On her last setup, Rhett approached and grazed his fingertip, light as a feather, beneath her chin. “What’ve I told you? Eyes at the horizon. Don’t look at the ground. You’re not going that way.”
A zip of electricity ran through Constance’s body, starting at that gentle brush of his finger and going all the way deep, deep inside her core. She got an all-over little shiver that felt completely new. It was so powerful for a moment she forgot where she was.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” Constance drew a deep breath, lifted her gaze straight ahead, her muscles steeling with determination.
“Okay. Let’s go again. Be patient. Don’t rush that second pull.”
Her first three tries, Constance was overthinking all the pieces. Were her shoulders over the bar? Were her hips too high? Was she looking up? Was she pulling early?
Then, a new song popped on. “Here Comes the Hotstepper,” by Ini Kamoze. Constance recognized it from one of her running playlists. For some reason, her determination deepened.
When she finished the lift, the bar was overhead and her body deep in a squat, yet she had no idea how she got there. Rhett clapped his big hands together and let out a whoop, which was the loudest noise of approval she’d ever heard him make. “You know what, Stanzi? You’re actually pretty good at this. You sure you’re just a runner?” Rhett winked at her.
“Well,” she said, before she realized his question was rhetorical. “I was a cheerleader in high school.”
A crease appeared between Rhett’s eyebrows. “Really? Don’t seem the type.”
“My sister wanted to be a cheerleader. She wanted to do this summer cheerleader camp in sixth grade. The high school cheerleaders were camp leaders. I was a sophomore in high school. So my father made me become a cheerleader so that I could watch over my sister in the camp.” Constance rolled her eyes. Not until she said it out loud did the extent of her forced mothering sink in.
“Wow.” Rhett laughed. “And I thought I had it tough with my baby sister.”
“You didn’t have to become a cheerleader?” Constance smiled.
“Ha,” he laughed. “I tried. They told me I was too big.”
Constance giggled and passed over her PVC. “This might be why I’m good at snatch. I was always tossing the smaller girls up on somebody’s shoulders.”
“You know what?” Rhett grabbed the PVC and switched it out for a light barbell. “You might be on to something. Here. Snatch this.”
* * *
“My mom died when I was nine.” Stanzi took a bite of her turkey. They each had a plate of food at the desk in the office. When Rhett had grabbed one of the two drumsticks she’d brought, along with some sliced white meat, Stanzi had grabbed the other. “My sister was five. I pretty much raised her after that. My father tried, but he worked, and he was old-fashioned.”
“I did a lot of caring for my sister, too. But nothing to that extreme. Both my parents are still alive.”
“Do they live far away?”
Rhett took his time chewing and savoring the food. The turkey was moist and rich, the mashed potatoes fluffy, the stuffing both crisp and creamy and the green beans nothing like that awful casserole people served. These beans were bright green, with just the right amount of crunch and tossed in some kind of balsamic sesame-seed dressing and a shake of feta cheese. “Um.” Rhett tried to remember the question. “I’m sorry. Did I tell you how good this food is? Like, really damn good.”
Stanzi stifled a laugh with her napkin. “Like, twelve times. But you can tell me as much as you want. I love to cook, but have nobody to cook for these days. My sis is all I have and she’s a busy lady.”
Rhett took the time to savor another bite of each item on his plate. “You can cook for me whenever you want.” He caught himself before he said more, hoping he hadn’t overstepped. It was damn hard, though. To add to the growing list of things Rhett liked about her, she could cook as good as his father and wasn’t afraid to eat it, either. Plus, she was a natural at the most difficult lift to execute properly. It wasn’t every day you met someone good at snatch, especially right off the bat.
“My parents,” he said, her question just now sinking in and providing a good topic change. He needed to be careful, keep things professional. “They live in North Carolina. The Outer Banks. So, no. Not too far away. Five-hour drive.”
