“Tom doesn’t think it’s a great idea, either.”
“Tom sounds like my kind of guy.”
For an insane split second of a split second, Serena thought of inviting Nick along to the descendants-of-Brutus picnic on Sunday. But he was a client. And hadn’t she resolved to keep him just that? Then there was still that niggling sense that he wasn’t all he said he was and that he could do damage to Paws-A-While.
Coco started wriggling and she knew the little dog had just about reached her keep-still limit. “Can you help me with the other paw, please?” she said to Nick, as she slid off her stool.
“With the . . . the pawdicure?”
“You interrupted me. I have to catch up on my time.”
“You’re seriously asking me to help you? I can’t guarantee my skills with, uh, claw polish.”
“Just keep Coco still while I paint the rest of her claws.”
“Okay,” he said in that sexy, gravelly voice. “But on one condition.”
“Condition?”
“Don’t ever tell anyone outside this place that I did it. Because I will deny it with every breath in my body.”
“Deal,” she said, her lips twitching.
But, as soon as she thought through the logistics of it, Serena realized that asking Nick to help her finish the pawdicure was a bad, bad idea.
The treatment cubicle was designed for one dog and one groomer. At a pinch one dog and two female groomers. Not one dog, one taller-than-average female and one tall, powerfully built male whose body mass dominated the space and whose proximity sent her heart into a series of hiccups.
If she had Kylie helping her, she wouldn’t care if their shoulders collided. Or their hands accidentally grazed while they were handling the dog. And she certainly would not have felt self-conscious if their faces moved kissing-distance close.
“You hold her left leg still while I take her paw,” she said, only too aware of the tremor in her voice. “I don’t want to get polish on her fur.”
It was a routine job yet her fingers felt clumsy as she pressed gently down on Coco’s little black toe so the filed claw extended far enough for her to paint with the red polish. She did one claw, then the next, rushing through the job with little of her usual finesse. No double coats of polish today. She was too conscious of Nick’s nearness. Half giddy from holding her breath every time she felt they were going to inadvertently touch.
“Done,” she said, after what seemed an age but could only have been minutes. She looked up as she spoke and just for a microsecond caught his gaze unguarded. In the instant before the shutters went down she swore she saw mirrored the same intense awareness she fought to mask from hers.
So he feels it, too.
Immediately she dropped her eyes, too confused to make sense of it. If he felt it, too, that made all the difference. Her heart hammered against her rib cage. Serena risked a peek back up, but his eyes were the same inscrutable pale blue. She must have imagined it. She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.
“Thank God that’s over,” he said, releasing his grip on Coco’s leg.
She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Not quite.”
“How can you bear the smell of that stuff?”
“The nail polish? It’s a girl thing. And a girl-dog thing, too, of course.”
Her twice-weekly mani-pedi was one of the few things she missed about her old life. She’d been proud of her long, elegantly manicured nails, even when she was that awkward teenager. Now they were filed short and unpolished. Dealing with dogs every day dictated that. She hoped Nick didn’t notice. But was he the kind of guy to care if he did?
Willing both her breathing and her hands to stay steady, she reached into a drawer and pulled out a length of red satin ribbon patterned with tiny white bones. Deftly, she tied it in a bow on the puff of fur on top of Coco’s head. “There. All done,” she said.
“What do you think?” she asked Nick, as she admired the little poodle.
“Charming,” he said in a deadpan voice that left her in no doubt as to his real opinion.
She called over to Heather, one of the groomers, and handed Coco over to her.
“Now for Bessie,” she said to Nick.
“Whoa,” he said. “No colored claws. No way.”
“Chill,” she said. “You’re out of luck. I’ve given enough freebies for this week.”
She pulled out another ribbon, a cheerful yellow one this time, and dangled it in front of him. “But I’ll give you this for a bargain price.”
Nick Whalen and the ribbon thing still bothered her.
