Bev slumped against the cement wall, a thirty-pound bag of dog food at her feet. Could a week of the most amazing lovemaking of her life atone for the fact that in two days she was going to have to take her animals to the shelter? This should have been the best days of her life, being adored and supported by Mack, both emotionally and physically. They hadn't talked about love again, but had lived in the present. Enjoying each other, during the small time they had together between his long hours at work and her two jobs.

She was hopelessly in love with Mack now, her heart fully in his hands. They both knew it, but neither had brought it up. At some point, something had to happen.

Bev looked around the shelter, at the gray cement walls she loved. There were only two days left, and Jez still hadn't called, even though she'd left an amazing business plan with Jez's husband. She and Mack had each tried to call her and left messages, but she hadn't called back. The message was clear. They were out of options.

The animals were back in their pens, Mack's house still a complete disaster from the invasion. He'd hired an entire cleaning staff to tackle it, but it was hopeless. Stains on the carpets, chewed antiques and total destruction of his flowerbeds. And the cats had shredded some of his couches. The place would have to be completely overhauled.

And Mack didn't even care. The man was genuinely more focused on her animals than the state of his property. Though his house oozed wealth, obviously it was a place where children would be permitted to be themselves.

Children. She was thinking about children with him now. Was she an utter fool? She wished she knew.

"Bev? Are you here?" Mack's voice echoed around a corner.

She grinned, her heart lifting at his unexpected visit. "Aisle three."

Janey ran around the corner, leaping into Bev's outstretched arms. She hoisted the dog onto her left hip so she could embrace Mack with her other arm. "Mack!"

He rounded the corner, looking sleek and sophisticated in his navy suit. She took a step toward him, desperate for a hug. As horrible as her battle was, at least she didn't have to face it alone. She had found homes for many of her animals, so she was down to twenty dogs and five cats, but she'd turned away countless others, knowing where their owners were taking them instead. It was horrible.

Her elation faded away and she stopped, as the short beastly man of her nightmares appeared behind Mack. Mack grimaced, mouthing an apology before he spoke aloud. "Bev, you remember Whittle?"

Tension sprung into her shoulders. The nasty little bald man was standing next to Mack, his chest puffed out with smug pride. She nodded, not trusting herself to be polite if she opened her mouth.

A man in gray overalls and a canvas jacket stood next to them, a metal toolbox dangling from his right hand.

Mack had a pained look on his face. "We're here for the pre-closing inspection."

Her gut clenched. It was too soon. "Oh."

"Care to join us?" Whittle's voice dripped with sarcasm.

She narrowed her eyes at Whittle. "No. Want a cocker spaniel? I have just the one for you."

"No. Let's go, Spenser. Better call your dog."

Janey was still snuggled in Bev's arms, so Whittle's intended insult was obvious. How could Mack live with himself, having to kowtow to a man like Whittle? She knew the death of his sister was too powerful for her to comprehend, but Mack was such a good person, too good for what he was being asked to do.

Mack met her gaze, and she knew then how much he hated Whittle. She shook her head slightly, trying to let him know it was okay. She knew he couldn't defend her in front of Whittle, and she understood.

"Spenser! I thought you liked your dog. Better save the mangy thing from her." Whittle was grinning, his lips stretched thin over his yellowed teeth as he relished in the moment.

"My dog is just fine where she is." Mack's voice was low, but unyielding and cold, drawing a lump to her throat. He'd defended her.

Whittle snapped his head toward Mack, glaring at him. Mack said nothing, meeting his gaze with cold eyes. Tension crackled in the air, and neither man spoke. Then Whittle turned to the inspector. "Well, lead on young man. We don't have all day."

The inspector nodded and walked past Bev, followed by Whittle. Mack touched her shoulder. "I’m sorry," he whispered.

She shook her head. "Your job matters to you. I understand."

"There are limits. I'll call you later." And then he was gone, Janey jumping down to run after him.

Bev hugged herself, wishing she could be like Janey and chase Mack down. But she couldn't. Not now. Today, his job stood between them. Would it always?

* * *

Three hours later, Mack was leaning against a dusty cement wall contemplating what it would be like to tell Whittle what he actually thought of him. The man disgusted him more with every minute Mack spent in his presence, and a three-hour inspection wasn't helping his mood. They'd hit every corner of the place, Whittle determined to find something amiss he could blame Bev for. Water damage from the flood was visible, but it wasn't enough to stop the sale of the property or even affect the price, especially given that Whittle was going to level the building.

He detested the man, and was beginning to detest his job. At least for today. When this shelter business was over, he'd find his way back to his old self, relishing his work. Though he wasn't certain about the long hours anymore, not when he could be spending time with Bev instead of haggling over millions at midnight. Something he was going to have to think about.

"Hey, there's some new pipe here. What's that about?" The inspector looked up at Whittle, who shrugged his shoulders and looked at Mack.

"Broken water pipe a week ago," Mack said. "It's been fixed."

"Someone had a heck of a time busting it." The inspector eyed Whittle. "A little scam to get down the price of the property, huh? Water damage can be a significant issue."

Whittle narrowed his beady little eyes. "What are you talking about? Are you accusing me of intentionally flooding this building?"

"Someone did. These marks in the pipe aren't from one of those dogs sharpening their teeth, that's for sure."

Mack pushed himself off the wall. "What marks?"

The inspector pointed to some shiny crevices in the old section of the pipe. "Looks like someone tried to break through this part with an axe or something. Probably got through further down, where the new pipe is."

Mack ran his fingers over the marks, feeling the sharp edges and indentations in the metal from the blows.

"That little wench! I'm going to have her arrested!" Whittle smacked Mack in the chest. "This is your fault, and you better fix it! I want twenty percent shaved off the price, or I'm pressing charges against her and the sellers."

Mack stood up and faced Whittle. "Bev didn't do it."

Whittle's beady eyes snapped. "How do you know? Did you do it for her?"

"Of course not." He stared down at the man, his face cold. "Bev didn't do it. Don't even try to start something against her."

Whittle narrowed his eyes. "Whose side are you on, my boy? It's either her or me."

"Just don't start."

"And what if I do?"

Mack bunched his fists, cursing his choices, the same choice he'd been faced with again and again since he'd met Bev. He was damn tired of that choice.