she hadn’t invited him here at all, though she was glad to know that her patient had someone who cared about him. And presumably Uncle Sam would pay for his care.
But still…She asked the major coolly, “By the way, how did you get in here this morning?”
“The front door was unlocked. I didn’t see anyone, so I called out but I guess you didn’t hear me. Grunge did, and he barked, so I knew where to come.”
“I didn’t hear you or him,” Melanie said. Could she believe any of this? Well, she had been on the phone with Chief Ellenbogen. Maybe she had missed Grunge’s barking.
But wouldn’t the other dogs have barked, too? Plus, she had been nervous. Still was. Last night, she had been attuned to listening, after hearing the gunshot. And she was damn well certain she hadn’t left the front door unlocked. She had checked all the doors…hadn’t she?
Well, Chief Ellenbogen was on his way. Some of her staff was due any minute. She wouldn’t be alone with this man much longer. And despite how he had somehow gotten in, she didn’t think he meant her harm. While the police chief was here, she’d look at the doors and windows to see if he’d broken in. Where he’d broken in.
But this large, friendly-seeming military officer was drop-dead gorgeous. So sexy that her body was reacting to him even as they held a totally innocent, superficial conversation.
And that, as much as anything else, made her mistrust everything he said. She’d learned her lesson once and well.
She would never make that mistake again.
This was a mistake, Drew thought. Verbal sparring with this lovely lady vet might be damned fun, but it was much too dangerous.
He wasn’t fooling her. Not entirely, at least.
He inhaled slowly, discreetly, not for the first time, as he savored the rich yet soft floral scent of her.
The more he was with her, the more he thought of touching that smooth skin. Kissing her luscious, frowning mouth until she lost her perfect, and maddening, self-control.
But it was time to get down to business. The business of ensuring that his partner was well cared for. At the same time, maybe he could get Dr. Melanie Harding off her current train of thought—like, what the hell was this guy really doing here?
“Tell me how you found Grunge,” he said. “And I want to hear the extent of his injuries. He doesn’t look too bad. Can I assume he’s okay?”
She had the prettiest blue eyes—startlingly sexy, maybe because they were so unusual. They were as bright as the hyacinths that the newest recruits were assigned to tend this time of year around the lab building at the base. The fragrance of the spiky flowers was almost overwhelming at times—at least to those with a sensitive sense of smell.
This woman’s intriguing aroma was much lighter. She had full lips that glowed pink even though she wore no lipstick. A nose that was perhaps a little too long and narrow. Cheekbones that underscored those eyes.
But it was those eyes that defined her face. Expressive. Intelligent. Emphasized by narrow, arched brows a little darker than her sable-brown hair.
Projecting her obviously deep suspicions of everything he said.
And allowing him, now and then, to believe she was just a little turned on by him, too. Challenging him to stoke fires hidden deep inside.
Now, though, those eyes were bright yet cool, which caused him a pang of disappointment. “I’ll answer those questions one at a time.” She lifted her hands and began to tick answers off on fingers that were long and elegant, tipped in short nails appropriate for a woman who handled animals gently. “How did I find Grunge? I was heading for my home next door late last night and heard him whine.” He winced as she described the trail of blood that led to his dog—a trail he was much too familiar with. “He’d been shot—with a silver bullet, of all things. I take it you know of the stupid werewolf legends around here.”
“Sure do.” He forced himself to laugh and shake his head disparagingly. Oh, yes. He knew about the legends. Which was one reason exercises were always kept on or right around the base—to prevent situations like the one that occurred last night. But Grunge didn’t know about them or understand their implications. He had slipped out through a gate that had somehow been left open. So, therefore, had Drew.
“Anyway,” Melanie said, “Grunge will be fine, as long as there’s no infection. I want to keep him here till sometime later today, so I can be sure of his medications and keep an eye on him.” The look she regaled Drew with now was challenging, as if she expected him to give her a hard time about leaving Grunge.
He didn’t. “Fine,” he said. “Just let me know when I can come and get him, and I will. I expect you’ll tell me then about continued meds and follow-ups and all.” As if he wouldn’t know on his own…but, then, he was a medical doctor, not a vet—notwithstanding the highly classified experiments he was conducting at the base. And in any event, he would need to have details to ensure that he cared for Grunge properly.
“That’s right,” Melanie said.
Drew looked expectantly toward the door an instant before the knock sounded. He had heard signs of life in the reception area for the last five minutes or so, but the vet didn’t seem to notice. The sounds hadn’t been loud, so she might not have heard.
She glanced at him in puzzlement before turning toward the half open door. “Good morning, Carla,” she said to the young woman standing there.
“Good morning,” Carla repeated. “Hi, Drew,” she said in the flirtatiously melodic tone she always used with him and some of the other guys. Not that they ever encouraged her. At least he didn’t. “What are you doing here?”
“Long story,” Melanie Harding said abruptly before he could reply. “He’s just leaving, though.”
“Okay. I just got here, and I wanted you to know that Chief—”
“Hi, Dr. Harding,” said a gruff, older man’s voice from behind the receptionist. A too-familiar voice. It belonged to the local police chief, Angus Ellenbogen. “Good morning, Major Connell. And what brings you here?”
“A lot of people seem to want to know that,” he replied mildly. “My partner, Grunge, was injured last night, and Dr. Harding was kind enough to save him.”
“Really?” Carla squealed.
Ellenbogen squeezed into the room around her and edged her out, closing the door behind him. “Yeah. Seems he was shot with a silver bullet, right Dr. Harding?”
Angus Ellenbogen wore the standard gray local police uniform but his short-sleeved shirt was decorated with an assortment of bars and medals, as if he’d been a well-decorated military general. His hair was as light as his uniform. His wrinkled face gave him color, though—round and ruddy. His eyes were deep-set and worldly wise, as if he’d seen it all right here, in Mary Glen.
Drew suspected that maybe he had.
“I have the bullet in a plastic bag for you,” Melanie said. She had bent to stroke Grunge’s back. The dog looked ready to leap out of the crate, with all the new people around to check out. Melanie
