Live and Let Love (18 page)

“Con!” Her eyes lit up when she smiled at him. “Thanks for coming.”

They made the four-minute drive in silence.

The Cooper house stood dark and foreboding in the fog and eerie blue light emanating
from a mercury vapor light on the pole above. It didn’t take much imagination to picture
it on the front of a Halloween greeting card. They got out. He followed Willow to
a plastic rock with a key hidden inside and then to the front door.

“I can see why you don’t want to go in there alone,” Jack quipped. “Freddy Krueger
won’t be waiting inside with an ax, will he?”

Willow laughed and shook her head as he followed her to the door. “Yeah, it’s a bit
of a fixer-upper, isn’t it? Grant isn’t really into home repair. But the fog is adding
to the atmosphere. Don’t believe all the ghost stories you hear around town about
it, either.”

“There are ghost stories?”

She ignored Jack’s question, slid the key in, and unlocked the door.

He angled to get past her. “I’ll check it out first.”

Willow blocked him with her arm. “You’d better let me. Duke and Buddy will tear you
apart.”

“I think you just crushed my machismo,” Jack said.

She gave him a smile that made him want to kiss her as she reached into her pocket
and pulled out two dog treats. “Sorry, but you don’t have the proper ammo.”

“Dog treats? That’s all it takes?”

She shook her head. “And a lot of love and attention.” She lowered her voice to a
whisper, even though there was no one else around to hear and Willow didn’t know about
the Rooster’s secret, and deadly, occupation.

Good thing Jack had disabled all of Kennett’s bugs and security devices earlier. Jack
was pretty sure that feeding Kennett’s dogs and invading his private territory was
tantamount to signing your death warrant.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret—Buddy and Duke think I’m their owner. But don’t
tell Shane. It will hurt his feelings.”

Hurt his feelings? Who the hell cared if Kennett got his tiny feelings hurt? Jack
frowned his puzzlement at Willow. Why would the dogs think she was their master and
did he really want to know?

Willow nodded as if he’d asked a question aloud. “Yes, really.”

Willow seemed to know what she was talking about, so he followed her in. Plus, old
Duke and Buddy were going to be lethargic and wobbly on their feet for another four
or five hours at least. He’d given them a gentle dose of PromAce. There was really
no danger.

“Brace yourself. The boys can be exuberant.”

Not tonight,
Jack thought.

Willow flipped a light on. “Duke and Bud! Where are you boys?”

Nothing but the complete lack of pitter-patter of big bad dog feet, and the wheezing
of the old house as the furnace kicked on. The kitchen was empty.

Willow let out an ear-piercing whistle.

Jack jumped.

She waved the dog treats in the air, made that sucking noise people use to call dogs,
and patted her thighs. “Here, boys! Here, boys!”

“I thought Filas were vicious guard dogs,” Jack said. “Shouldn’t they be attacking
us by now?”

Willow frowned. She turned to Jack, a look of fear and apprehension on her face. “Duke!
Bud!”

“Are you sure going looking for them is a good idea?” Jack said.

She grabbed Jack’s arm. “Something must be wrong. Usually, they’d be beating down
the door before I even got out of the car. What if they’ve gotten out and are gone?”
Her voice cracked.

She really cared about them. That was Willow—always falling for the dangerous types.

“We’ll find them,” he said. He knew exactly where they were. “Do they have a kennel
or dog beds somewhere?”

“Shane’s mentioned their beds are in the living room.” She hesitated. “But I’ve never
been in there. Shane doesn’t like having people over.” She looked around the place.
“And who can blame him? This place is a dump. He really should talk to Grant and convince
him to fix it up when he gets back.”

Jack had the feeling Grant was never coming back and just hoped he and Willow didn’t
stumble upon his dead body while they were feeding the dogs. If the Rooster had any
common sense he’d buried Grant in the orchards somewhere. In a deep grave.

Jack looked around and sniffed. “Is that beer I smell?” Yeah, he’d staged an explanation
for the dogs’ drugged behavior.

“Yeah, I smell it, too, but that’s nothing. The house always smells like beer.”

“Ah yeah, but look at that.” He pointed to the counter where a six-pack lay tipped
over. And then to the floor where two broken bottles lay, surrounded by traces of
their contents.

Willow’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no!”

“Yeah,” Jack said, really playing for Willow’s sympathies. “Look at their water bowls—empty.”

Her eyes went wide. “The poor desperate things! Dogs will drink anything when they’re
thirsty. Alcohol can kill them. We have to find them!” She took off for the living
room.

“Wait a minute! Hold on. What if they attack?”

He followed her deep into the house.

She turned on lights and waved the dog treats around like talismans. “They won’t.”

He nearly ran over her as she came to a sudden stop in front of him. “There you are!”

The dogs lolled in their beds where Jack had left them, looking three sheets to the
wind and smelling of beer. He’d doused their muzzles with it for authenticity.

“Oh, poor babies!” Willow squatted and called to them.

One of the massive dogs lumbered to his feet and swayed as he took a step toward her.
The other just raised his head, looked at Willow as she waved a dog treat, and put
his head back down.

