When a loved one goes missing…and no one believes you…
Weeping in front of customers isn’t Laney Adams’s style. She would have gone unnoticed if security expert Teague Johnson hadn’t come to her grooming shop to pick up his boss’s dog, Cutter. Something about Teague—or maybe it’s the uncannily perceptive canine—compels her to open up about her best friend who’s gone missing and how she feels responsible. The confession reminds Teague of his own secret guilt. He can’t turn away. With the help of the Foxworth Foundation—and Cutter—Laney and Teague launch a dangerous search that leads to unexpected twists…and undeniable passion.
“I introduced them. This is my fault.”
Instinctively Teague reached across the table and put his hand over Laney’s. “You didn’t know.”
He needed to know more about what had triggered her worry.
“Tell me what about your friend’s texts you felt were off. You showed them to the police?”
She grimaced again as she nodded. “They thought it was just drunk texting. I know better.”
“Because?”
She reached into the low front pocket of her shirt—when had scrubs become somehow sexy? he wondered—and pulled out a phone. She tapped it a few times, then held it out to him.
He took it and read the message:
Take care of Pepper 4me, pls? He’s such a gd dog. Thx
“Seems innocuous enough,” Teague said.
“Yes. Except for three things. Pepper? A cat. And a she.” She took a deep breath. “And she’s been dead for ten years.”
Cutter’s Code: Men of honor offering the ultimate in private witness protection
Dear Reader,
I once set up a friend on a blind date. While they were out doing the traditional dinner and a movie, I sat at home in a panic. It would go horribly, they would have a horrible time, they would hate each other and then both hate me, what was I thinking? As time passed and my friend didn’t call to berate me, and I couldn’t reach her, that writer’s imagination that is both blessing and curse went crazy. By midnight I’d decided they’d both been killed in a car accident. By 2:00 a.m., they’d picked up a hitchhiker who turned out to be an ax murderer. By 4:00 a.m., I’d sent my friend into the clutches of a serial killer.
Ten months later, they got married. They’d been talking all that time, and never once thought of me and my wicked imagination. Hmpf.
I recovered, basked in my own cleverness for a while, wore the official title of “matchmaker” at the wedding with some embarrassment, and laughed at those awful moments when I feared the worst. But apparently I never really forgot them, because they resurfaced as I was toying with the beginnings of this book. May this be as close as you ever come to this scenario!
Happy reading,
Justine
Operation Blind Date
Justine Davis
Books by Justine Davis
Harlequin Romantic Suspense
Always a Hero #1651
Enemy Waters #1659
†Operation Midnight #1695
Colton Destiny #1720
†Operation Reunion #1745
†Operation Blind Date #1759
Silhouette Romantic Suspense
‡Lover Under Cover #698
‡Leader of the Pack #728
‡A Man to Trust #805
‡Gage Butler’s Reckoning #841
‡Badge of Honor #871
‡Clay Yeager’s Redemption #926
The Return of Luke McGuire #1036
*Just Another Day in Paradise #1141
The Prince’s Wedding #1190
*One of These Nights #1201
*In His Sights #1318
*Second-Chance Hero #1351
*Dark Reunion #1452
*Deadly Temptation #1493
*Her Best Friend’s Husband #1525
Backstreet Hero #1539
Baby’s Watch #1544
His Personal Mission #1573
*The Best Revenge #1597
*Redstone Ever After #1619
Deadly Valentine #1645 “Her Un-Valentine”
Silhouette Desire
Angel for Hire #680
Upon the Storm #712
Found Father #772
Private Reasons #833
Errant Angel #924
A Whole Lot of Love #1281
*Midnight Seduction #1557
Silhouette Bombshell
Proof #2
Flashback #86
Silhouette Books
Silhouette Summer Sizzlers 1994 “The Raider”
Fortune’s Children
The Wrangler’s Bride
‡Trinity Street West
*Redstone, Incorporated
†Cutter’s Code
Other titles by this author available in ebook format.
JUSTINE DAVIS
lives on Puget Sound in Washington State, watching big ships and the occasional submarine go by, and sharing the neighborhood with assorted wildlife, including a pair of bald eagles, deer, a bear or two and a tailless raccoon. In the few hours when she’s not planning, plotting or writing her next book, her favorite things are photography, knitting her way through a huge yarn stash and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.
Connect with Justine at her website, justinedavis.com, at Twitter.com/Justine_D_Davis, or on Facebook at Facebook.com/JustineDareDavis.
A lonely little girl.
A mistreated pup who needed a home.
A perfect match.
Ten to nineteen, important years for a girl.
