Dangerous to Touch Read online

  “Do you have something more pressing to take care of?” he interrupted.

  “It will only take a few minutes,” Lacy said with a reassuring smile, probably because he was being rude. “A woman is missing. Anything you could tell us would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Of course,” she said, resigned.

  Marc’s curiosity was piqued further. Most people couldn’t wait to share everything they knew, to contribute, to feel important. Most innocent people, anyway.

  He followed Lacy and the mysterious Miss Morrow, employing the age-old “ladies first” excuse men used to ogle women behind their backs. There was nothing boyish about the way she filled out her jeans, he noted.

  As he and Lacy took seats opposite her at the table in the interrogation room, it occurred to him that there was another reason women opted to downplay their femininity, one that had nothing to do with men. His partner, Meredith Lacy, was living proof of that.

  He gave himself an illicit thrill, wondering if she was Lacy’s type. “Where did you find the dog?” he asked, dragging his mind out of the gutter.

  When she met his eyes, her own darkened slightly, an almost imperceptible expansion of pupils signaling her awareness of him as a man.

  Not indifferent to the opposite sex, he decided. Too bad, Lacy.

  “He was outside the fence this morning,” she said, staring down at her gloved hands. “At Pacific Pet Hotel.”

  A kennel worker, he thought with mild distaste. “You’re an employee?”

  “I own it.”

  He raised his eyebrows. She didn’t look old enough to own a business. “How’d you get him in that dog carrier?”

  “I offered him some food and water. He wasn’t interested, but he seemed to trust me after that. Enough to go in the carrier, anyway.”

  “Did he bite you?”

  She followed his gaze to her left hand. Under the latex, in the middle of her palm, there was a bandage. “No. He had glass in his fur. And quite a few burrs and foxtails.”

  “Did you take them out? Clean him up?”

  “No. I just reached down to pet him and…the glass cut into my hand.”

  Marc read a lot into that short pause. She wasn’t telling the whole story. “Anything else we need to know?”

  “I think he’d traveled for miles,” she hedged. “He was panting, and his feet were wet. Smelly wet, like river. The San Luis Rey is nearby.”

  He’d never before felt as though a person were lying and telling the truth at the same time. He leaned back in his chair, paradoxically pleased. It wasn’t every day that plausible suspects walked in off the street.

  “Would you like some water?” Detective Lacy asked after an uncomfortable silence. “A soda?”

  “No, thanks,” Sidney said, tucking her gloved hands under the table, annoyed with Lieutenant Cruz for scrutinizing her so blatantly. He was one of those effortlessly handsome men who made her feel sloppy, awkward and unkempt.

  He was taller than she was, and his clothes fit him perfectly, hinting at a nicely formed physique. Even motionless, he managed to convey grace and power. His features were well-arranged but unyielding, showing no trace of softness or compassion. He might have appeared cold if not for his coloring. His skin was dark, his hair a rich, warm brown and his eyes a shade lighter, like smooth Kentucky whiskey or strong iced tea.

  With brown hair, skin and eyes, and a tobacco-brown suit, he should have looked average, even drab. He didn’t. There was an elusive quality about him that probably intrigued women, a dangerous edge that excited them, and an overall appeal she couldn’t describe but responded to nevertheless. He was also quite young, in his early thirties at the most, although he appeared worldly rather than naive.

  Staring back at him, Sidney was uncomfortably aware of how long it had been since she’d hazarded the perils of a man’s touch.

  Lieutenant Cruz must have decided the interview was over, because he stood abruptly. Lacy followed suit, so Sidney rose to her feet as well.

  “If you think of anything else,” he said, holding out a card with his name and number on it, “feel free to call.”

  She took it from him gingerly, not allowing his fingers to brush over hers, and shoved it in her pocket. “What are you going to do with him?”

  “The dog? Process him for trace.”

  “And then?”

  He shrugged. “Turn him over to the pound, unless his owner or another family member comes to claim him.”

