The Sweetheart Kiss

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “I’m afraid of what he’ll do to my grass.”

  She walked over and put the bone next to the bed. “Are you always so humorless? Smiling won’t kill you.”

  She had seen him smile once, she thought, but not recently. He preferred grumbling. “If you plan to be the Grinch all the time, I’m packing up my dog and finding a new home.”

  Once he seemed satisfied with the position of the dog bed, Wheeler turned his head and offered up a smile that was more snarling wolf than human happy grin. “Better?”

  “Not even close.” She remembered a joke she’d heard on TV. Maybe that would help. “Why don’t cannibals eat clowns?” He shook his head. “Because they taste funny!”

  His mouth twitched. “What, are you twelve?”

  “You thought it was funny.”

  This time, he showed teeth. “It wasn’t funny.”

  “Lies, lies.” She pulled the store tag off the collar. “At least I know that you have all your teeth. I won’t have to cut your food into little bits.” Noticing that the house had gone quiet, she called out, “Spike!” and whistled. No response. “Spike!”

  A silent dog was like a quiet child. Not a good thing. That’s when they were getting into mischief.

  “The last time I heard him, he was heading upstairs,” she said and took off. If he’d chewed up something, she wouldn’t have to move out. Wheeler would kick them out.

  Unfortunately, Wheeler must have had the same thought. He followed her, boots thumping on the wooden stairs.

  “Spike?” There were two bedrooms and an office upstairs as Jess tamped down her concern and peeked in the rooms. “Spike?”

  When they got to Wheeler’s bedroom, the door was half open. Jess braced herself for the worst. In the center of his big bed, lay a sprawled out Spike with his head on a pillow, snoring and twitching like he was chasing dream squirrels across a sunny meadow. The bedspread was bunched up beside him like a body pillow. He was in doggie heaven.

  The picture was cute but not good. There was drool on the pillowcase. Wheeler tensed behind her.

  Jess lost the fight against a smile. “Now that’s funny,” she said as Wheeler swore. The man knew more curse words than a truck-driving sailor. “Isn’t he adorable?”

  “Just precious.”

  Then the bunched-up comforter moved.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two feet popped out from under the spread that led to a pair of hairless legs.

  “What in the hell?” Sam yelled and startled Calvin upright in the bed. Long golden locks spilled around his beautiful chiseled face. “Get the hell out of my bed!”

  Calvin jumped up, wearing the smallest briefs ever made. How they kept everything contained was a mystery along the likes of Stonehenge.

  “Get out of my house.” Calvin hurried past Sam and headed for the stairs. The dog barely twitched. Wheeler turned on her. “Do something about that damn dog!”

  Jess used the rawhide bone to entice Spike off the bed. The big dog trotted downstairs behind them and plopped down in the middle of the kitchen to begin the short process of devouring the treat. Sam searched the house for Calvin and stomped back into the kitchen.

  “He’s gone.” He went for a beer. “How in the hell did he get in here anyway? The doors were locked.”

  “Good question.” Jess claimed the can, popped it open, took a swig, and handed it back. She appeared contrite, but he didn’t buy it. She was thoroughly enjoying all of this.

  “Do you think the naked bodyguard is gone for good?” he asked and gulped the beer.

  “Not a chance,” she said.

  * * *

  Spike grunted and drooled and stopped occasionally to give himself an inappropriate lick with a foot up over his head. Wheeler watched the carnage and grooming for about thirty seconds before digging through a drawer next to the sink for a bottle of aspirin and chasing a pair down with the beer. Jess wanted to advise him of the dangers of mixing pills and booze but kept quiet. If alcohol helped his mood, she was all in.

  In the pristine kitchen, Jess couldn’t help but notice that she and the dog appeared out of place.

  It wasn’t as if the room—the whole house really—was sterile. Not at all. It was just that Wheeler had been so used to having everything in its place that she suspected it would be hard for him to bend. But if he wanted their temporary living arrangement to work, he’d have to give a little.