He was the brother I didn’t have.
My playmate, my confidant.
My comfort through some rough family years.
He showed me the heart hole only a dog can fill.
And the real meaning of unconditional love.
Decades later, and a slew of dogs afterwards,
I miss him yet. Love ya’, Scamper!
—Pam Baker
This is the second in a series of dedications from readers who have shared the pain of the loss of a beloved dog. For more information visit my website at www.justinedavis.com.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Change was coming.
He cou
ld feel it in the air, Teague Johnson thought. It wouldn’t be long before the trees started to turn. Soon after that there would be a riot of color as the Pacific Northwest said goodbye to summer and settled in for a long, likely wet and maybe cold winter.
He’d missed that. As a kid, all he’d wanted was out of the wet, but after a while spent at Camp Pendleton near San Diego, he’d found the lack of defined seasons oddly disconcerting. It messed with his sense of time passing. And when he’d finally come home, he’d welcomed the shift from summer to fall and winter to spring in a way he never had before.
You never miss it until you lose it.
Terri’s voice echoed in his head as the pain jabbed at his gut. He steeled himself against it with the ease of long and frequent practice. The past had been nagging him lately, in all its various ghostly forms. That was usually a signal he’d been living too much in his head, and the cure was something hard, physical and exhausting. Maybe he’d borrow Cutter for a long, mostly uphill run.
“Crazy dog,” he muttered, but he was smiling. The uncannily clever beast had quickly gone from being the pet of his boss’s fiancée to being an amazingly useful member of the team.
He hesitated for a moment, looking at the small coffee place next door to the groomer’s. Another sure seasonal sign; they were putting up the sign for a string of pumpkin spice items. Tempting. He had a silly weakness for them. Maybe he’d pick up a latte and grab a muffin to share with Cutter, who seemed to have an affinity for the particular flavor as well. That would, if nothing else, guilt him into taking that long, hard run.
After, he decided. He continued toward the groomer’s, smiling at the image of a floppy-eared dog in a tub of suds painted on the window.
A bell rang as he pulled open the door of the small shop. A humming sound from the back halted just as he stepped inside, and a split second later he heard a woof of greeting come from the back. He couldn’t see the dog, but obviously Cutter knew he was here.
“Almost done, be right out.”
The female voice calling from the room at the back was low, even husky, but there was another note in it that made his brows furrow. An unsteadiness or something that was noticeable. He shrugged it off; it wasn’t his business. Maybe she had a cold. Or maybe the mess Cutter had gotten into—Hayley, said fiancée and the dog’s first chosen person, had said he was mud and muck from nose to plumy tale—had required some heavy-duty cleaners, although the only thing he could smell was a faint scent of something that reminded him of cough drops. Eucalyptus or something.
The humming began anew, and he realized it was a hair dryer of some sort. The image that brought on made him smile, but he had to admit Cutter had enough long, thick fur that it would probably take him hours to dry without the electronic assist.
He wandered as he waited, feeling a bit out of place here amid the displays of dog stuff. He’d had no idea there were so many different kinds of food and supplements. The toys were more familiar, and a couple made him smile; one designed as a fire hydrant actually made him chuckle. He noticed, here and there, more pictures like the one painted on the front window, featuring the same dog, with various expressions from mournful—over the diet foods, he noticed with a grin—to silly. Whoever the artist was, he or she had a great imagination, and clearly a good sense of humor.
He walked toward a few pictures he saw on a side wall. Photos from local 5K and 10K charity runs, in which the shop had apparently participated or sponsored a team. Community involvement. He looked at the people in the shots, wondered if the owner was one of them.
He stopped in front of a rack of colorful collars and leashes, each one sporting a fabric pattern of varying designs and degrees of whimsy. He picked up one with fire hydrants on it, and again chuckled. Bark Boutique, the tag said, with a website of the same name. He wondered if they did custom work. A collar with alternating doggie angels and imps would be more in order for the irrepressible Cutter.
On that thought, the dog appeared in the back of the store. Tail up and newly fluffed, he trotted toward Teague sporting his usual attentive expression. With gleaming black fur from his nose to well back over his shoulders, where the thick coat shifted gradually to a rich, reddish brown, and upright, alert ears, he was, Teague admitted, a beautiful animal. But it was the gold-flecked amber eyes and the uncanny intelligence behind them that was his most striking feature. And Teague had quickly learned the intensity in that gaze wasn’t effective just on sheep.
“Hey, boy,” he said when the dog reached him and sat expectantly at his feet. “Don’t you look all spit-and-polish.”
