When my boss called me into his office that evening, I sent a wish out to the universe that he’d finally offer me a permanent post.
But when I went in, the look on his face didn’t suggest an offer was coming my way.
The look on his face said you’re fired.
5
John
From the first bark that echoed from inside the rundown building on the outskirts of town, I knew.
I saw it like I had a crystal ball or an enchanted mirror maybe—the magical power of knowing my sister well.
Sophie would go in and greet those working dogs with her heart pinned on her sleeve—because her heart was always on her sleeve—and lose it completely. And by “lose it,” I meant hire a van, load up all the pooches, take them home with her, and bake them homemade biscuits for every meal.
On the one hand, that was a damn fine idea.
On the other, she’d have her hands full in a month with a baby, so it was best for someone to put the brakes on that.
I’d arrived first too, a few minutes ahead of the hour—no gaming the navigation app today. Usually, a timely arrival meant a little breathing room before my sister showed up. But today, Sophie was uncharacteristically punctual.
And when her Aston Martin pulled into the lot, I knew why.
Ryan got out of the driver’s seat, walked around, and opened the door for his wife. He kept time like an atomic clock.
I tipped my chin in his direction. “Nice ride.”
“It’s not too bad,” he deadpanned. “Hope you don’t mind my joining you two, but I can’t help myself when it comes to dogs.”
Huh. Maybe I’d have to run interference for him too.
He offered a hand to Sophie.
“I can get out of the car myself,” she said, but she didn’t refuse his help or hide that she was grateful for it.
“Oof,” she muttered as she stood and stretched her back.
“I see pregnancy isn’t slowing you down in the fashion department,” I remarked, gesturing to her red dress with lemon slices for polka dots, pinup-style, as it always was with her. She’d simply adjusted the hemline.
Her face lit up. “That’s another thing I love about pregnancy,” she said. “It’s a chance for a whole new wardrobe.”
Ryan grinned—a sappy, blissed-out, proud-husband-and-future-father grin—and said, “That’s my Sophie.”
The three of us walked to the front door of the shelter. It was just one standard glass door lettered with the suite number and a sign above—K-9 Buddies. Not much else distinguished the place from the other doors of the industrial park except the yips and barks of dogs being dogs. I suspected there was a door open in the back of the building to let the breeze in and the sounds out. As I’d driven up, I’d spotted an overhang that shaded a clean but utilitarian dog run. It wasn’t doggie nirvana, but this wasn’t meant to be a long-term situation.
Nor did it invite the casual animal lover to drop in and look for a pet for little Timmy or Suzie either. These were retired working dogs—they’d need the right homes and the right handlers.
“Thank you again for coming with me,” Sophie said, curling her hand around my arm as we went up the three steps to the door. “Having you and Ryan here will help immensely.”
“Don’t think twice about it.” I covered her hand with my free one and squeezed. “I want to see every rescue dog in a happy home. But especially these doggos who’ve worked hard, dangerous jobs and deserve a retirement full of kibble and belly scratches.”
Ryan made a choking sound, maybe a cough, maybe a laugh. “Did you just say ‘doggos’? No more social media for you, John.”
I gave him an unperturbed look I’d honed since my days as a rookie. “When would I have time for social media?”
No one could argue with that. When did I have time for social anything?
I didn’t get the word from a meme. Mindy had said it when our new running route took us past a dog park.
“Who’s a good doggo?” she’d singsonged to the stocky Labrador retriever who’d recognized a sucker when he saw one. He was missing a front leg, but that hadn’t stopped him from barreling into Mindy and begging for attention.
“Aren’t you a sweet doggo?” she’d asked. “No, I don’t have treats, but I’ll give you all the nose boops. Yes, I will.”
The three-legged dog was a curiosity, but so was Mindy. Who was this woman holding the dog’s head between her hands as he grinned at her? I didn’t blame him. I’d be pretty pleased if she grabbed the hair behind my ears too.
I knew she loved animals, but I didn’t expect so much cooing and cajoling. Mindy was personable and professional, and I’d appreciated both those qualities from the moment we met. I had been deep in an investigation, and admittedly, I’d viewed her through that lens at first. She’d offered her help, something that, as a detective, pinged my radar. I’d quickly realized that was in character for her. She had connections, and she could tap into information that would take the LVPD twice the time and effort to get. Why risk burning an undercover officer or an informant when Mindy had cultivated resources over her eight years working in hotel security?
The woman was head-turning, drop-dead beautiful. On top of that, she was self-sufficient and capable, and the whole package was straight-up sexy as hell.
And when she let loose, she could kick the shit out of a heavy bag. She never pulled her punches when we sparred. When she jabbed, she let loose a warrior yell that haunted my dreams. I often laid awake thinking about what sounds she might make for me if she were in my bed beside me.
And now, after the dog park, I had a whole new library of squeals and croons and flirty sounds to imagine.
But I didn’t need to be imagining them now.
Sophie patted my arm before she let go. “I’m grateful in any case. You and Ryan can offer a different perspective than mine, and I think the organizers will appreciate your . . . vibe.”
