“Come on, sweetie. Come to Mac. I’ve got something good just for you.”
Macayla scuffled around on her knees and elbows in the sand as she maneuvered for a better view of the dog she’d been trying to coax out from under a row of hotel dumpsters for the past ten minutes.
Ordinarily, St. Petersburg Beach at sunrise was the last place Mac would be. She’d been roused out of bed an hour ago by a call from a security guard about a stray Pomeranian skulking around one of the beachside resort hotels. Luckily, the caller knew to contact the Pet Detective, as Mac had become known to the locals. One glimpse of the little dog and she knew she’d found Wookie, the Pom who’d disappeared during a vacationing family’s excursion to the beach three days earlier.
If a lost pet was found quickly enough, a friendly face and kind tone was often enough to lure him into the arms of even a stranger. However, after only a few days and nights on the streets, many pets became too afraid to approach anyone, sometimes even their owners. When dealing with a pet out of his element, there was always the possibility of being bitten or scratched. That’s why Mac wore long-sleeved shirts and her oldest pants on the job.
Ignoring the nearly overwhelming stench from the full garbage bins that had her breathing through her mouth, Mac bent down so that her cheek was almost touching the sand. All she could see of her canine suspect was a shiny black nose and two black marble eyes in a foxy face surrounded by a thick coat of reddish hair. His furry body, glimpsed when he dashed from under one dumpster to another, was matted with sand and seaweed, and something else suspiciously gooey. No doubt from the seepage collecting under the dumpsters.
Mac calculated her options. Wookie had ignored the dish of water she offered. The kind of squeaky toy that made most dogs delirious with joy lay untouched on the sand. Obviously, Mac had not offered the right bait. Or Wookie was too strung out by his ordeal to recognize a good deal when it was offered. Sometimes the more direct approach was needed.
Mac pulled kibble out of her pocket, then scooted her hand, holding three pieces of dog food, slowly toward the edge of the dumpster. Surreptitiously, she readied her animal control pole with the adjustable loop on one end. “Come on, Wookie. Your nice family is worried sick about you.”
Wookie growled as Mac slid her hand inch by inch nearer. Then he darted out and grabbed a bite, only to drop it and scurry backward to safety before Mac could slip the noose over his head.
“You little brat.” Mac collapsed belly-first in the sand, letting her frustration out in a huff.
Wookie, equally annoyed, banged around under the dumpster, barking frantically.
Great. Now she’d upset the poor little guy.
“Okay, okay. You calm down. I’ll calm down. Then we’ll think of something else.” Mac sat back on her haunches with a chuckle.
Poms were notoriously stubborn. She didn’t want her efforts to become a test of wills, or she might be here all day. Patience was the greatest virtue in her job.
Hoping for a breath of fresh salt air to cleanse her lungs, she glanced over her shoulder at the beach. Close in, cabana boys raked the sand and set up beach chairs for the hotel guests who would descend later in the day. Near the shoreline a few early risers were jogging or strolling along the wet packed sand. Above them a full moon in a fading night sky hovered just above the darker slate-blue water of the bay.
Swinging her head in the opposite direction, she saw that the rising sun had formed a golden aura behind the towers of the pink wedding cake structure better known as the Loews Don CeSar beach resort. It was going to be a nice day. But a low out in the Gulf promised rain later in the week.
Her attention came back to the dumpster just as the Pom darted out and grabbed the bite of food he’d dropped.
“So you are hungry.” As she reached for more kibble, her own stomach cramped in sympathy. She’d left home so quickly she hadn’t even stopped to grab coffee. Animals were notorious for disappearing before she reached a reported sighting location.
Remembering that she kept a protein bar in her pocket for just such emergencies, she pulled it out. Her mouth began to water even before she tore the corner of the wrapper.
A foxy face peeped out from under the dumpster. Shiny dark eyes watched attentively as she unwrapped the bar. Maybe Wookie had a thing for blueberry pomegranate acai bars.
Mac gazed at her snack. Should she sacrifice it? What if he licked it, got it full of sand, and then didn’t eat it? What was it that flight attendants said? Make yourself secure before you try to help someone else. That was a good rule to apply to hunger, too.
