Woof at the Door

by Laura Morrigan

  I did a quick mental check of my schedule. “I can stop by in the morning.”

  “That would be very helpful.”

  He told me his office was in the Police Memorial Building and that he would leave the paperwork with the receptionist. For some stupid reason, I felt a twinge of apprehension.

  I shook off the feeling, hung up, and spoke to Emma before she could ask. “He’s just a guy with the police who needs me to sign some stuff about our new friend here.” I gently patted Jax on the head.

  “He’s got a nice voice.” Emma held up her wineglass and swirled the light golden liquid. “Is he cute?”

  Yes. I frowned at my subconscious’s automatic answer and shrugged as nonchalantly as I could. “He’s a cocky jerk. He didn’t think I could handle Jax.”

  “Most people couldn’t.” She tilted her head. “You didn’t answer my question, is he cute?”

  “Is that all you think about?”

  Emma grinned over the rim of her wineglass. “You should think about it more often.”

  “I’m not going there.” I shook my head and turned to leave the kitchen. I was already spending way too much time thinking about my nonexistent sex life. “Order some pizza. I’m going to get dressed.”

  “That means he’s definitely cute.”

  I whirled to face her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You always get extra pissy with the cute guys.”

  “Cute guys think they are God’s gift to everyone.”

  “I guess it’s your job to put them in their place?” Emma shot me a pointed look. She knew my MO better than anyone.

  I crossed my arms. “I am not going to be seduced into stupidity by a perfect smile and nice body.” Been there done that. Not looking for a repeat.

  Emma’s eyes widened. “Oooh, so he has a nice body?”

  “Forget it.” I threw my hands up and started toward the guest room.

  “You’re the one who was checking him out!” Emma called gleefully after me. I waved dismissively over my shoulder and turned down the hall.

  “My sister has a one-track mind,” I said to the dogs, who followed me into the bedroom. I tossed the towel on the bed and pulled on a pair of baggy cotton pajama bottoms and a tank top. Jax flopped down by the doorway and grunted.

  “It’s not like I don’t want to date,” I grumbled. Of course, that was a lie—I didn’t want to date. Dating made things complicated. For some annoying reason, my mind conjured up the image of Sergeant Duncan. Complications. Like going on a date with a handsome investigator and ruining the night by confessing my secret.

  I could just see it: Nice dinner, nice wine, nice conversation, until I said, “By the way, I can communicate psychically with animals. Can you pass the salt?”

  He’d be wondering when I’d gone off my meds. Sighing, I sank down onto the bed. Moss leapt up to sit beside me, nudging his head under my arm. He had picked up on my subtle mood change and, like always, wanted to make me feel better.

  “Thanks, big boy.” I sank my fingers into his thick fur. Moss, as keeper of all my secrets, knew what Emma didn’t. I would never make the mistake of spilling my guts. Not again.

  Years ago, I had stupidly opened up to the first man to make me melt like a sundae with extra hot fudge—Dane Harrington. He was gorgeous, rich, and smart. I’d met him in my first year of college and had fallen fast and hard. We spent one wonderful summer together at the end of the first term. Scampering off to the Bahamas . . . on his family jet. It had been a magical trip. Right up until the moment I told him about my gift.

  I woke up alone to a note and a plane ticket home.

  Being a quick study, I adopted a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. It had worked like a charm. Until today.

  I glanced over at Jax, who was dozing in the entry to the room.

  Today, the rules had changed.

  • • •

  That night, I was pulled from sleep.

  I sat up and blinked bleary eyes, willing them to focus on the bedside alarm clock—3:44 a.m. Moss, who had been sleeping next to me, raised his head off the pillow and studied me. I heard a soft whimper.

  Jax.

  He was stretched out in front of the bedroom door. His face and feet twitched in a dream. I paused a moment and then made my decision.

  I closed my eyes and tried to merge with the dog’s slumbering mind.

  I entered his dream, saw through his eyes.

  An image flashed before me—a ball, a tennis ball. I could feel the joy, the desire to play. Then, there was no ball. It had rolled under the sofa.

  I tried to get the ball but couldn’t reach it. Then I looked up. He laughed. “Get your ball, Jax!”

  But it was out of reach.

  One distorted memory leapt to another.

  Now I was outside, looking in through the doors. I felt panic rise. I smelled fear and blood. I dug at the door and rammed the glass but couldn’t get in.

  A shadow moved toward the front door and then I saw: He sat on the couch. Unmoving. I felt my legs tremble as the scent of new death filled my lungs.

  I threw open my eyes and gulped for air. Blinking, I scanned the room and noticed Moss was sitting up watching me intently. He sniffed at my face and then nudged under my chin.

  I swallowed hard and tried to will away the wave of nausea. “I’m all right.” But I wasn’t. I could still feel the chill of death, taste it in the back of my throat.

  I looked down at Jax. He was sleeping soundly now. The nightmare had come and gone.

  I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Moss inched close to me and laid his head on my stomach.

  I began stroking his soft fur and wondered how long it would be before Jax remembered the most important detail of that horrible night—the identity of the killer. I was betting it wouldn’t be long. Then what was I going to do?