  “If we’re going to share your body wash, we should get to know each other better,” she said and went to the fridge to pull out another beer. He was almost finished with the first.

  Starved-for-sex Jess wanted to take off his shirt and get to know his muscled chest better. Practical Jess knew that jumping into bed with him wasn’t a good idea. She was a stalking victim and he was the detective assigned to her case. There had to be all sorts of rules against a personal relationship, despite her desire to see him naked.

  He said something like “Oh, dear God” under his breath, sighed, and then said, “Fine. Go.”

  The invitation opened and Jess pounced.

  “Have you ever been married?” she asked as she poured herself a glass of water. “There’s no girly stuff around here.”

  He sat across from her. “No, I’ve never been married.”

  “Why not?” Curiosity overcame reticence to dig into his life. “Does your surly nature scare them off?”

  His face clouded over. “I almost married once. It didn’t work out.” By the look on his face, the door to his past had slammed shut with that clipped comment. She wasn’t getting anything else.

  The PI in her wanted more. She let it go. For now.

  “Next question. Are you a boxer, brief, or leopard print thong kind of guy? Because if I do a load of laundry while I’m here, I don’t want to be shocked by what I find in your hamper.”

  A pair of brown eyes rolled heavenward. He scratched a day’s worth of beard growth with one hand and popped open the other can. “Do I look like a thong guy?”

  “Calvin is and he’s pretty manly,” she teased.

  “Move along.

  She let her eyes drift over him. Thong, no. Loincloth, yes. Jess wouldn’t be surprised if he swung through the jungle on a vine and beat his chest while eating a banana. He was very male.

  “I guess not. But you never know.”

  “I know. And I do my own laundry.”

  Tapping her fingertips on the table, she watched him watch her. He was too unreadable. She wanted to peel back the crunchy outer shell and poke around in the gooey center. Like a candy bar. The only way to do that, it seemed, was to annoy him.

  During one or two unguarded moments, she was sure she’d seen his eyes linger on her breasts. If he was really interested in her sexually, she could use that to tweak his temper.

  “What about sleepovers? Should I expect to see half-naked women sneaking out at sunrise when I come down to make coffee? And what if I schedule a sleepover? Should we make a list of ground rules? Like no loud screams or jungle noises after ten p.m.? I want to be a considerate guest.”

  Truthfully, she had no plans for sleepovers, since she hadn’t had luck in the romance department of late other than orange Dodger, and she wasn’t a one-night-stander; she’d only mentioned the idea to see how he reacted.

  A slight twitch above his left eye was his only response. The man was an emotionless android. She pressed on. There had to be a way to crack him.

  “I’ve been seeing twin brothers, Biff and Stan. They don’t know about each other. I’d appreciate your discretion if you pass one of them coming out of the bathroom in a towel.”

  The twitch sped up.

  “Biff likes spankings with a wooden paddle, and Stan likes to wear diapers and cries like a baby during sex. I thought I’d warn you in case you hear strange sounds coming from my room.”

  Still nothing. Really?

  Struggling to stay serious, she went in for the kill. “Oh,
and Biff uses mayo on his butt to soothe the sting. I see you have a jar in there. I’ll replace whatever we use.”

  The twitch stopped. He scanned her face. “You’re trying to piss me off.”

  Finally, something. “Is it working?”

  The stoic expression carved in rock apparently could take only so much BS before it cracked. That mayo comment was the kicker. His scowl dissolved into a grin that lit up his entire handsome face and almost knocked her off her chair.

  Beneath her jeans, her knees knocked and her girly bits sizzled. No wonder the man never grinned like that as a rule. He’d have women fainting at his feet.

  “Please don’t do that ever again,” she begged and crossed her legs to keep the breathless singing of fallen angels from escaping her undies.

  “Do what?” The grin held as he tipped his head sideways like a chiseled male model in a cologne ad, minus the cowboy hat and spurs. Her blood surged.