“I noticed Bessie wasn’t wearing her bow yesterday,” she said. “This color would be pretty with her fur. Want to tie it on her now?”
Nick shook his head. “I’ll pass.”
“You’re sure, now? Bessie doesn’t seem Bessie without that cute bow on her forelock.”
“I like her better without it. Dogs look dumb with ribbons in their fur.”
“I think they look cute.”
And he looked cute with that scowl. Although maybe “cute” was not a term that could reasonably be applied to Nick Whalen.
“No claw polish. No tizzy collars. No bows.”
“So,” she said, her head tilted to one side, “you’re not the one who tied that bow she was wearing her first day here?”
He shifted from foot to foot. “Correct. It was tied by a friend who . . . who thought it was the right look for day care.”
A friend.
No wife. No girlfriend. But a friend.
She tensed. Maybe she’d read this all wrong.
“An old lady friend,” he added. Serena was surprised at the rush of relief that flooded her.
“As you know, we have no dress code here for the dogs,” she said, forcing her voice to a cool, even tone. “But anytime you change your mind about that bow, feel free to tell me and I’ll tie one on her for you.” She put the ribbon back into the drawer. “All part of the service.”
He made a noncommittal noise that sounded like he was swallowing a very rude expression.
She turned back to face him. “But you didn’t come in to talk about claw polish and fur ribbons, did you?”
Suddenly he looked serious. “No, I did not,” he said.
Nick chose his first words carefully. “I came to you to talk about Mack.”
Serena’s brow furrowed. He’d obviously hit her from left field. Good. If he put her off guard, that was all to the better. “Mack?”
“I want to pay for his knee surgery.”
The words were out of his mouth before they’d properly formed in his brain. They surprised him as much as they obviously surprised her. But, as soon as he’d uttered them, he realized it made sense. Truth be told, the thought had been percolating since he’d first encountered the big dog.
It could be a very effective way to ensure time with Serena. Time where she might be off her guard.
“Wow,” she said. “Why would you want to do that?”
He shrugged. “I told you, I had the same injury. I know how it feels.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“I mean it.”
“That surgery costs a lot of money.”
“I know. I’ve inquired about it.”
He’d looked up the surgery—a procedure called canine anterior cruciate ligament repair—on the Internet, fascinated that a dog could have the same kind of surgery that he’d had. And, by the look of it, get the same good result. He would view the expense as an investment in his business. It would be worth every cent if it took him closer to cracking this case. And at the same time he would be doing a good deed for a fellow sufferer.
“So why would you do that?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
“Why do you keep Freya here for free?”
She shook her head. “You don’t know me. You don’t know Mack. It’s not the same thing.”
“Sure it is. Look, Serena,” he said, fighting the ur
ge to cross his fingers behind his back, “there’s no ulterior motive here. I just want to help the poor animal. I like Mack. There’s something . . . something special about him.”
Her face softened in that way it did for a dog. “He is special. You know I’d pay for the surgery myself if I could. But why would Mack be thousands-of-dollars kind of special to you?”
She was suspicious. Of course she was. Damn. Again he’d gone in too hard, too fast. His offer seemed over-the-top. Outrageously generous and therefore unbelievable. Still, it was a good offer and she cared about that dog.
He shrugged. “Better get me to write a check before I ask myself that question and change my mind.”
“There’s a point,” she said.
“Sooner would be better than later for Mack, wouldn’t it?”
“Of course it would be. And I know I should tie you down and get that check from you before I let you leave the building. But things have been kinda weird here these last days, what with the Godfreys and the spaniel people. And . . . and I don’t know if this is something else weird coming at me from out of the blue.”
He would have to backpedal. Soft pedal even. He had to convince her this was a genuine opportunity to get Mack the treatment he needed.
“Remember I told you about my dog Fella?”
She nodded.
“When I was a teenager I was crazy into sports. I spent half my life training. Hours and hours running in the pine forests near where we lived. Fella always ran with me. Always kept up. Never let me down. When I look at Mack I . . . well, I see something of Fella in him.” No need to cross his fingers now. That was 100 percent the truth.