“Your parents live at the beach?” Stanzi arched one eyebrow. “And you stayed here for Thanksgiving?”
“You can’t swim right now,” he countered. “It’s too windy and cold.”
“You could walk on the beach,” she countered back. “A long, windy walk in a hoodie after a rich Thanksgiving meal.” Her voice sounded dreamy.
“That’s exactly what my family does. Or we sit on the deck, which faces the ocean, and drink wine or whiskey and eat pie.”
“You’re not helping your case.” Stanzi took a huge bite of her turkey leg, Viking-style. “Instead, you’re sitting here with me, in an office you see every day.”
“Eh.” He eyed her messy red hair. “I could do worse.”
Her cheeks turned pink. She cleared her throat. “Are you at least going down for Christmas? Or...do you celebrate Christmas?”
“Do I celebrate Christmas? I’m Irish and Mexican. I’m a Catholic hand grenade.” Rhett polished off his drumstick and went to toss it in the trash. “But I’m not very religious. And I’m not going home for Christmas. I’m not much of a holiday person, either.”
Stanzi grabbed the turkey bone from his hand before he could let it go. “I remember going to church with Mom. Daddy couldn’t be bothered with it, once she died.” She slipped the bone in a Ziploc bag, along with her own. “I’ll make bone broth.”
“Of course you will.” Who the hell was this woman?
Stanzi bent over and lifted something out of the giant sack she’d brought. She shoved some papers aside on Rhett’s desk with her elbow and set her treasure down.
A smooth, creamy pumpkin pie with a decorative crust, which included little crust cutouts on top, shaped like turkeys.
“Like I said, I was kind of the mom of the house,” she explained when Rhett had stared at it a few seconds too long. “Not in a creepy way, just the whole motherly bit, which included making sure my sister didn’t eat like shit. My father would’ve fed us TV dinners and hot dogs every night.”
The pie looked like something from the cover of a baking magazine. The custard had not even a hairline crack and the golden-brown crust was perfectly roped around the perimeter.
“Where’s the Cool Whip?”
It was meant to be sarcastic, but damned if she didn’t reach into her sack and pull out a disposable container filled with what looked like homemade whipped cream. She offered it, her face as straight as his.
When Rhett finally smiled, Stanzi burst into giggles.
After they’d both eaten large slices of pie with mounds of whipped cream, Stanzi rose up and stretched. She cast a glance at his leg. “How’s it feeling?”
“Good,” Rhett said, which wasn’t a lie and wasn’t the truth. The work she’d done had felt amazing but was starting to wear off and, with the return of the cold, the pain was creeping back in.
“Do you—” Stanzi shrugged “—want me to check it out?”
Just the thought of her hands working the scar tissue made Rhett feel like melting to the ground. Which was why he had to say no. He couldn’t rely on someone else to make him feel better. He couldn’t rely on anyone else to understand anything about him. His burdens were his alone. “No, you’ve done enough.” Rhett nodded to the containers of food. “Thank you again.”
She might’ve frowned, but she recovered too quickly to know for sure. “Okay.” Stanzi rose up and collected her coat from the peg on the wall. “I’ve taken
up enough of your day.” She offered a quiet smile. “Thanks for showing me how to snatch.”
“Anytime, Stanzi. Thanks for the food.” Rhett rose quickly and began to pack up the turkey and pie.
“No. Keep it. I’ve got plenty at home.”
Rhett smiled. “I’m not going to argue with you. So if you’re being nice, now’s the time to change your mind.”
“I’m not nice,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Well—” she slung her gym bag on her shoulder and tucked up the corner of her mouth “—not like that. The fake nice.”
“I know.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Rhett.” Her gaze flicked to his leg, then back up.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Stanzi.”
He watched her go. Once she disappeared, Rhett realized she still hadn’t officially joined the gym.
thirteen
“Holy crap,” Pete whispered. “You’re serious.”
“Did you think I was kidding?”