This time when I glanced at my brother-in-law it was for clarification. “She means our alpha manliness,” Ryan explained.
“Obviously,” I agreed.
“I don’t not mean that,” Sophie teased her husband. “But more that you work in law enforcement and security.”
Determined to work until she popped, Sophie had one last fundraiser to spearhead, this one for a locally based organization that found homes for working dogs—former military or police dogs. I’d never had a K-9 partner, but I’d worked with the teams on the force who did. It was a cause near and dear to my heart.
I was a dog lover, and I wanted those dogs to have a good home after serving their community or country. But they needed the right home, and that took resources.
Ryan employed several dog-and-handler teams at his security firm, so he had a similar interest and appreciation as mine. We also had similar resources, which might be needed if it came to tracking down a former handler, for example. Often, K-9 teams were split up by deployments in the military, and the former handlers still had room in their hearts for a doggo friend.
I held the door for my sister, and Ryan and I followed her inside. The room was sparse—only an unoccupied reception desk, a worn-out sofa, and a wall full of pictures of rescued dogs and their new owners filled the space. Heartwarming didn’t cover it.
“Oh, I have so many ideas for this fundraiser.” Sophie clapped her hands together while we waited for her appointment. “John, I’m really glad you discovered this organization.”
“Not me.” I didn’t want to take someone else’s credit. “That was Mindy and Sergeant Jackson in the dog park.”
Sophie perked up with interest. “Sergeant Jackson is the three-legged dog?”
“That’s him.” The good doggo’s owner, Matthew, had told us about the organization. Like his dog, Matthew was missing a leg. It had come up in our conversation about Sergeant Jackson, and how he’d been an explosive-detecting K-9 until he’d been injured by an IED—the same way Matthew had lost his.
“Fat
e,” the man had said, rubbing the dog’s head. “I needed a running partner who could pace me.”
I’d watched Mindy carefully as she’d laughed and shared with Matthew stories of their time in the military, tales no one else could really understand.
I knew her fiancé had been killed in the Middle East, but if there were shadows in her thoughts just then, they didn’t show. She’d seemed relaxed, like Matthew and Sergeant Jackson’s contentment had rubbed off on her.
I didn’t want to miss an opportunity, so I’d asked him for the name and number of the organization that had matched him and Sergeant Jackson. I tried not to bring projects to Sophie too often, not wanting to take advantage. Or saving my markers for when it counted maybe.
When he’d tapped the info into my phone, Mindy had looked at the two of us like her heart was growing bigger in her chest in that very moment.
Well, dogs did know the way to one’s heart.
“Anyway,” said Sophie, “we need to make sure that Sergeant Jackson and his new family come to the fundraiser. I hope everyone will be as excited about it as I am.”
“I can’t see how they won’t,” I said. “You specialize in getting people excited about something, right? Especially about opening their wallets.”
“Well, I don’t take on a cause unless I believe in it,” she protested.
I raised my hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it. Only good. This is a good reason to open your wallet.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said.
Ryan sunk onto the battered sofa and patted the cushion beside him. “Come and get off your feet, Sophie.”
But my sister was, appropriately, like a terrier following a scent. And she was studying me. “Since we have a minute, I’ll tell you what other cause is on my radar.”
“Look out,” murmured Ryan.
Now I was worried.
Sophie rubbed her palms together. “Let’s talk about my idea for you, dear brother.”
“Me?” I pointed at my chest, as if she could mean anyone else.
“Yes. I know I’m not a detective, but I can put two and two together,” she said.
Ryan chuckled. “Yeah, because the clues are pretty obvious.”
I furrowed my brow. “What are you talking about?”
With a tsk, she pursed her lips like I was the one being stubborn. “As if you don’t know.”
I glanced at Ryan, who gave me no help, then back at my sister. “I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She parked a hand on her hip, which was amusing, given the size of her, but I didn’t dare laugh. “That whole ‘Mindy and the dog’ story.” She took a beat, her gaze locking firmly on me. “John Henry Winston. I’m talking about you and Mindy.”
“What about Mindy and me?” I asked in my most neutral voice. It came easily, since I used it all the time at work.
And other times too.
At work, the mask was a tool. A way to stay in control of an interview or interrogation. Even a confrontation.
Outside of work, it was habit—or it had been until Mindy, when it had become more like camouflage.
And I had no idea whether Mindy could see through it or not. Sometimes I thought so, that she glimpsed something of the tangled emotions she evoked in me, the rare moment of indecision. And sometimes I wondered if she only saw the workaholic, single-minded detective. She wouldn’t be entirely wrong on that count.
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m eight months pregnant and that gives me permission to say anything I want. Wait—actually, I would tell you this even if I wasn’t pregnant.” She wagged a finger under my nose. “You need to do something about all that chemistry between you two.”
“The what?”
“I was dead sure at our wedding that the two of you were finally going to take care of business.” She shook her head. “But all these months later, you two are still throwing off sparks.”
“You kind of do, man,” Ryan chimed in.
I shook my head in denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re mistaking camaraderie for chemistry.”
That was such a lie. I’d felt sparks from the second I met Mindy a year ago at Sophie and Ryan’s engagement party at New York–New York.