“I see,” she said, her eyes warming.
Dogs. That’s the surefire way to get to Serena.
He continued. “I imagine how Fella would have felt if he had the same injury as Mack. Not able to run. Not able to keep up.” He paused. “I . . . I feel like by helping Mack, I’m somehow repaying a debt to Fella.” He paused again. Purposefully put a break in his voice. “I know that sounds kinda dumb, but—”
“Not dumb. I understand completely. That’s a wonderful story. You must have loved Fella very much.”
Would a sniff be pushing it too far? He decided it was. “I . . . I did,” he said, killing the sniff but opting for a mournful semi-whisper.
“That makes me look at your kind offer in quite a different light.” She hesitated. “But I’m still not sure—”
“There would be no strings attached, if that’s what you mean.”
“No strings? You’re sure about that?” She took a deep breath, and Nick appreciated the resulting swell of her breasts, the hint of cleavage offered by her open-neck shirt with two top buttons left undone.
She lifted a hand toward him and, for a moment, he thought she might touch him. He tensed. But she obviously thought better of it and dropped her hand to her side again. “That whole chocolate bath thing, it . . . Well, it left me with trust issues.”
The shadows were there again, behind her eyes, giving her that troubled look that made him want to come out fighting in her corner. Trouble was, if his suspicions were correct, she might not be beyond taking a dive.
“Trust issues?”
“People often weren’t what they seemed. They said one thing and meant the other. Their motives were . . .” She looked up at him and he could see the struggle she was having. “But this isn’t about me and my trust issues, is it? It’s about Mack.”
“Yeah,” he said, ignoring a twitch of guilt.
“And I’d be crazy to question your truly generous gesture.” This time she did put her hand on his arm. Just long enough to seal the deal. He could feel her warmth, even through the fabric of both jacket and shirt.
She looked up at his face. And that luminous, wonderful light of her smile was now aimed at him. “If you really mean it, of course I say yes. Thank you. Everyone here will be thrilled for Mack.”
Relief his ploy had worked struggled with pleasure that he had brought that look to her face. Okay, he didn’t deserve it. Not when he was deceiving her just like those nameless others—surely men, maybe even the stalker—who had earned her distrust. But his strategy was for the greater good. To bring down the kind of criminals who hurt innocent people like the two doctors whose work with troubled kids was now in jeopardy.
“Great. Operating room here we come,” he said. “Do you have a report about Mack’s injury from your vet?”
She gestured toward her office. “It’s on my computer if you’d like to see it.”
He made a show of looking at his watch. “I’ve got time right now.”
“Sure,” she said. “Take as long as you need. I’ll set you up on the computer and you can read through it. Anything to help Mack. I can’t wait to see that big boy running around again.”
Gaining access to the computer was that easy.
“Did I say thank you?” Her face was flushed and her eyes glowed.
“You said ‘thank you.’”
“Well, I’m saying it again. And Mack would, too, if he could talk. Where do we go from here?”
“We have to discuss the logistics of this. Meet with the vet. Book the surgery. See about rehab.”
“Of course.”
“How about tomorrow?”
She frowned. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”
“That works for me.”
“Oh. I didn’t think . . .” Struggle was visible on her face. “Okay. You’re right. I can do tomorrow.”
“What do you suggest? Should we meet here?”
“Here? No. I’m not working this weekend. You could . . . I guess you could come to my place.”
She was offering him an opportunity to check out her home? Better and better. Again he felt that twinge of guilt but shoved it aside. “Great. Your place it is.”
“Mack will be there. And Snowball, too, of course. Oh, and Thelma.”
“Thelma?”
“My cat. She walked in to Paws-A-While one day and stayed. You know what they say—a cat chooses you, not the other way around.”
She must have a big house to accommodate all those animals. Mack alone would need a room the size of a ballpark. How did she afford that?