“No.” Pete shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I need your strong hands,” Sunny said. “Cut it.”
Pete grunted and cursed. The chain dropped to the ground.
“You can still turn back,” Sunny said as he rested the bolt cutters against the wall of the kennel. She grasped the door handle. “I wouldn’t blame you.” Despite her agreement with Callahan, Sunny just couldn’t let another day go by knowing that beagle was stuck inside this grimy, freezing kennel. It was Thanksgiving, dammit, and she was going to set him free.
“I’m not letting you do this alone. Maybe we should both turn back.” Pete looked around in the darkness, but everything was still.
“Janice is never here for Thanksgiving.” Sunny noted the slur in her speech and regretted having that last glass of champagne. Constance had gone straight home after her trip to the gym, so Sunny and Pete had drunk a little more than their share. “It’s the perfect time to get the beagle out. Besides, we’ve already cut the padlock.”
Pete puffed out a heavy breath from his nostrils. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
The door creaked as Sunny pushed her way inside. She shone her flashlight around, just a pencil beam to mark her way, and a couple of critters stirred in their cages.
Most of them were empty, but Sunny could make out two figures in the metal structures. One appeared to be a Maltese, who should’ve been white and silky, but the matted layers of dirt made the animal’s fur rough and brown. So, Janice had “restocked” since she’d been here last. The Maltese had not been here on the previous raid. It took Sunny a moment to even realize the creature’s breed because she was so matted with grime. Worse was the smell. Deep inside this kennel, with a couple dozen cages stacked like egg crates, the ammonia burned her eyes and choked up her throat.
Sunny brought the back of her hand to her nose and blinked rapidly. The Maltese barked and snarled, but when Sunny opened the tiny, rusted cage and reached, it pressed itself into the rear corner. The dog whimpered. Sunny sank to her heels and drew a calming breath into her shaky lungs. “C’mere, girl,” she said, her voice going soft and singsongy. She clicked off the flashlight and let her eyes adjust to the darkness.
The Maltese whimpered again, so Sunny hummed a little song under her breath.
“There’s a beagle over here,” Pete said. “A very small one. I think it’s the one you’re looking for.” He reached into the cage and pulled out a squat little creature. The dog looked like a Popsicle, so stiff and hard at Pete’s touch, but it was soon wrapped in the blanket he’d brought and held close to Pete’s chest. “I’ll take him out to the carrier, and be right back.”
A wave of relief rolled over Sunny. Pete had found the little beagle, and had gotten him out much easier than her last attempt. She turned her attention back to the only other dog left in this shithole, the Maltese, and hummed some more. Soon, the little dog pattered closer. One step up, two steps back. The dog went like that for a minute or more before she finally bumped her muzzle against Sunny’s knuckles. The dog’s beard was sticky. She smelled like piss and shit and vomit and her whines were a deep, primal noise that blipped beneath everything else like a heartbeat. Sunny wondered, as the stench of urine seared her throat, if the dog could even see. The fumes from the waste and muck were enough to burn out her eyesight. “That’s it,” Sunny sang, enticing the dog into the blanket in her other hand. She scooped the Maltese against her chest. The dog bucked and whimpered, but Sunny held fast.
A man’s voice burst out, splitting the room. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?”
Sunny’s head whipped around. She peered at the shadowy figure in the darkness who stood by the open doorway. He marched toward her at a determined clip. Sunny backed herself into a corner, her arms tight on the Maltese. Just as the figure reached for her, something swept the man’s feet, clipping his ankles. He hit the ground, on his back, in a big poof of dirt, but didn’t even have time to wallow or catch his choked breath before Pete was on top of him. Pete slipped his arm under the man’s neck, shoved his thigh up under the stranger’s and pinned it across his other leg. With Pete’s full weight over the man’s torso, he reached up from beneath the man’s neck and grasped his own bicep, squeezing his face into his shoulder.