Her eyes had drawn me in, but so had her spitfire personality. She’d been bold and friendly, not waiting for an introduction before launching into a proposition. I’d been in the thick of the Thomas Paige investigation, and she’d offered to help in any way she could.
That case was exactly why I’d had to tamp down the instant attraction I felt for her. I wasn’t going to risk compromising one of the most important cases I’d ever worked on. Not with a distraction or anything else.
Hell, all active cases were the most important, taking priority over home, hobbies, and especially relationships.
So I’d shoved that lust for Mindy into a box and set it aside.
But desire was desire, and sometimes it was a force of its own. Like the time it had cropped up again at Sophie’s wedding and I’d wanted so damn badly to ask her out for drinks.
No, that wasn’t honest. I’d wanted so damn badly to kiss her, to wrap her hair around my hand and not let her go until her knees wobbled. Asking her out for drinks would have been a first step.
But I hadn’t. What had come out was “coffee,” like my tongue thought it knew better than the rest of me.
Ah, one of my life’s regrets.
Heavy footsteps came down the hall from the back of the building, and a man poked his head into the front office. “Sorry to keep you waiting. When I get Army brass on the phone, I have to get through all my talking points before I hang up, because it may be a while before I can manage such a feat again.”
“I understand,” Sophie said graciously. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with us.”
“Not at all. It’s you who’s doing us the favor, Mrs. Sloan.” He looked from her to Ryan—who’d stood up—to me, and Sophie introduced us.
“Randall Parks,” the man said, with a firm handshake and good eye contact. “So . . . you want to go back and meet some of the dogs?”
“Absolutely!” Her answer was instantaneous. Proof that dog people can recognize one another, obviously.
Parks led the way, and Ryan followed along with Sophie. But my sister stopped at the door, turning and stopping me with a hand on my chest. “You’re off the hook for now, brother mine,” she said breezily. “Because . . . dogs. But I’ll just say this—life is short, as you know. Maybe just . . . go for it.”
Ryan had paused to wait for her, so she hurried to catch up with him, leaving me to bring up the rear.
It allowed me to think without my sister’s eagle eye watching my expression for any clue as to what I was thinking or feeling. But if she could figure that out, she’d be ahead of me.
So my thoughts went to what was in front of me. The narrow warehouse space was ample for the dogs here—and ample enough to demonstrate that an apartment would be a terrible fit, no pun intended, for an animal used to productive activity. Some kept playing, a few came to check us out, and a few hung out, content where they were. But they all reminded me of kids let out of class for recess.
These dogs needed a whole lot more.
More than a handler or a partner. They needed a home. A family. I’d had partners and colleagues. I had Sophie and now the Sloans. But it wasn’t quite the same thing as the safe landing spot of someone who could welcome you into their arms and vice versa.
I was a long way from retiring, and I hoped that it wouldn’t be forced on me by some circumstance. But when I looked at these hardworking dogs enjoying their downtime, I understood where their joy came from. It wasn’t just because they were off duty, or off the leash, or free to roam. It was because they weren’t alone.
For so long, the Sloan case had dominated my waking hours, been my constant companion. When it wrapped, my off-duty hours seemed lonely. My condo felt vacant. But then there wa
s Mindy, making inroads into my downtime and sliding into my thoughts.
In the past year, I’d realized that work occupied space but didn’t fill up a life.
It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce that a romance with Mindy would be incredible. But the next big case would come along and push out everything else. I’d been there before. I didn’t want Mindy to get frustrated and resentful and storm out of my life completely, didn’t want her to think I didn’t care about her.
But could I play it safe and stay alone forever? Maybe Sophie was right that it was time to take a chance.
I had to think about what mattered most later.
At the moment, it was time to focus on one particular mission: saving Sophie and Ryan from themselves.
Because they were both telling Randall they wanted to take home Ajax the beagle, Radar the Malinois, and Holmes the shepherd.
“Just one, guys,” I said, stepping in. “Just one.”
6
Mindy
I stared at Jensen, my boss, such that he was.
Emphasis on “was.”
He’d already turned to face his computer, clicking fast, like he was ticking boxes on a form inquiring about his hobbies:
✔️ Be an entitled asshole at the breakfast buffet.
✔️ Misappropriate security cameras to scope out attractive women losing money and feeling vulnerable.
✔️ Ruin someone’s life.
“You’re firing me?” He hadn’t been ambiguous about it, but I still needed to make sure this wasn’t a nightmare.
“No,” said Jensen, with a bark and an eye roll. “As a contractor, you were never technically hired. Ergo, you can’t be fired.”
What kind of douchebag says “ergo” when they’re giving someone the ax?
All right, that shouldn’t have been a surprise. If asked that question ten minutes ago, I would have pointed at Jensen for my answer. That kind of douchebag.
But the firing—excuse me, the termination of my contract—came out of the blue. Sure, things had been stressful lately, with bad hours and unreasonable demands, but I’d just thought that was Jensen being Jensen.
My Sinful Temptation: A novella in the Sinful Men series Page 3