“So where do you live?”
She pointed to the ceiling. “The apartment above. The entry is next door, the white gate.”
Not a mansion but a walk-up apartment? “Okay. Shall we say around eleven?”
“Sure,” she said, looking bemused. He’d snowed her; that was for sure. Good. More than anything, he hated to hang around and wait for things to happen.
He headed for the Paws-A-While computer, barely able to contain his impatience. At last he felt he was getting somewhere in this investigation. The Mack knee surgery was an excellent excuse for spending ongoing time with Serena. It was a clever move, even if he did say so himself. A win-win situation. Even for the dog.
“Thank you,” he said after she had signed him in to the computer (with a password that was pitifully easy to note and remember). He watched her leave the office, pausing for a beat too long to admire the way her hips swayed as she walked. That uniform titillated as much as it concealed. Did she know that? Should he tell her?
Stay detached. Remain focused. Maintain suspicion.
Again he repeated the words inside his head as he forced his gaze to the screen. But they were not loud enough or strong enough to drown out the insistent thought that an eleven o’clock meeting could so easily segue into lunch with Serena.
Just him and her. Without so much as a pint-sized puppy to come between them.
Six
“So what are your plans for lunch with Nick Whalen?” Maddy Cartwright’s green eyes gleamed with the unholy excitement of the married woman who glommed on to any opportunity to rope her friend into the same state of coupled bliss.
Or so Serena saw it. She was beginning to wish she hadn’t mentioned the ten-out-of-ten hottie to her red-haired best buddy.
“Lunch? He didn
’t say anything about lunch. This is a business meeting, Maddy. Nick has kindly offered to pay for Mack’s surgery. We’re meeting to discuss how we can get the ball rolling ASAP.”
“He didn’t mention lunch?”
“No, he did not.”
Maddy sighed in exasperation. “Serena, a guy does not suggest an eleven o’clock meeting on Saturday morning with a beautiful woman like you, without there being a possibility of lunch.”
“And I’m telling you that this is strictly business.”
Serena tugged on Snowball’s leash to bring him to a halt. They were twenty minutes into an early-morning walk beside the bay at Marina Green, Serena’s favorite park. The top of the Golden Gate Bridge was still shrouded in fog, but the promise was for the kind of brilliant, Indian-summer day that made fall by far the best season in San Francisco. They’d just reached Snowball’s favorite tree. Marina Green was long on grass and short on trees so she humored him and let him stop and sniff. Maddy did the same for Brutus.
Maddy turned to Serena and gave a knowing smile. “Yeah. Right. So this guy is shelling out all this money on a dog just out of the kindness of his heart. No ulterior motive whatsoever.”
“Yes to the first bit. He seems genuinely taken with Mack. I’m so hoping it will lead him to adopting that beautiful big boy.”
“And the second bit? The ulterior motive, I mean?”
“That’s where things get a bit weird.”
“Weird?” Maddy’s eyes widened in alarm. “Serena—”
“Not that kind of weird. Not scary weird.”
She knew that Maddy would always blame herself for the terrifying incident where Serena had been held in a choke hold by a psycho claimant to the will that had bequeathed millions to Brutus. Brutus’s late owner, Walter Stoddard, had left his fortune in trust to his dog. Walter’s disgruntled nephew Jerome had tried to murder Brutus, first with a poisoned T-bone steak, later with an outsized bar of chocolate. Then he’d gotten more vicious and Serena had been caught in the cross fire.
“Not Jerome-type weird or your stalker-type weird?” asked Maddy.
“No. Not like that. Just . . . puzzling weird. Like, two long-term clients bailing in as many days. And Nick comes along with a dog that doesn’t suit him at all. He is so not a Yorki-poo kind of guy and it just isn’t . . . right.” She knew Maddy would know exactly what she meant without having to explain further about the Yorki-poo thing. “And he seems like a cop even though he says he isn’t.”
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