She took a big bite of the bar.
“You really shouldn’t do that.”
Mac swiveled her head in the direction of the beach. The view was now blocked by a manly silhouette. Even as her eyes adjusted, the sun crept up over the top of the hotel to the east and spotlighted him in its golden light.
Startled, she let her gaze travel up yards of tanned skin and rippling male architecture, bisected by a pair of board shorts the color of a school bus. Those shorts just managed to hang on to the cliffs of his lean hips, where a tip of colorful ink peeked out above the waistline. The sleeves of a hoodie were tied loosely a little higher, at his waist. Emerging above, his broad-shouldered, ripped-muscle torso was balanced by two powerful arms, one decorated in a half sleeve of colorful tattoos.
Maybe it was the thick pile of sun-streaked hair, haphazardly twisted into a man bun on top of his head. Because, honestly, not every man could pull off that look. Or his red-gold beard, trimmed short but thick enough to be a statement. Or the warm intensity of his gaze, a rich blue somewhere between Caribbean Sea and desert turquoise. He looked like a superhero disguised as a surfer dude.
Stifling a laugh, she lifted her hand to shield her eyes. No, her eyes weren’t deceiving her. He could be the model for that comic-book character Thor, so beloved by her nephew. If Thor was inked.
His expression was dead serious as he held out his hand. “Give that to me.”
“No.” Instinctively, she clutched the bar to her chest as she continued to kneel in the sand. Something about his voice intrigued her but she was too busy fencing with his gaze to give it much thought.
His expression altered, something like sadness or even pity entering those beautiful eyes. “I won’t hurt you. Promise. I just want to help.”
Help? Did she look like she needed help? Oh yeah. Suddenly she was seeing herself from his point of view.
She was wearing cargo pants with more holes than could qualify as fashionable. The rest of her attire included a man’s button-down shirt several sizes too large, scuffed boots, fingerless gloves, and a tangle of thick dark waves under a cap. To top it off, she was kneeling before a smelly dumpster with food in her hand. She must look like a bag lady to him.
When his gaze came back to her face its intensity magnified. “If you need a meal, love, I’d be happy to stand you for breakfast.”
Yep. The sun god thought she was dumpster-diving.
“I’m fine, really. Thanks for asking.” Embarrassment washed through her middle and then rapidly receded, leaving her weak in the knees as she tried to stand.
He caught her by the elbow to steady her. Which was probably a good thing, because she’d been about to trip and fall right into the middle of his admirable pecs. Not that she was paying that much attention. They were just at eye level and, well—hell. They were firm and nicely sculpted under tanned skin that her palms itched to touch. Not that she went around touching strange men’s pecs, or abs, or anything else. The beaches in St. Pete all had their share of gorgeous on any given day. But, honestly. He was more like an advertiser’s idea of Surfer God. So not her type.
Mac mentally rolled her eyes. Who the heck was she kidding? He was every woman’s type. The appeal was 3-D high-frame stereo-surround-sound male. The earth trembled a little. Or maybe it was just the sand shifting beneath her boots.
She was seldom caught off guard by her attraction to a man. That alone rattled her. Even on her feet, she was more than a foot shorter than he.
That’s when it dawned on her that she was in an alley formed by walls lined with large metal containers on one side and a row of tall canebrake on the other, meant to shield the bins from the public. He was big, and as solid as carved stone. Not the sort of man she’d want to tangle with.
A nervous tic pulled at her mouth, which she instantly regretted because he noticed. His gaze narrowed in assessment. She took a deep breath, needing all the oxygen she could get to clear her senses as she tilted her head back, a long way, and met his gaze directly. “I’m not here looking for food.”
Without comment, he glanced at the half-eaten bar still clutched in her hand.
She felt the burn deepen in her cheeks even as she offered an explanation. “This is for the dog I’m trying to lure out from under there.” She made a vague wave toward the nearest dumpster.
The man followed her gesture in time to see Wookie make a Hungry Hippo lunge for another nugget of kibble she’d left in the sand.
A big grin revealed his nice set of teeth. “Your dog?”
