount anything. Even the really fucking hot ones.

With a groan, I pass the puppy to her. Frankie seems relieved to finally have the dog in her arms and her protective nature comforts me.

“What are you going to name her?”

Her eyes fly to mine in confusion before she plasters on a fake smile. “Um, Curly Sue.”

“Okay then. Curly Sue it is. I was thinking something a little fiercer like Blacky or Killer or Ankle Biter, but Curly Sue works too.” I grin at her.

Her lips twitch as she tries to keep from smiling. God, those supple pink lips. My mind takes a nosedive into the gutter and I clear my throat in hopes to squash the semi hard-on I was getting at imagining those lips all over me.

“Curly Sue seems vicious to me. I bet she runs this kennel when nobody’s watching,” she muses and strokes the little pup behind the ears.

I chuckle. “Right. I’ll get her an application for the K9 academy. In the meantime, why don’t you and Killer, er, Curly Sue help me pick out a pup.”

Frankie smiles, this one genuine, and I decide right then that I’ll do more of whatever it takes to see those smiles more often.

“I saw a cute white dog over there,” she says and points in the direction of another group of dog crates.

But a yelp in the other direction grabs my attention. The little guy I first saw sends me the saddest
pick me
expression a dog can give and I cave. Stalking back over to him, I ignore all the rest so I don’t take home the whole damn animal shelter.

“Hey there little guy,” I say and pull the frail dog from the cage. His tail thumps wildly and he attacks my face. With kisses, that is. “You’re a cute little thing.”

I turn to cast a glance at Frankie who watches me with a serene smile. Her serene smiles are beautiful too. Hell, even when she’s pissed and frowning, she’s gorgeous.

“Are you blind?” she teases. “He’s not cute. Quite pitiful looking if you ask me.”

Scoffing, I shake my head. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking you. Me and Cutie Pie were meant to find one another. He’ll make for a great guard dog, I’m sure. Isn’t that right?”

He licks my face like mad and I chuckle. I hadn’t meant to show up and adopt a dog today but when I learned the make and model of her truck last night and then saw it here today, I knew I had to talk to her. The lie fell from my lips easily but when I saw her ferocity to find her puppy, I knew my lie would soon become truth.

“Cutie Pie?” she squawks. “Seriously?”

Shrugging my shoulders, I meet her astonished gaze. “Yep. So when can Cutie Pie and Curly Sue have a play date?” I waggle my eyebrows and earn myself the cutest fucking giggle in the whole world.

She thinks I’m kidding.

I’m so not kidding.

Curly Sue is no longer the frightened pup she was hours ago. She runs wild and free with Cutie Pie in my backyard. I was glad when I was able to talk Frankie into bringing them back to my place for a playdate. After a messy bath to clean the pups up, we let them loose out back to run off some energy.

Frankie is one of the most guarded women I have ever met. She hides behind her fierce outer exterior but something innocent and sweet is what she protects. I know this because she’s let it peek out a few times.

Her laugh is one of those sneak peeks.

And I do what I can to make it happen as often as I can.

“Stay for dinner. I don’t have to be at work until nine,” I tell her.

She sits forward in the patio chair and pokes at the fire pit I made. “My shift starts in a couple of hours. Maybe another day.”

Another day my ass. I want to keep her here as long as I can. Each time the wind picks up and blows her hair around, I find myself itching to stroke the strands out of her face. Or when she talks, I find myself staring at her perfect mouth.

Jesus, I haven’t been laid in so long.