had been watching him through the trees. The poor thing wore no collar and needed a good brushing to clean the twigs and cockleburs from his dark gold fur. Feeling a tug of remembrance for the dogs his family had always had growing up, Trent held out his hand in a fist, encouraging the dog to get familiar with his scent. “You’ve been out here awhile, haven’t you, little guy?”
Of course, standing six foot five made most critters like this seem little, and once the dog stopped his manic movements and focused on the scent of his gloved hand, Trent knelt to erase some of the towering distance between them and make himself look a little less intimidating. When he opened his hand, the dog inspected the palm side, too, no doubt looking for food, judging by the bumpy lines of his rib cage visible on either side of his skinny flanks. The stray wanted to be friendly, but when Trent reached out to pet him, the dog jumped away, diving through a snowdrift. But as if deciding the big, scary man who had no food on him was more inviting than the chest-deep cold and wet, he came charging back to the sidewalk, shaking the snow off his skinny frame before sitting down and staring up at Trent.
“What are you saying to me?” Trent laughed again when the dog tilted his head to one side, as though making an effort to understand him. “I’m Trent Dixon, KCPD. I’d like to ask you a few questions.” The more he talked, the more the dog seemed to quiet. He thumbed over his shoulder toward the auditorium. “You know what happened here? Have you seen a curvy brunette and a little boy about yea high?” When he raised his hand to gesture to Tyler’s height, the dog’s dark brown eyes followed the movement. Interesting. Maybe he’d had a little training before running away or getting tossed out onto the street. Or maybe the dog was just smart enough to know where a friendly snack usually came from. “Your feet aren’t big enough to make those tracks on the other side of the bridge. And I’m guessing you spend a lot of time around here. What do you know that I don’t?”
The dog scooted forward a couple inches and butted his nose against Trent’s knee. When he got up close like that, Trent could see that the dog was shivering. With his stomach doing a compassionate flip-flop, he decided there was only one thing he could do. Katie Rinaldi might not need rescuing tonight, but this knee-high bag of bones did.
“Easy, boy. That’s it. I’m your big buddy now.” Extending one hand for the dog to sniff, Trent petted him around the jowls and ears with the other. When the dog started licking his glove, desperate for something to eat, he grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. Other than jumping to his feet, the dog showed no signs of fear or aggression. Maybe the mutt had made friends with enough college students that he didn’t view people as a threat.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you in,” Trent teased, standing and lifting the dog into his arms. Craving either warmth or companionship, the dog snuggled in, resting his head over Trent’s arm and letting himself be carried up the hill to Trent’s truck. “I’ll get you warmed up and get some food in you. Maybe you’ll be willing to tell me what you saw or heard then.”
The dog was perfectly cooperative as Trent loaded him into the cab of his truck and pulled an old blanket and an energy bar from his emergency kit behind the seat. “It’s mostly granola and peanut butter but...okay.”
Taking the bar as soon as it was offered, the dog made quick work of the protein snack. “Tomorrow I’ll get you to the vet for a checkup and have her scan to see if there’s an ID chip in you.” He got a whiff of the dog’s wet, matted fur when he leaned over to wrap the blanket around him. “Maybe they can give you a bath, too.”
Trent shook his head as the dog settled into the passenger seat, making himself at home. “This is temporary, you know,” Trent reminded him, starting the engine and cranking up the heat. “I’m a cop, remember? I’ll have to report you.”
Stinky McPooch raised his head and looked at Trent, as though translating the conversation into dogspeak. His pink tongue darted out to lick his nose and muzzle and he whined a response that sounded a little like a protest.
“Don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of this. You owe me some answers. So what’s your story? No warm place for the night? Anybody looking for you?” The dog tilted his head and an ear flopped over, giving his face a sad expression. Trent turned on the wipers and shifted the truck into gear before driving toward the street. “Sorry to hear that. I’m a bachelor on my own, too. You can call me Trent or Detective. What should I call you?” When he stopped at the exit to the parking lot, Trent reached over the console to pet him. Pushing his head into the caress of Trent’s hand, the dog whimpered in a doggy version of a purr. “All right, then, Mr. Pup.” He pulled onto the street. There wasn’t much traffic this time of night, so it was safe enough to take his eyes off the road to glance at his furry prisoner. “Did you see anything suspicious at the theater tonight?”
The dog barked, right on cue.
When Trent moved both hands to the steering wheel, the mutt put a paw on his arm, whimpering again. Trent grinned and scratched behind the mutt’s ears, loving how the dog was engaging in the conversation with him. “Tell me more. I like a witness who talks to me. I think you and I are going to get along.”
His interrogation skills were intact.
Now if he could just get a certain brunette to tell him what the hell had panicked her tonight.
Trent was a man on a mission when he stepped into his boss’s office at the Fourth Precinct building. Lieutenant Ginny Rafferty-Taylor was out somewhere, but he’d spotted Katie going in earlier and wanted a few minutes of face-to-face time with her before the morning staff meeting started.
Instead of asking a pointed question about last night’s phone call, however, he paused, unobserved, in the doorway as she dropped to the floor.
“Where did I put that stupid pencil?”
He did a poor job of keeping his eyes off the bobbing heart-shaped curves of Katie Rinaldi’s backside as she crawled beneath the conference table in search of the accursed writing instrument. Thank goodness Lieutenant Rafferty-Taylor was nowhere to be seen, because he was failing miserably at professional detachment. He stood there like a man, not a cop, admiring the view, savoring the stronger beat of his pulse until Katie’s navy blue slacks and the mismatched socks on her feet disappeared between two chairs.
With temptation out of sight, Trent’s brain reengaged and he swallowed a drink of his coffee. The hot liquid burned a little more common sense down his throat, reminding him that he was at work, the fellow members of KCPD’s cold case squad were gathering in the main room outside with their morning coffee and case files, and Katie had made it clear that—no matter how she twisted up his insides with this gut kick of desire—she only wanted to be friends.
I love you, Trent. I always will. But I’m not in love with you.
Man, had that been a painful distinction to make.
He’d felt an undeniable pull to this woman since he was fifteen years old and she’d moved in with her aunt across the street from the home where he’d grown up. Although he’d been a jock and she’d been into the arts, proximity and a whole yin and yang thing of opposites attracting had played hell with his teenage libido. When she’d gotten pregnant their senior year, his idealistic notions about the dark-haired beauty had dimmed. But when she disappeared, and he’d played a small role in helping her get safely home, an indelible bond had been forged between them, deeper than anything raging teenage hormones could account for.
After her return,