“No. I do this for a living.” She didn’t need his raised eyebrow to tell her that that sounded a bit off. “I locate missing pets. For their owners.”
He frowned. Damn. Even his frown was cute. “You’re a dogcatcher?”
“No. I’m a pet detective.”
He didn’t laugh. But his mouth crimped in an effort to hold it in.
This wasn’t the first time she’d felt the need to defend her career choice. “To be more accurate, I’m an animal recovery specialist for Tampa/St. Pete Recon. That’s a private investigation agency located in…”
“Tampa or St. Pete?” He was grinning now.
Damn. How lame could she sound? She shrugged. “Both.”
“Animal recovery. How’s that different from dogcatcher?” His voice had a pleasing growly aspect with some kind of accent she didn’t intend to waste time trying to place. In her experience, golden boys like him used conversations with women as an excuse to show off. Don’t you think I’m sexy? was implied in every word.
“It just is. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” She glanced at the protein bar, thought about her surroundings, and tossed it into the dumpster.
The bar missed, bounced off the rim, and dropped into the sand. Now it was a total loss in more ways than one.
Mac bent to pick it up.
At that moment a puff of dirty red furry dog burst from under the dumpster barking furiously.
Mac quickly dropped to her knees and held out the bar. “Is this what you want?”
The Pomeranian sniffed it delicately then backed up and decided to make a run for it.
She leaped to grab the little dog as he sped past her but missed, and ended up on her knees in the sand while Wookie headed straight toward the beach.
“Crap!” She scrambled to her feet, knocking sand off her clothing as she started after him. “Wookie! Wookie! Heel!”
Masculine laughter brought her head around sharply.
Something in her expression must have signaled the signs of a woman on the edge. More likely, barking-mad crazy female. He lifted both hands in defense, though his stage-perfect smile didn’t dim a watt. “Looks like you got a real killer on the loose.”
The way he said “a reel keel-lar” finally pegged his accent for her. He was Australian. Probably. And then who he was clicked into place for her. The looks. The body. The attitude. Of course.
She was tempted to ask, to make certain. But Wookie was making amazing progress across the sand. For a short-legged pup weighing less than six pounds, he was fast. In a minute, he would get away completely. She grabbed her pole off the ground and pelted after her quarry, not nearly matching the dog’s speed in her boots on the dry, shifting sand.
She couldn’t outrun the dog, but if she kept him in view he would sooner or later wear himself out and pause to rest. With a little luck—something she was having too little of this week—she would be able to snag him with her pole.
But the Pom was proving to be a canny little animal, zigzagging past the few strollers on the beach who tried to stop or slow him down. When he’d rounded a couple who’d paused to kiss at the shoreline, Wookie turned and cut back toward the row of hotels.
Panting heavily, Mac redoubled her determination not to lose sight of him. Maybe he was headed back to the safety of the dumpsters. That would be the best-case scenario, because she could wait him out once he was cornered again.
Almost before she could form that thought, Wookie veered off again, crossed the patio at the back of a hotel, and zipped into the adjacent parking lot.
Mac’s heart lurched as she scrabbled up stone steps rising off the beach to cut him off. “No, Wookie. Heel.”
She saw a waiter emerge from the row of private cottages opposite the parking lot and shouted, “Help me! The little dog. Stop him!” But the dog zipped past.
“No worries,” Mac heard a man reply from behind her. “We got him.”
She glanced back as the stranger from the dumpsters trotted up beside her with a medium-sized black, white, and tan dog on a leash. She hadn’t noticed a dog before. Where had he come from?
He bent and unclipped the dog’s leash, then gave a command. “Go by, Jackeroo.”
Before she could protest, the dog whizzed past Mac, kicking sand on her legs as he ran. It took a few seconds longer for her to realize he was after Wookie.
She swung around. “Is that your dog? Call him back.”
The man grinned and shook his head. “My shepherd will bring the little fella back to you. Watch.”
Ignoring his calm assurance, Mac took off after the pair. Even as she neared them she saw that the other dog had come up fast behind Wookie and then cut quickly to the right, coming around in front of the Pom. He barked, several short sharp sounds that brought Wookie up short a few feet shy of the sidewalk and the street.
