For the Love of Nick. Jill Shalvis
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ache of her body, in her fuzzy—and quickly getting fuzzier—thoughts.
Don’t fall asleep, she told herself, though Sadie already had. Her deep, steady snores mocked Danielle’s exhaustion.
Counting didn’t help. Neither did thinking of the mess her life had become.
Nick. She’d think of Nick. He had a smile on him, a smile that went all the way to his eyes. Ted hadn’t smiled like that, as if he really meant it.
Why had she never noticed that before?
Nick had a voice on him, too, she was listening to it now as he talked to the officer. In her not-too-distant past, she might have fallen for a voice and a smile like his, but not now. Falling meant trusting, and she just didn’t have it in her to do that, not ever again.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispered to her sleeping dog. Somehow it would, and she curled up and closed her eyes.
SERGEANT ANDERSON EYED the photo studio reception area, his sharp eyes missing nothing, but thankfully, there was nothing to see.
Not out here anyway, Nick thought.
“You’re certain you don’t have anyone scheduled for today?” the officer asked yet again.
“As I mentioned, we’re closed,” Nick answered. “My sisters run the place, and they’re on vacation for several weeks yet.”
“You’re not a photographer?”
“I’m a journalist.”
“What if someone calls you, wants to book an appointment?”
“I’ll book it.”
Sergeant Anderson narrowed his eyes and watched him very carefully. “But you won’t be opening for business?”
Danielle, what have you done? “Have you ever tried getting good pictures of a baby? Or a high school grad student?” He shuddered. “Nightmare waiting to happen.”
Anderson slowly nodded, his gaze taking another slow tour of the place. “Yeah, I have one of those grad students. She’s into makeup, boys, looking at herself in the mirror, and more boys.”
“Exactly.”
“So anyone wanting their picture taken is going to get turned away?”
Nick didn’t look at the south wall, where at this very moment, on the other side, sat Danielle and her damn dog. If either of them made a noise, or so much as sneezed, they were all in very big trouble.
What the hell had gotten into him when he’d shoved her in there and had offered to help? Had he lost his mind?
Yes, he admitted. One look into her lovely but vulnerable eyes and he had indeed lost brain cells at an alarming rate.
And now, though it made no sense, he offered his first lie. “Turned away flat. So what’s this about, anyway?”
Anderson took one last look around. “I’m looking for a woman who’s going to want a professional photograph of a dog she’s stolen. There’s only two photograph studios in the immediate area, so…” He headed toward the door.
Nick walked him there, hoping that would be the end of it, but of course, nothing was ever simple.
Anderson had one last thing to say. “If a woman named Danielle Douglass comes in with a dog, here’s my card. Call me.”
Nick took the card, controlling his dread. “What will happen to her?”
“We’ll worry about that.”
After he’d shut the door, Nick leaned back against it and drew in a deep breath. At heart, he was a journalist. He hunted out stories and told the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth.
There was a story here, a big one, only he didn’t know the half of it.
He would though. He definitely would. Pushing away from the wall, he moved down the hallway, into the studio and opened the closet door.
He expected…well, he didn’t really know exactly what he expected, but it wasn’t the sight that greeted him.
Danielle had fallen asleep among a throng of stuffed animals his sisters used during photo shoots for kids.
But as the light fell on her, she sat straight up blinking sleepy eyes, looking dazed, rumpled and a little confused.
And sexy. Very sexy.
“Did you really fall asleep?” He refused to let his eyes soak in the very arousing sight of her lying stretched out over stuffed toys. She should have looked ridiculous, but instead, looked warm and…inviting, as though if he pressed in and joined her, she’d welcome him by leaning back and opening her arms. She’d wrap those bare arms and legs around him and—
“Was he looking for me?”
He looked into her eyes, the color of an approaching storm. “You know he was.”
With her hair falling over her shoulders, she set aside the stuffed teddy bear she’d been hugging. “I couldn’t hear what you were saying out there.”
“It’s hard to hear when you’re asleep.”
“I wasn’t.”
But she had been, and all he could think was, what kind of exhaustion could override being sought out by the police? “I think we should start at the beginning, Danielle.”
“The beginning?”
“Is Sadie that rare?”
She followed his finger to the blissfully sleeping Sadie. “Yes.”
“What makes her so?”
She stroked the dog. “She’s called a ‘typey’ dog.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, as I told you before, she shows all the characteristics of her breed to maximum effect. It’s her coloring, it’s as perfect as there’s been in a hundred years. Her marking, the black outlining, the stripes? It’s as the breed was originally intended. She wins shows on her appearance alone.”
“Lots of money involved with that winning?”
“No.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “Silly as it sounds to someone not in the business, it’s not about the money. It’s about prestige. Glory.”
“Ah.” Nick looked at Sadie and tried to imagine glory in running the dog around a ring filled with spectators and dog crap.
“Sadie has that prestige and glory, and she gives it to whoever has her.”
Nick rubbed his temples. “So what’s the story here? You haven’t murdered anyone, or physically hurt anyone. We got that far.”
Danielle climbed out of the closet. At the loss of her beloved master’s body heat, Sadie lifted her head, yawning so widely it seemed she could swallow a man’s head whole. Then, realizing she was alone in the closet, she scrambled to all fours, only to slip. Without breaking stride, she was up and trying again, her toenails scratching the floor as she clamored for purchase where there was none to be had.
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