  “If they don’t, will you call me?” Sidney posed this question to Detective Lacy, deciding she was the more amenable officer. “I’d hate to see him put down.” Large, mean-looking dogs were rarely placed in good homes.

  “Absolutely,” she promised as they walked out together.

  “Is Gina working today?” Lieutenant Cruz asked Detective Lacy.

  “Yep.”

  “Why don’t you go sweet-talk her into meeting us over there?”

  “You don’t want help with the dog?” she asked with a slight smile.

  “Why would I?” he returned.

  “Whatever you say, Marcos,” she said, punching him lightly on the shoulder before she ambled away. Sidney watched her go, feeling a spark of envy for the basic human ability to touch another person in kindness, humor or affection.

  Detective Lacy’s tone was teasing, but something about what she said bothered him. “Marcos? Is that your real name?”

  “Just Marc,” he replied as he held open the door for her. Ever-cognizant of his proximity, she moved by him carefully, resisting the urge to tell him to call her by her first name, as well. She didn’t want to remind him of her embarrassing refusal to shake his hand upon their initial introduction.

  As they approached the back of her truck, he didn’t make direct eye contact with the dog or do anything else cornered animals considered threatening, but Blue let out a series of rapid barks, gnashing at the grate.

  Lieutenant Cruz didn’t even flinch. “Friendly, isn’t he?”

  She smiled at his dry humor. “Don’t you like dogs?”

  “They don’t like me,” he corrected.

  When she laughed, he turned his head to study her face. He was attracted to her, she realized in a flash of intuition that was more feminine than supernatural. Something must be wrong with him. Men were always put off by her aversion to physical contact.

  “As much as I’d like to wrestle him out of there and into my own vehicle-” he gestured to a champagne-colored Audi with all-leather interior “-I think he’s more comfortable with you. If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” she said. “Where to?”

  “Vincent Veterinary Clinic. You can follow me.”

  “I know where it is,” she said, finding the situation highly ironic.

  She was accompanying Lieutenant Cruz, the first man she wanted to touch her in ages, to see Dr. Vincent, the last man who had.

  Chapter 2

  Vincent Veterinary Clinic was less than a mile from Pacific Pet Hotel. Sidney often took dogs and cats there if they became sick while boarding. In turn, Dr. Vincent recommended her facility to clients, so the business relationship between them was mutually beneficial.

  If only the personal relationship had been.

  Lieutenant Cruz and Detective Lacy met her there, along with another young woman in a white van that said LabTech on the side. While Lacy helped her unload some kind of specialized equipment, Sidney studied the easy interactions between the two women.

  Detective Lacy was petite and compact, with shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose. The lab tech was taller, but curvy. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail and her uniform neatly pressed.

  Both of them were pretty, smart-looking and confident. Sidney didn’t need to glance in her rearview mirror to know that she didn’t match up.

  She got out of her dusty pickup, a flustered breath ruffling her bangs, and climbed into the back to get Blue. Lieutenant Cruz watch
ed her from a safe distance, and the dog came out readily, allowing her to slip a nylon leash over his head. When he saw Lieutenant Cruz, he growled.

  “Easy, Blue,” she chided, hopping off the tailgate.

  “How did you know his name?” he asked.

  Sidney fumbled for an explanation. “I must have heard it on the news.”

  His gaze caressed her face, reading the lie more easily than she’d told it.

  “Sidney!” Bill exclaimed from the open doorway, saving her from any more awkward questions. “What are you doing here?”

  Bill Vincent was tall and handsome, about ten years older than Sidney, with thinning blond hair and a whipcord build he kept in shape by bicycling on the weekends. He looked casual in a short-sleeved shirt and tan slacks, and he smiled, as if pleased to see her.

  Blue lunged at him, barking.

  “Whoa,” he said with a jittery laugh. “You’ve got a live one there.”

  “Hush,” Sidney ordered.

  Blue sat.

  “We’ll have to sedate him,” Bill remarked to Lieutenant Cruz. Because no introductions were made, Sidney surmised that the two men were already acquainted. Judging by the way they were staring each other down, they weren’t friendly.

