Collared (Going to the Dogs) (2 page)

“Gee, thanks. Warms the cockles of my heart.”

“Tell me now if you’re not up to it and I’ll get Shane started on it.”

“Yes, I have been fit for duty since last week. Dembowsky couldn’t find his ass in the dark with both hands without me.”

His lieutenant laughed. “I’ll let your partner know that. You sure about this?”

“I could get a note from my doctor and my mommy if that helps.”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“Can’t help it, it’s genetic.” The natural outcome of being an Italian kid growing up on Arthur Street in the Bronx and helping with his family’s Italian restaurant. Every tough guy had to have an attitude. “Look, Lieutenant, I’m going crazy here and it was just a bullet to the shoulder. I’m recovered…mostly. I’ll even take on some snooty socialite and her freaking missing dog collar. How taxing can that be? I promise to use my brain and not my shoulder. At least I won’t have to sit around doing nothing.”

“Okay, wise guy, get your ass over to Sinclair Towers.” Caleb wrote down the address his boss gave him.

Minutes later, stepping in the shower, Caleb shook his head. A freaking socialite. She was probably a stuck-up bitch and even talking to him would be beneath her. He knew from experience all about how they treated people. In fact, his learning experience had been up close and personal, but getting back to work, even if it was for a damn dog collar, was worth it. He reached for the shampoo, his shoulder twinging slightly. He rubbed at it briefly before snagging the plastic bottle and squeezing a dollop into his hand.

As he stood scrubbing shampoo into his scalp, memories of that summer in the Hamptons flashed by like a slide show. He’d gotten his sixteen-year-old heart twisted into a pretzel and stomped on. It’d happened more than a decade ago, and he’d never been that naïve again…or that vulnerable. Probably why he was alone, with no one but a beat-up old retired German Shepherd police dog for company. A cold nose against his thigh made him jolt and he looked down to see Quinn gazing up at him with his deep brown eyes.

Ah, damn, he forgot to shut the bathroom door. Quinn loved the water too much. And always turned it into a sloppy mess. “No, you silly dog, it’s not time for a bath.”

But Quinn had other plans. He nosed the shower curtain aside, and, before Caleb could stop him, jumped into the tub.

“Shit! No, Quinn!”

The slippery porcelain provided little traction for the Shepherd’s paws and he slid right into Caleb, who totally lost his balance and grabbed for anything that might keep him upright. Soap dripped into his eye, and the stinging sensation made him cuss more. He snagged the shower curtain, but it wasn’t enough to hold up a muscular, six-two, 230-pound man and a water-crazy dog. The plastic tore away from the rings holding it to the pole, and the shower curtain and Caleb came crashing down, landing in a tangled heap as water went flying everywhere. Wrenching his sore shoulder, and probably getting a number of bruises, with at least one to his ego, Caleb regained his slippery balance. He gave Quinn a disgusted look as the Shepherd sat in the shower spray and made a contented noise in the back of his throat before licking Caleb’s face.

After getting the soaking wet dog and his naked self out of the tub, rinsing the shampoo out of his eye, wiping down the dog, getting the water mopped up and rigging the shower curtain so he could finally finish his shower, and then making himself presentable for his throne room appearance, Caleb arrived at Sinclair Towers. It took him fifteen minutes and flashing his shield to get entrance to her royal highness’s penthouse. He rang the bell, and it chimed like these people had Big Ben in there somewhere.

“
Geezus
,” he muttered.

When the door opened, the breath left his body, as if the woman standing there had sucked out all the oxygen in a fifty-mile radius.

Her honey blonde hair was piled into a ponytail on the top of her head, but a lot of silky swaths had tumbled back down, giving her a mussed-up, just-out-of-bed look. She wore a white tank top that left her creamy shoulders bare and clung to her torso like a second skin, and a pair of black stretchy pants that molded themselves to the lower half of her body’s gorgeous curves. Her face was classically beautiful, but there was something that ruined it in her eyes, something decidedly rebellious, and he found that he liked that immensely. Her eyes were a saturated blue that he worried would suck him in if he looked at her too long.

Wow, they weren’t making maids like they used to.