  CHAPTER 2

  After a dawn walk on the beach with the dogs and a gallon of coffee, I was finally coherent enough to come to a decision. I needed to find out what the cops knew. If they had a solid lead in Mark Richardson’s murder, they wouldn’t need Jax or, more aptly, me to tell them who the killer was. I could concentrate on making sure Jax was stable enough to be adopted, instead of trying to decipher garbled memories of a murder I really didn’t want to see.

  Just after nine o’clock, I scored a parking spot on the corner of Bay Street and Liberty. Though the city had lined the street with palm trees, nothing could soften the facade of the Police Memorial Building. Grayish-tan, blocky with dozens of terraced steps leading to the doors, it reminded me of a squashed Aztec pyramid.

  As I began my trek up the stairs, I weighed my options. I’d thought about having the receptionist call Kai Duncan’s office but shook off the idea. It would be better to contact Jake. I had his cell number. I could sign the paperwork on Jax and then call him.

  I was so lost in thought as I scribbled my name over the forms, I wasn’t aware anyone was behind me. Until I heard a warm voice say, “You should really read documents before you sign them. That could have been a confession.”

  I turned to find Sergeant Duncan standing there. Was he taller than I remembered? He shot me a smile that could probably charm the pants off a nun. If nuns wore pants.

  I returned it with an indifferent nod. “Sergeant Duncan, I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “It’s Kai, remember? I was on my way to grab something to eat. And you . . . caught my eye.”

  He didn’t skim his gaze over me the way I had done to him the day before, but I got the feeling he wanted to. Instead, his eyes stayed locked on mine. It made me jumpy.

  “I won’t keep you.” Turning away, I walked back toward the main doors. What was it about this guy that raised my hackles? Wasn’t I supposed to be fin
ding out what the police knew?

  He caught up to me. “How’s the dog?”

  “Traumatized.”

  He maneuvered around me to hold open the door. The heat, even though it was still early, was a slap in the face. “It’s still violent?”

  “He still needs some time.” I shot Kai a glare. “Jax witnessed the murder of someone he loved and was unable to do anything to prevent it. How would that make you feel?”

  “How do you know that he witnessed the murder?”

  That stopped me. “What?”

  “You said he saw what happened and couldn’t stop it.”

  I tried not to look as flustered as I suddenly felt. This was why I didn’t want to talk to him. He was looking at me a little too intently. “It’s obvious.” I shrugged. “You’ve never had a dog, have you?”

  “Not since I was a kid.”

  I nodded, as if that explained everything, and turned to walk away.

  “Wait, Miss Wilde. Grace.” He followed me down the front steps. “I keep offending you when I don’t mean to. Let me make it up to you. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” He motioned to the deli down the street.

  “It’s ninety degrees out, and you want to buy me coffee?” I kept walking toward my vintage skyline-blue Suburban. Like it was home base and I would be safe once I reached it. I knew I should say yes. If only to pick his brain and find out what was happening with the case. But there was something about him that sounded the alarm bells. Was I really just being pissy, as Emma had alleged, because he was attractive?

  “An iced tea, then. Come on. I’ll prove to you I’m not a jerk.”

  After lengthy consideration, I sighed. “Okay.”

  As we walked across the busy street, pausing in the middle to wait for a garbage truck to rumble by, I tried to think of a good excuse to ask questions about the case. I’d never had the social skills of my sister, but I had watched her in action. Flattery. Emma had used it to glean information; would it work on an investigator?

  He held the door for me again as we entered the deli. The enticing aroma of fresh-baked butter biscuits made my mouth water.

  The young man at the counter smiled as we walked in. “Hey, Kai, you want the usual?”

  “Yeah. And a large iced tea for the lady.” He glanced at me. “You want anything else? My treat.”

  My stomach grumbled and I ordered cheese grits and a biscuit with honey.

  “Have a seat and it’ll be right out.”

  We sat at a corner booth. As we slid in, my knees brushed his. I automatically scooted back on the bench, ignoring my reaction to the contact. The flush I felt creeping up my neck was because of the summer heat, not the man sitting across from me. Yeah, sure it was.

  When I looked up, Kai flashed that killer smile and then began scanning my face, like a scientist studying a new specimen. I refused to let the scrutiny ruffle me and looked directly into his clear, glass-green eyes.

  We sat for a moment, locked in a stare-down I was sure I would win. Though my heart had started to beat a little faster as I took in just how handsome he was.

  Finally, Kai settled against the back of the booth and spoke casually. “Jake says you’re an animal trainer, but you must be a veterinarian, as well, or you wouldn’t be able to quarantine the dog.”

  I forced myself to relax a little. As long as he didn’t get too personal, I would be fine answering his questions. Then maybe I could maneuver in a few of my own. “I keep my license current. It comes in handy with what I do.”

  “Which is to rescue traumatized animals?”

  “If need be.”

  “What kind of animals do you usually work with, when you’re not saving the wayward?” Again with the killer smile.