  Sidney was surprised. Bill was an easygoing, sociable kind of guy, especially with people he considered influential. He went out of his way to ingratiate himself to others.

  “I’d like to get a blood sample first,” Lieutenant Cruz said. “In case he’s already been drugged.”

  Bill’s lips thinned. “Are you volunteering to hold him for me, Lieutenant?”

  “I’ll hold him,” Sidney offered, knowing it was the only way to get the job done. “He was acting sluggish when I first found him.”

  “Sluggish?” Bill eyed the dog warily. “He’s certainly up and at ’em right now.” Seeing the stubborn tilt of her chin, he said, “Come on in,” making a show of checking the time on his watch. Either he billed the police department for emergency hours, or he was implying that he had better things to do.

  “I’m Gina, by the way,” the lab tech offered.

  “Sidney,” she replied, using Blue as a convenient excuse not to offer her hand. Bending down beside him, she hooked her left arm around his neck, securing his head against her chest. With her right thumb, she held off the vein in his forearm. It was the basic position for drawing blood, and she had a good grip on him, but as soon as Bill came close, the dog exploded.

  “That’s it,” he said, backing away. “I’d like to keep my face intact, if you don’t mind.”

  Sidney fought the urge to smile. Bill’s face was a matter of great importance to him.

  “Let Gina try,” Lacy suggested. “The dog doesn’t seem to like men.”

  Bill handed off the syringe. “It’s your funeral.”

  “He won’t bite you,” Sidney said to Gina reassuringly.

  “How do you know?”

  “She just does,” Bill said, rolling his eyes heavenward. “She always does.”

  Sidney ignored him in favor of rearranging her hold on Blue, murmuring words to comfort him. When Gina kneeled to get the sample, he was docile as a lamb.

  “Good dog,” she praised, patting him on the head.

  Gina gave the dog his sedative as well, a quick injection to the flank. Blue tensed at the sharp sting, but took the pain with neither a whimper nor complaint. In moments, he was weaving on his feet. Soon, he laid his head down and slept.

  “That went well,” Gina said, smiling at her.

  When Sidney smiled back, Lacy stepped between them.

  “Thanks for the help,” she said, indicating her presence was no longer necessary.

  Feeling rebuffed, Sidney glanced at Lieutenant Cruz. Again, he was watching her. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to follow you. To check out…your place.”

  “Okay,” she mumbled, unable to think of a reason to refuse.

  “Doing investigative work now, Sidney?” Bill asked, looking back and forth between them. “What an accommodating little citizen you’ve become.”

  Sidney felt the blood drain from her face.

  Lieutenant Cruz noted the exchange with interest. “If not for her, I doubt we’d have been able to get near that dog,” he defended.

  Bill didn’t care for the mild reprimand, or the reminder that he’d been intimidated by Blue. “I’ll call you later,” he said to Sidney, as if they were still involved. She would have laughed at his ridiculous posturing if the situation weren’t so tense.

  “Ladies,” Lieutenant Cruz said, leaving Detective Lacy and Gina to their work. He didn’t bother to say goodbye to Bill, but neither did Sidney.

  “You dated that guy?” he asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

  “Is that pertinent to the case, Lieutenant?”

  “Marc. And probably not.”

  Annoyed with all men in general, she turned to glare at him. Then she sucked in a breath, because he was standing very close.

  His eyes trailed down her body. “Did he hurt you?”

  She pressed her back against the side of her truck, anxious to put space between them. “No. I was like this before.”

  He must have accepted her answer, because he stepped back. “Meet you over there,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

  Pacific Pet Hotel was a small white stucco building on Oceanside Boulevard, in an industrial area populated with offices, warehouses and construction supply companies. It was a convenient location for dropping the pooch off on the way to work, or while heading out of town.

  Marc let Sidney attend her duties while he cased the perimeter of the building. Other than a few glass shards, and the stainless steel bowls she’d used to offer the dog food, he didn’t find anything noteworthy.