Far from being intimidated by an animal easily ten times his size, the little dog erupted in a fury of barks, unwilling to back down. The larger dog wheeled to the right again, coming up behind the smaller dog, forcing the Pom to turn away from the street in order to keep an eye on his attacker. Confronted by the other dog, all six and a half pounds of Pom barked furiously and tried to run past. But each time he tried, the shepherd blocked his path with a bark or a quick run at him, until Wookie became so agitated he was bouncing on the asphalt in alarm as he barked.
Mac watched, pole at the ready for her moment, as the dog kept Wookie from bolting to the street.
The shepherd’s owner, who had come up to stand by Mac, suddenly whistled, a soft clear sound that must have been heard several blocks away.
The shepherd immediately stilled, no longer maneuvering as Wookie bounced around in front of him. Even so, the shepherd watched the smaller dog with a penetrating stare that seemed to say, Don’t even try it.
Frustrated and panting heavily, Wookie turned one direction and then another, trying desperately to find a way past his nemesis. Finally, he swiveled toward Mac, and realized that the path to her was the only avenue open. He made a desperate dash toward her.
Dropping the pole, Mac grabbed and lifted Wookie into her arms, just to make certain she had firm and full control of the situation. “Okay, big boy. The fun’s over.”
The little dog didn’t argue. Breathing heavily from his exertions, he eyed his tormentor from the shelter of Mac’s arms.
Mac stroked him until he stopped shivering. As she did so, she heard the shepherd’s owner say, “That’ll do, Jack.”
The dog immediately ran to his master’s side, short tail wagging and tongue lolling from a wide-open mouth. He was a gorgeous black-and-white animal with a short bushy tail and tan markings around his two-color eyes, along his cheeks, and feathered along his legs. Floppy ears as mobile as flags made him seem very expressive. In fact, it looked like the dog was grinning as he sat and looked up at his owner.
“Good work, mate.” The man knelt—she did not deliberately notice the shadow of a cleft as his shorts pulled tight low over his butt, but it was impossible not to—and stroked his dog with a big, matching smile.
Mac approached, intending to sound grateful for his intervention, but her treacherous gaze kept threatening to slip sideways to where that shadow deepened. She was not going to be caught checking out a man’s ass. So not.
“Thank you.” Eye slippage annoyed her into a pissy conclusion. “But you should have kept your dog on its leash. It’s the law.”
He looked up, giving her a surprisingly cool look from tropical blue eyes. “Jackeroo grew up on our cattle and sheep station near Canberra. Herding animals is in his DNA.”
Remembering that she had a job to finish, Mac grabbed a slip leash from her pocket and looped it over Wookie’s head before answering. “Yes, well, it’s illegal here to have a dog off the leash in public places.”
The man scrunched up his face, still managing to pull off handsome. “Americans. Bet you carry around those little poo bags, too.” He held up clamped fingers as if gripping something distasteful.
Mac refused to be drawn into smiling. “Yes. I do. It’s the law.”
He rose to his feet, making her feel as if she shrank a foot just watching him rise.
She had to try even harder not to smile. Charm, she’d learned long ago, wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. “Anyway, thank you for helping me.”
He laughed suddenly, a large masculine laugh that cut right through her thanks. “That offer of breakfast still stands.”
“No thanks.” She glanced down as Wookie pawed at and then rubbed himself against her shirtfront, as if to make certain he was sharing with her all of the smelly glop that covered his fur. She couldn’t wait to drop the dog off and take a shower. “I need to get this little guy back to his owners.”
“As long as it’s not because you stink. Though, to be honest, you do. Have a nice day, detective.”
“Right. Well, bye.”
Shaking her head, Mac turned toward the parking lot where she’d parked her Honda Civic. That’s when she saw two young men in hoodies emerge from the tall shrubbery that separated the lot from the street and approach the nearby line of cars.
It took her a few seconds to realize that they were searching for a particular car; then they stopped and checked the license plate of her car. They moved along either side of the Honda, pulled baseball bats from under their hoodies, and began smashing windows.
“Hey! Stop! That’s my car.” Mac ran toward them, Wookie in her arms.