A long, choking moment passed before the man started to squirm. Pete released his own arm, brought it over the man’s chest, to the other side of his head, and planted his elbow on the floor, pinning his arm against his neck and the side of his face. As if on autopilot, Pete’s other arm came from beneath the guy’s neck and grabbed him by the wrist. He tugged on that wrist, pulling the guy’s body in one direction and pressing his neck in the opposite.
The man sputtered and choked curses as Pete kept his weight braced.
Holy shit, Sunny thought.
The man grunted and tried to thrash, but he was trapped. Finally, he stilled.
Pete released him and stood up. “He’ll be out for a bit,” he said, his voice coming in short gasps. “We better get moving.”
Sunny didn’t have to be asked twice. She took the Maltese outside and watched as Pete closed up the kennel behind him, then collected the carrier that held the beagle, along with the bolt cutters. He stopped next to Sunny, who felt frozen to the ground.
“Well, c’mon,” Pete hissed. “Let’s get these poor dogs back to your place.”
* * *
Sunny and Pete shared the bathtub, each taking one end, with the beagle and the Maltese. Sunny got the beagle, the little dog she’d been after for weeks. As the grime and stench washed away, and the little dog’s shivering subsided, she regretted not getting him out the first time. He looked like he had only one good eye, the other squeezed shut, and his tongue stuck out between his teeth from dehydration.
“They need Dr. Winters,” Sunny said. “Stat.”
“Yeah,” Pete agreed. “I can see their ribs.”
He got the dogs dried and comfortable while Sunny texted the vet. She arrived within the hour, asked no questions and had them settled in her mobile van quickly. “I’ll keep them overnight. Maybe longer.”
Once she was gone, Sunny turned to Pete. “Okay. Where’d you learn the cage match moves?”
Pete grinned, though his normally easy smile came a little strained. “Sunny, I’ve had those moves since my years in the army. I’ve just never had to use them around you. Thank God.”
“Oh.” Sunny noticed, maybe for the first time, that Pete had fine lines around the corners of his eyes when he smiled. They gave a layer of character to a face she’d always considered boyish. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises.” With a medium build and a quiet personality, Pete had never seemed like the MMA type.
“You don’t know the half of it.” Pete’s grin was a little fuller now. “I’m not the geek you and Cici grew up with.”
Sunny gave his shoulder a shove. “You’ll always be a geek to me. Remembe
r that huge calculator you’d whip out in math class? Got it for your birthday?”
“Hey, that calculator saved your sorry ass more than once. And that’s when you weren’t cheating off my paper during tests.”
“True.” Sunny didn’t even try to argue. She squeezed that same shoulder. “Thank you. I can’t believe you helped me rescue those dogs.”
“Oh, really?”
Sunny smiled. “I know you rescue dogs, too, and people. But what I meant was, I haven’t made you help me steal a dog since we were kids.”
“You didn’t make me do anything.”
“I know. And don’t worry, if the police come around, I’ll take all the blame.”
“Sunny, the police ought to be questioning her, not you.” Pete’s gentle Virginia accent thickened. “You ever call animal control?”
“All the time.” Sunny kept the anger from her voice, because it wasn’t aimed at Pete and she didn’t want him to take it that way. “Janice keeps the dogs she sells in good condition and that’s what animal control sees. The ones that don’t sell eventually end up in dead man’s land back there.” She tilted her head toward the kennel they’d broken into. “She always seems to have it empty when animal control visits. Plus, there’s only me to call her out. You’re a bit too far away to notice and no one else is around for miles.”
Pete nodded silently. “So you take matters into your own hands. Like you always have.”
“What I need is a way to shut her down for good,” Sunny said. “I’m working on something, though. I’ve got a plan.”
Pete ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “What plan?” He flopped down on the couch.
“I got a deal with a detective.” Sunny smiled and plopped next to him. “If I get Cici to help out a friend of his—this guy at the gym?—I have a feeling things will go my way out here.”
Rescue You Page 12