  Damn, he knew what he was doing and had turned the tables on her. “Don’t smile. I’d rather have surly.”

  A chuckle followed. Although he was not at all the preening arrogant type, he sure did know how to use his man-power for evil. She was at the moment very thankful that yesterday she’d run out of the clean cute panties Taryn had given her and had to dig out an old frayed pair from her duffel as backup.

  A PI always needed a change of clothes. She never knew when she might get squirted with a hose, slip and fall, or have something gross chucked at her. With her apartment now a smoldering ash pile, her clothing was limited. Bridget Jones aside, there was no way in hell she was about to let Wheeler see her in granny panties.

  The dog barked at the back door, ending the conversation. Jess jumped up to let him out.

  When she returned, his good humor was gone and he stood. “I hope we’ve had enough of getting-to-know-you sharing. I need to go and scratch something, and maybe eat some jerky.” He left her to wait for the dog.

  * * *

  Sam didn’t like the feminine desire to dig into personal stuff, talk about feelings, and to mold men into their idea of a perfect companion. Why couldn’t Jess just move into his spare room and show up once in a while to talk about the case or slump on the couch next to him to watch a game and drink a beer?

  What more did she need to know anyway?

  He was halfway to his small home office when a text pinged on his cell from the PD. A tipster thought she’d seen the shooter. Her name and address followed.

  Interesting. Two witnesses in one day.

  He grabbed his laptop and keys and headed back to the kitchen. Spike was loudly slopping water from his bowl. A river trickled across the old uneven floor.

  At least he’d stopped grooming. Sam turned to Jess, who was heading for the paper towels.

  “We have a tip.”

  “Another one? Excellent. Give me one second.” She dropped the towels by the bowl and used her foot to push them around. After that, she collected the damp pile, dumped it in the trash can, and washed her hands.

  “Ready. Come on, Spike.” The dog followed her around the room and stopped when she stopped. He stared up at her with doggie love. “Let’s get your leash.”

  “The dog can’t go.”

  “Why not?” She put a hand on the big wide head and faced him down. “It’s not hot out. He can stay in the car.”

  “We’ll probably make a stop at the PD after.” Truthfully, he didn’t want the dog in the SUV. He’d be through the mesh cover in no time and on to the seats. Explain that damage to his bosses. “Do you think it’s a good idea to leave him locked up indefinitely?”

  Score a point. He knew she wouldn’t do anything to harm the beast and he wouldn’t have to worry about his seats. A win for him. Besides, if Calvin showed up again, a barking monster should keep him out.

  Just because they’d already slept together did not make them friends.

  “Spike, sweetie, you’re going to have to stay home.” She leaned to look into his eyes and spoke slowly, as if the dog understood every word. “You be a good boy and I’ll take you for a walk when I get back. Okay?”

  Her husky tone kicked him in the groin. He cleared his throat. “You know that dogs don’t speak English.”

  She made a face and stood. “It isn’t what I say but how I say it. It’s the same way with men, Detective Cranky,” she said sweetly and with a seductive tone. With that, she walked past him with her hips swaying. She knew that drove him nutty.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Despite every reservation about giving the dog free roam of the house, Spike sat at home by himself with only his bone to keep him company while Jess and Wheeler went to talk to Mrs. Doris Klein. The yawning and disheveled middle-aged man who opened the door told them that they’d find her out back and pointed a thumb in that direction. No further instructions followed.

  Jess hit her ankle bone on a ceramic frog while going down the porch steps. Mrs. Klein liked yard art. The porch was lined with critters. “I’m putting in for hazard pay.”

  “You could have waited in the truck. I’d have cracked the windows for you,” Wheeler said as they rounded the house and headed for the backyard.

  “I could have,” she agreed. “But this is my case, too.”

  He kept his watchful eyes on guard as they crossed the grass. Since the fire, he’d been overly cautious about her walking into anything that might be a trap. Two attempted murders had upped his alpha. Pretty soon he’d be looking under beds for monsters while toting a shock grenade.

