Pet? Scrambling for a reply, Sam looked over to where Kenyon had been sitting. There was nothing left but a few dog hairs.
Sam cleared his throat. “Fido’s shy of people. Some wolf blood, you know.”
Her expression said she didn’t believe any of that. “He’s a marshmallow. I can’t believe you didn’t mention him before this. Why keep him a secret?”
Sam grunted, knowing he was going to lose if he kept talking. He was the guy who hit things, not the one who provided plausible deniability for werewolves. And something about that fluffy robe was shredding his thought processes. “I’ve got to go catch him.”
“Yeah, there are too many gun-happy guards around.” She blinked, her eyes shadowed with fatigue.
“Are you going to get any sleep tonight?”
“I keep trying.”
Sam would have liked to personally tuck her in. Maybe she’d stay put this time. Maybe he’d stay there to make sure she stayed put. Yeah, what was that saying about foxes and henhouses?
He had a wolf to catch. “Good night, Chloe.”
Her lips curved in a tired smile. “Good night, Sam.”
He opened his mouth to keep talking, but she turned away before he could think of anything else to say. Just as well. He wanted a few seconds more, but then it would be a few seconds after that, and so on until sunrise.
She turned back, her expression oddly naked. “Are you going to guard my door?”
“Absolutely. Personally.”
Her head drooped, not quite a nod. “Thank you.”
To his regret and relief, she closed the bedroom door, and the moment passed.
Sam slowly turned to see Kenyon’s human shape lurking in the shadows. He’d pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie.
Sam stalked over to him. “What happened?”
Kenyon snorted with disgust. “I heard Chloe moving around and tried to get out of sight before she opened the door. But she saw me. Then she chased me.”
Despite himself, Sam chuckled. “She chased you?”
Kenyon gave a lopsided smile. “What’s the point of being a monster unless you can have fun with it?”
Good question. He wouldn’t have minded a show of feminine gratitude. After all, the vampires on TV got the beautiful blondes. Not that Sam watched, of course. He yanked his mind back to business. “We’ve got to call Winspear.”
Kenyon ran a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers caught in clumps of hairspray. “He won’t have done the autopsy yet.”
Sam recoiled from the image of Jack lying on a cold metal table. That was just so wrong. “Then the doctor had better get busy because I have another customer. I found the thief’s getaway car, plus the driver. He was one of the security guards, shot in the head.”
Kenyon’s eyes widened. “Where? I lost the trail at the edge of the garden.”
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