“I’m here to see the lady of the manor about a breakin and robbery. Could you let her know I’m here?” Okay, so he might have said “lady of the manor,” with a sarcastic slant to his words. Hopefully the beauty hadn’t caught that. He couldn’t believe he was at a freaking penthouse to find a freaking collar for a freaking pampered poodle. Odds were good that’s exactly the type of dog she had.

When it came trotting into the room only moments later, he snorted. Ha! Got it in one.

The woman smiled. “Certainly, and you are?”

“Detective Caleb Shaw, NYPD Robbery Division” He moved aside his suit jacket to show his shield.

She stepped aside to let him pass and the scent of her perfume floated on the air. He breathed it in, and then looked at her again as she shut the door. It smelled expensive.

The poodle made a beeline for him without stopping. It plowed into him, the dog’s paws going to his chest and knocking him back into the door, triggering a dull ache in his shoulder.

“Blue!” The beautiful maid said, grabbing the dog and forcing her to sit. “I’m so sorry, she never acts like this.”

He looked down at the poodle, rubbing at his shoulder. She whined and licked his hand. She was a pretty thing and he really had no idea poodles were so large. Her brown eyes met his and he got a jolt. There was intelligence there. He squatted down and cupped the poodle’s head and gave her a good scratching behind her ears. “That’s all right. Maybe she’s reacting to all the activity she’s been through today,” he said, giving her one last stroke. “Aren’t you, girl?” He looked up at the maid and felt a rush of heat, as if he was standing outside in the August sun instead of this cool, very expensive penthouse.

A warm, surprised smile curved her lips, drawing his attention to her lush mouth. Damn, she was hot. Her enchanting blue eyes penetrated right to the core of him. For a moment, she just looked at him, taking in his face, roving over his close-clipped beard, and finally his mouth. He rose and, as he did, she followed him all the way up with her expressive eyes.

“Can I get you anything, detective?”

He could think of a few things he’d like from her. “Coffee would be great if it’s already brewed, otherwise, water.”

An Hispanic woman came into the room and the blond woman shook her head very slightly. “I’ll be right back.”

He couldn’t resist watching her walk away. She was graceful in movement, yet strong and controlled. Gentle in tone and demeanor, but there was power there in that sultry voice. Judging by the way she had looked him over, he could probably get her number before he left. They could maybe have a few laughs.

She disappeared and Caleb took in the expensive room. The panoramic view of New York City was breathtaking. It was a gritty city, but up here in the stratosphere it looked totally majestic. He walked those mean streets and taken his first slug in one of its damn back alleys. If he’d gone with his instincts, he wouldn’t have gotten shot at all.

Maybe it was time to think about doing something else with his life since he’d come so close to losing it.

The woman came back carrying a cup of coffee. The kind with a saucer.
Geezus
. He had to wonder what the damn China cost as she held it out to him. “Won’t you make yourself comfortable?” She indicated the couch and he settled on it.

“It’s a spectacular view,” she said.

He took a sip of the coffee and nodded. It was delicious, certainly better than the swill he got down at the precinct.

She left again, taking the poodle with her. He sat there waiting for the owner to show up. Glancing at his watch, he suspected the lady was indisposed. He’d been waiting fifteen minutes. He got a refill from the lovely Hispanic woman and sat sipping his second cup peacefully, wondering when he’d be granted his audience

Suddenly, the poodle was back. She came over to him and sniffed around. He ignored the dog and took another sip. But it seemed the poodle now considered them friends, and she didn’t like being ignored.

She jumped onto the couch and nosed in under his arm, jostling the cup, and hot coffee sloshed out and splattered against his dress pants.

“Blue! Not again! He’s not a big doggy treat,” she said. “Juliana!”

The Hispanic woman came over and snagged the dog’s collar. The poodle got the point, and crept whining off the couch, glancing back at Caleb with soft, sad brown eyes as the Hispanic woman escorted her out of the room.

When he finally looked for that tantalizing maid who had scolded the dog, he simply lost his powers of speech, lost his freaking mind.

He belatedly realized she wasn’t a maid at all. She’d transformed into a gorgeous goddess. She was dressed in a pair of leafy leggings with colorful birds, her top a black, provocative, fancy thing with peekaboo lace at her waist that tantalized him with occasional glimpses of her bare midriff, and a pair of velvety platform sandals. Jungle meets chic.