  Telling him she had enough alpha of her own to take care of herself would only fall on deaf ears.

  As they got near the back of the house, Jess stumbled to a stop. On what she thought might be the property line with the house next door, she spotted a pink flamingo lawn ornament. Not common in Michigan, but not out of the question, either. But the strange part was a cutout wooden pistol stapled to its wing, painted to look like the real thing.

  “What the—” Wheeler said.

  Cautiously, they kept going. More pistol-packing birds appeared. By the time they stepped into the perfectly manicured green space, there had to be dozens of the armed Flamingoes wearing army fatigues. In the center of it all was a woman clucking her tongue and tossing handfuls of seed at the birds and humming “I Could Have Danced All Night” from My Fair Lady.

  “Oh, hey!” She waved when she spotted them gingerly crossing the grass. “Come on in, they won’t hurt you.”

  Jess wasn’t worried about the birds. The owner on the other hand…. It was best to stay on the fringe of the yard, just in case. “Mrs. Doris Klein?”

  “I am.” She released one last handful and brushed her hand on an apron that said “Clean Kitchen, Dirty Mind”. Covering her head was a clear shower cap and on her feet were boots that looked like yeti feet.

  “First Calvin, now this?” Wheeler said to Jess under his breath. His hand hovered at his hip and his Glock. “And you don’t even blink.”

  “Ann Arbor is an eclectic town. Normal is what you want it to be.” That was one of the things that made her job fun. Normal was boring. “Flamingo armies need love, too.”

  He had nothing to say to that.

  The woman bent, vanished in the sea of pink, then came up with an assault rifle. Jess and Wheeler had their guns out before she could straighten.

  “Stop! Police!” Wheeler commanded. She stopped. “Put the gun down.”

  She lowered the weapon and lifted her hands over her head. “Officer, it’s only an unloaded BB gun.”

  He walked toward her, gun outstretched, weaving in and out of birds. She didn’t move as he approached. “Step back.”

  Mrs. Klein complied, keeping her hands raised. “Do you have any other weapons on you?” he asked. Jess almost felt sorry for the older lady. The detective was scary when in cop mode.

  “I do not.”

  He retrieved the gun, did a cursory examination of the piece, and holstered his Gl
ock. He handed it back to Mrs. Klein. She lowered it to her side. Standing amongst her army of birds, she looked like a loony vigilante.

  “I could have shot you,” he said sternly. “The damn thing looks real.”

  “It’s supposed to. I’m sorry I frightened you,” she said as Jess joined them. The older woman scanned her eyes around her yard and the sea of pink. “You’d probably like an explanation about all this.”

  “Yes, please,” Jess said.

  The woman pointed over at the house next door. The grass was dead around a dog house that on closer examination housed a large black pit bull. The dog lay staring at them from his open doorway, his head on his paws.

  Whether he was mean or not didn’t matter. He looked frightening to Doris.

  “My neighbors are nuisances,” Mrs. Klein explained. “They have parties with sketchy characters at all hours and used to let their dog crap in my yard. After finding a third drunken idiot sprawled out in my flowerbed and not getting anything from the police other than them passing out a few trespassing tickets, I decided to do something about it myself.”

  She smiled down at her pink army. “No one is afraid of one little old lady. However, they are afraid of a crazy little old lady who carries a gun and feeds plastic birds. Now they keep their dog and friends out of my yard.”

  “Smart,” Jess said. “I’d have been leery of you myself.”

  Mrs. Klein giggled.

  Wheeler wasn’t happy. “Carrying a gun in city limits could get you killed, either by the police or another gun owner. I think you need to rethink your plan.”

  The lady sobered. “The police know it’s a fake, and I stay in my own backyard.”

  The detective wasn’t swayed. “You’ve proved your point with the birds. At least think about what I said, Mrs. Klein.”