He reached down to deliver the anticipated scratch behind the dog’s right ear. He remembered that Hayley had told him how impressed she’d been when she’d brought Cutter here the first time, and the owner had carefully researched his breed to learn the proper way to groom him.
“At least, the breed he looks like,” Hayley had added with a laugh. It was of no concern at all to her that nobody knew for sure the ancestry of her fey lost waif. “I want to see her make a go of it. I like that she donates groomings to shelter animals, so they can look their best at adoption days.”
Teague liked that himself.
“You’re Teague?”
The woman called from the doorway to what was apparently the grooming room. Her voice was steady now, whatever he’d heard before gone.
“Teague Johnson,” he agreed as the woman approached. She was tall, maybe two or three inches shorter than his own five-eleven, he thought, attractive in an outdoor, bet-she-could-keep-up-with-you-on-that-run kind of way. Participant, not just sponsor, he guessed, thinking of the run pictures. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a jaunty ponytail he supposed was practical for her work, but also fit with her long-legged grace. She wore scrubs, the damp spots showing that was for practicality as well.
“Hayley called?”
She shook her head. “Quinn, actually.”
That his boss had made the call himself didn’t surprise him; Quinn never considered much of anything in the way of work beneath him. It was one of the many reasons he was so effective. Not to mention that he was stark, raving crazy about Hayley and would lay down and die for her if necessary. Teague envied him that. If it wasn’t so clear the feeling was mutual he might envy him Hayley as well; she was a remarkable woman. The kind Teague had begun to think didn’t really exist.
“I’m Laney Adams,” she said, and held out a hand as she came to a halt before him. He took it, firmly but not crushingly. Shaking hands with a woman was always tricky, or seemed so to him. Too strong and they winced, too easy and some seemed to get offended. Laney did neither, she just met his grip and released after a solid shake.
And didn’t seem to feel at all the jolt of awareness that had gone through him at the contact.
He quickly shook it off. Hadn’t rained much yet, so it was probably just some residual charge of static electricity.
Cutter rose and went to stand beside her, nuzzling the hand he’d just shaken in the way usually reserved for cheering humans up; obviously the dog liked and trusted this woman, and Teague had learned to trust the dog’s judgment about people.
“You work with Hayley?” she asked.
Teague nodded in answer to her question. And couldn’t help noticing the woman’s eyes and nose were slightly reddened.
“Dog soap get to you?”
Startled, she swiped at her eyes. “I... No. It’s fine.” She looked away, then down. “I’m sorry, I forgot his collar and tag. I’ll go get it.”
She turned on her heel and left quickly. To his surprise, Cutter followed her, although he wouldn’t put it past the dog to have understood about the collar.
He barely had time to appreciate the way she moved when it all tumbled together in his head. Red eyes and nose, that undertone in her voice, and the way Cutter had been nosing at her hand...
It wasn’t soap. She’d been crying. Unease spiked through him. Female tears unnerved him, like most guys. They made him start looking for something to fix, to make it better, and too often there wasn’t anything.
He heard the slight clink of the boat-shaped tag as the now-dressed Cutter approached. According to Hayley, he’d shown up on her doorstep with only that tag, engraved with his name, for identification. All her efforts to find his owner had failed, and in the meantime Cutter had settled in and begun to work his special kind of magic on her grief-torn heart.
And now he seemed glued to Laney Adams. When she stopped again, Cutter stayed pressed against her leg. He nuzzled her hand again, and the woman petted his head as if instinctively.
Cutter looked up, his gaze fastened on Teague. He stifled the urge to read “Well? Fix it!” into the dog’s expression, knowing it had to be arising out of his own earlier thoughts.
But there was no denying the intensity of the dog’s steady, unwavering gaze. And in the relatively short time since Cutter had come to Foxworth, they had all learned it was wise not to ignore the determined dog when he got “that look.”
He didn’t want to ask, but did anyway. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You were crying.”
He was a little surprised when she didn’t deny it, but simply acknowledged it this time.
“Some women can cry beautifully.” She shrugged. “I’m obviously not one of them.”
He admired her blunt honesty, but felt awkward. He didn’t even know this woman. But Hayley did, she’d said she really liked her, maybe that was why. Friend of a friend in need or something.
He opened his mouth to ask “Are you all right?” then shut it again. Obviously she wasn’t all right, or she wouldn’t have been crying. Feeling a bit proud of himself for having avoided a stupid question, he felt even better when she leaned down to scratch Cutter’s ear briskly.
“I’ll see you next time, you lovely boy,” she said.
There, another bullet dodged, Teague thought.
“Let’s go, dog,” he said.
Operation Blind Date Page 1