She rushed forward and that intoxicating scent filled him as she dabbed at his pants with a towel she’d snatched off the bar. Her silky blonde hair slid forward, and the smell of her intensified. Her hand was way too close to his junk, and he ended up spilling more coffee as she pressed against his leg and the fly of his pants. It had been way to long without a woman if he had this out-of-control reaction.

He leaned forward, set the coffee cup and saucer on the table, and grabbed her wrist. She halted her mopping motion, and thank God for that.

She raised her head and suddenly they were face to face, so close he could see the darker midnight blue that rimmed her pupil. Her lips parted and he was spellbound and mesmerized.

“You’re not a maid,” he blurted out like an idiot.

She smirked, showing gorgeous white teeth. “You really earned that badge, detective. I’m Harper Sinclair or, as you so sarcastically put it, ‘the lady of the manor’.”

“I got this,” he said, taking the towel out of her hand, and finished blotting up the coffee in his lap, including the fresh spill.

“That was a nice little stunt. Why didn’t you tell me you were Harper Sinclair instead of letting me think you were the hired help?”

“Maybe you should think about why you jumped to that conclusion.” She shrugged.

Already toying with him and he’d just freaking met her. “Maybe you should show me the crime scene and fill me in on what happened. I’ll also need a list of stolen items.”

“Of course. It’s part of my manor duties,” she said over her shoulder and walked toward the balcony. Ah, there it was, the regally cool tone of voice only a prep-school girl and heiress could pull off. He took a moment to enjoy the view, then remembered that this woman outclassed him in so many ways. He had to keep his head on straight, both of them, and remain unaffected by her beauty and strong personality. He had a job to do and a job to keep.

She turned around, saw where his eyes were fastened and smirked. She had that down to a science. “You still enjoying the view, detective?”

He rose. He liked her better as a maid. He was honest enough to wonder if that was because he thought that if she was a maid he’d had a better shot at getting to know her.

When he met her eyes, his were not apologetic. He’d never be sorry for enjoying the curves of a beautiful woman, whether she was as rich as Midas or not. He put an innocent look on his face and her smile was just plain skeptical.

Be careful
, he cautioned himself. That’s what had gotten him in trouble in the Hamptons. Now it was a totally different ball game.

“The balcony looked like this when I got home from Vegas this morning, and the library as well. They drugged my dog.” There was a deep-seated anger in her voice, and he felt sorry for any of those thieves if she ever got a chance to show them what happened to men when a woman like this held power over them.

“The poodle.”

“Yes, my precious Blue.” Her voice softened.

“She’s a champion?”

Harper crossed her arms and gave him a hard look, or as hard as she could with those slamming blue eyes. “Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?” she asked indignantly.

“I’m sure she’s a valuable dog.”

“She’s a valuable AKC champion, but she’s also cherished. I love her to pieces and would have been devastated to have lost her to vandals because she was wearing an expensive collar.”

“Right. The collar. What’s that valued at?”

“Fifty thousand.”

He couldn’t help rolling his eyes and Harper caught it. “Is this all amusing to you, Detective?” she said and tightened her arms across her chest with her chin tilted up, silently daring him to discount her.

Not on a bet.

“I don’t have an opinion one way or the other, Ms. Sinclair. I’m just the civil servant here to investigate the crime.”

“I think you do have an opinion. It’s pretty clear,” she said her tone quite firm.

“Well, since you asked.” He stepped closer and bent down slightly. He liked that she was at least five eleven. Made it easier on his neck. “Yes, I find that taking up the department’s valuable time over a dog collar to be frivolous.”

“You
are
a jerk.”

“Guilty as charged.” He’d been told a few times, but never by anyone who looked like her. Nobody looked like her, so perfect.

They were really close now, with her eyes all flinty and no-nonsense, her mouth looking like the first step down the road to hell. He could feel the flames licking at him.

“You’re not here to judge. You’re here to find my property. I believe that’s why I pay my taxes to the city.” Her brows rose. “You know those taxes that pay for your job?”

He grinned. “You, lady, are a pistol.” In those heels she was almost eye to eye with him, and he loved that she wasn’t intimidated by him, his height, or his tough, direct gaze.