  Standing on the blacktop parking lot with the hot sun beating down on his head, staring out at the desolate landscape, he began to sweat. He’d already discarded his jacket and loosened his tie. Beads of perspiration dried on the back of his neck before they could trickle.

  Studying the area, he analyzed her description of the dog’s physical condition. His paws were wet, she’d said. The San Luis Rey River was at least a mile to the north, through a thicket of weeds, sagebrush and eucalyptus trees.

  Wet paws after that journey? Not bloody likely.

  Another detail of her account bothered him. He knew damned well she hadn’t heard the dog’s name on the news. He’d watched the only televised segment himself, with his usual disdain for Crystal Dunn’s salacious reporting style. Crystal would sell her soul for a story, and she wasn’t above making one up, so it wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d let the dog’s name slip. But she hadn’t. He was sure of it.

  Whistling a vague tune, he wandered out back to see what the strangely sexy Miss Morrow was up to.

  She was hosing down outdoor kennels. Dogs of various breeds and sizes were barking happily, pacing in runs, leaping up and down, or putting their faces in full bowls of food or water. Her short black hair clung to her forehead, and a damp spot was visible between her shoulder blades. This was not a woman afraid of hard work, he thought with reluctant admiration.

  Definitely not his type.

  Neither did she seem a likely murder suspect. As she worked, she chatted with the dogs around her, taking the time to give each one a piece of her undivided attention. She was unusual, no doubt about that, but she was also kind.

  The kennel area was small, well-maintained and clean. The dogs didn’t appear to be wasting away or suffering unduly, not that he was any expert in the care of animals. When she turned to wheel a loaded cart of empty dishes back inside, she startled, noticed him standing there for the first time.

  The precariously loaded tray wobbled, and several stainless steel bowls came crashing down. As he bent to help her pick them up, his fingertips grazed across hers when they reached for the same bowl.

  She froze. Having taken off her gloves, for reasons unknown, the contact with her bare skin seem
ed to jolt her.

  To be honest, he wasn’t immune to it, either. The quick flash of heat, and matching spark in her eyes, made sensual awareness sizzle down his spine. Never had he experienced such a strong reaction to a fleeting, purely innocent touch.

  Maybe that was why she wore latex-the slightest brush against her flesh had the power to bring a man to his knees. He’d figured her for an extreme germaphobe, an obsessive-compulsive, or just a kooky, off-center chick.

  “Sorry,” he said, because she seemed affronted. She thought he’d done it on purpose, he realized. Straightening, he set the bowl atop the cart.

  Without a word, she pushed the cart into the back door of the facility and dumped the dishes into an industrial-size sink. Grabbing a pair of yellow rubber gloves from a drawer, she shoved her trembling hands into them and hit the faucet handle.

  “Do you know Candace Hegel?”

  “No,” she said, adding a stingy amount of dish soap to the rising water.

  “What about the dog? Did he come here for boarding?”

  “No.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I know my clients.”

  “You remember every dog who’s ever come in here?”

  “I’d remember that one,” she said, shutting off the faucet.

  He conceded her point. “The news report didn’t give his name.”

  She began scrubbing furiously, drawing his attention to the way her breasts moved beneath the soft cotton T-shirt. “That dog is a blue roan. It’s an obvious choice.”

  With some effort, he lifted his eyes to her face. “What’s a blue roan?”

  “The color of his coat. It’s like calling a black dog ‘Blackie.’ An easy guess.”

  Marc was annoyed with himself for asking an important question while he was distracted. He couldn’t tell if she was lying. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?” he asked, crowding her a little. Sure enough, that got her attention.

  “Back off,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

  He didn’t move. “I’d be a fool not to consider your behavior suspicious.”

  She was breathing heavily, from the exertion of her duties, which she performed with brisk efficiency, and the implied threat in his words. But what he saw in her smoky-gray eyes wasn’t just guilt or fear. It was desire.