  I tried to ignore the effect it had on me. Though honestly, since I had a pulse, it was a losing battle. Yep, I’d be much better off talking to Jake Nocera.

  “I deal with family pets mostly. I do a lot of consulting.”

  “Consulting?”

  “I specialize in problem behavior.”

  “So if Fido is eating the sofa, you’re the person to call.”

  “Yep.” I tried to figure out a way to artfully turn the conversation around. Ask a question, something.

  “So I guess that Doberman yesterday comes under the category of having problem behavior?”

  “Yep.” Wow, I was really doing a bang-up job of gleaning information. Look out, Nancy Drew.

  “How were you able to do what you did? Just walk up to that dog and . . . tame him?”

  Suddenly, my imaginary dinner-date scenario flashed through my head. This was a little too close for comfort. I looked away from him, out the window at the busy street. “I’m good at what I do.”

  “Where did you learn? Did you have a mentor?”

  “I’m self-taught. I’ve worked with animals all my life.” I continued to gaze out the window, my mind spinning like the wheels of the passing cars. “After a while, I developed the ability to read them. Now I can work with them in almost any situation.” My answer was the same I gave anyone else who asked.

  “So you’ve just studied animals?” Skepticism laced his words.

  I turned to face him, leaned forward, and folded my hands on the table. Time to nip this in the bud. “You’re a criminal investigator, right?”

  He nodded.

  “When you go to a crime scene, there are things you know to look for—clues, or whatever.”

  Again, he nodded.

  “But if I sat and watched you do your job, I wouldn’t really know what you were doing, because I don’t know anything about investigating crimes.”

  “And I don’t know anything about working with animals.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Most people never bother to learn.”

  “Is that why you don’t like people?”

  I paused to consider the question. “It’s not a question of like.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Animals act in ways I can understand. Even wild animals that hunt and kill are motivated by necessity. Acting on instinct. People are different. So many times they are selfish and cruel—just because they want to be.”

  Kai’s grin dimmed slightly. “I wouldn’t argue with that.”

  “With all you’ve seen, I’m sure you wouldn’t.” For an instant, I felt a sense of understanding pass between us. I allowed a hint of a smile to play on my lips; it would be nice to think that someone like him could understand me. I liked people but didn’t trust them. If anyone could get that, it would be a man who saw just how purely evil people could be to one another. Crime scene after crime scene.

  I had a shot of inspiration. If I opened up, maybe he would, too. “Yesterday was hard for me. I mean, seeing everything.” It was true. I’d seen death before—terrible, gruesome death— but even so . . . “I’d never been to a murder scene.”

  “First one is never easy.” His voice was gentle.

  “I hope it will be my last.” Now I tried layering on the flattery. “How do you do it? I mean it’s your job to look past the body and see clues and evidence—how do you do that?”

  “I’m good at what I do.” He mimicked my earlier statement with a half grin.

  “Don’t you ever worry you’ll miss something?”

  “I always worry that I’ll miss something.”

  “I heard you say that Mark Richardson just broke up with his girlfriend. Do you think she killed him?”

  “We don’t know yet. We’ve got to talk to more people.”

  “I guess that’s pretty common, for the murderer to be the lover or wife or whatever, right?” Did I sound like I was fishing?

  Kai nodded. “Statistically, yes, most murders are committed by someone who knows the victim. The evidence will tell us.
”

  I remembered hearing them say that Mark Richardson had let his murderer in. I also remembered how messy the scene was. “You say the evidence will tell you. How do you know what to look for? I mean, I saw the crime scene. The place was a mess.”

  “Parties make gathering important evidence a challenge. But we start with the most obvious point and go from there.”

  “Which is?”

  “The body.”

  “So you get the bullet and do some analyzing like they do on TV?”

  He made a face. “Yes and no. It doesn’t work out quite like it does on TV. We can’t analyze every bullet. Some are too damaged to run through the system.”

  “Damaged from what?”

  “Hitting a reinforced steel stud.” The look on his face told me that was exactly what happened with the bullet that killed Mark Richardson.

  “That doesn’t sound good.” I had him going now. I was gearing up for another question when his phone chirped.

  He flipped it open. “Duncan. Yeah, what’s up?” He frowned as he listened. I tried to make out what the other person was saying, but I was too far away to eavesdrop. “Well, the casing has to be there. I’ll head to the scene and take a second look around. We must have missed it.”

  When he flipped his phone closed, I asked, “Do you have to go back to Mark Richardson’s house?”

  “Yes. I need to double-check something.”

  The waitress came and set our orders on the table.

  I was trying to think of a way to nonchalantly ask about what he was looking for when he changed the subject. “Do you have a farm or something?”

  “A what?”

  “You know, for all the animals you work with. Do you live out in the country?”

  “Oh. No, but I’m in the market. Right now I’m staying at my sister’s condo on the beach.” I took a bite of biscuit that was so slick with butter my arteries screamed in protest. It was fantastic.

  “Was that your old Suburban?” He switched subjects again as he bit into a twice as greasy biscuit stacked with eggs, sausage, and cheese.

  “Yep.”