“They look as drunk as you said their owner was,” Jack said.

Willow ignored him and ran to them. She fell to her knees to pet them before Jack
could stop her. As she stroked them and tried to coax them into eating the treats,
she looked up at Jack. “What’s wrong with all the dogs around here lately?”

“What do you mean?”

“When I came home this evening, Spookie scared me, too. She was so tired, she didn’t
come running to see me when I came home, like she usually does. And she was too pooped
to play.”

“But she’s okay now?” Jack’s alarm just popped out.

Willow looked at him, studying him. A triumphant look shone on her face, as if she’d
pulled a fast one over on him and gotten him to reveal a damning fact. “She’s fine.
Thanks for your concern.”

Damn.

The cause of Spookie’s tiredness hit him a second too late—he’d been playing with
her while Willow was gone. He’d probably worn poor Spookie out. The little mutt was
no doubt out of shape from too little exercise and too much pampering.

He would have laughed aloud if Willow hadn’t been there, studying him as if something
was up as she rubbed one of the Filas behind the ear.

Jack put on an innocent expression. “How is it that those two let you get so close?”

“I told you, they think I’m their mistress. If Shane lets them outside, they’ll go
to the end of the driveway and howl and whine for me. I’ve spoiled them, really.”

Jack gave her a quizzical look, hoping to prod her into telling the story without
him having to ask outright.

“Do you think we should call the vet?” she asked Jack.

“They’re pretty big dogs. They probably weigh more than you do,” he said, slowly,
knowing they’d be just fine but wanting to appear concerned. “I only saw two broken
bottles. That doesn’t seem like enough to do them any real harm. I think they’ll be
okay. Get some water in them so they don’t dehydrate and let them sleep it off.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Watch them a minute while I clean up the mess, will
you? I don’t want them stepping in the glass.”

“Are you sure I’ll be safe with them?” Jack put on a worried expression and nodded
toward the animals.

“They’re sloshed. I think you’ll be fine.”

“What if they’re mean drunks?”

Willow laughed. “You’ll be fine. They look like sleepy drunks to me.”

“All right then.” He tried to sound uncertain, though he was completely confident
he was safe.

“If they make a move, yell, and I’ll come running.” Willow winked at him and walked
off toward the kitchen. He heard her banging around in there and then the tinkle of
glass as she swept it up and dumped it in the garbage.

Finally, she came back into the living room. “Come on, boys! Come on, Duke.”

The rusty-brown Fila stumbled after her. Buddy just looked at them and put his head
down as if he wanted to go back to sleep.

Jack followed Willow and the dog into the kitchen. She led the dog to his water bowl
and made him drink.

“Watch this guy while I give his brother a drink.”

“And she leaves me with a dangerous animal a second time.”

She rolled her eyes and ignored Jack as she went to give Bud a drink. She was back
quickly with the bowl and set it by the other water dish. “I wonder where Shane keeps
their food?”

“The pantry?” Jack suggested.

He watched as she went to the pantry with the dogs’ food bowls. She rustled around
and opened a fifty-pound bag of dog food, grabbed a scoop, and filled the bowls to
heaping. “The dogs are how I met Shane.”

Probably accidentally on purpose. The Rooster would have studied Willow and known
exactly how to get to her, what she liked, what would attract her. He’d know she loved
dogs and would have used them to meet Willow. How long had the Rooster suspected Jack
was still alive?

“He’s a private man, kept to himself except for going to Beck’s several times a week
and Bluff Country to have coffee in the morning.

“Then he bought Duke and Buddy from a breeder across the state. He brought them into
town in the back of his truck. They were practically pups and so cute. They’d howl
for him while he was in having his coffee. I couldn’t stand it. The poor things were
so lonely. They needed a mama.

“So I started making larger batches of treats when I baked for Spookie and bringing
them along when I went to Bluff Country. Duke and Buddy fell in love with me. Didn’t
you, Duke?” She rubbed the dog’s head.

Who wouldn’t fall in love with you?
Jack thought.

The furnace shut off. The house popped. Something banged overhead on the second story.
The house shook and the sound of irregular footsteps echoed on the stairs.

Duke gave a pathetic, weak growl that any self-respecting Fila should be ashamed of.
The dog took three steps as if he was going after an intruder, then stumbled, and
fell over.

Great, just great. Thanks to me, even the guard dog can’t walk a straight line.

At the same time, Willow screamed. The next thing Jack knew, she was wrapped in his
arms. And she felt damn good there.

He curled himself protectively around her. Jack cursed beneath his breath, ready to
go for his gun, hoping Willow didn’t feel either gun bulging in his pants.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

This operation was going to kill Jack in more ways than one. Or blow his cover. All
kinds of dire thoughts crossed his mind, like a SMASH assassin hiding in Kennett’s
house, waiting to take him out for double-crossing RIOT. And Willow and Jack being
in the wrong place at the wrong time and ending up as collateral damage. Although
Jack
was
responsible for the double-crossing. He might have appreciated the irony if he hadn’t
been worried about Willow’s safety. SMASH was RIOT’S death squad. They were ruthless.

Jack hadn’t gone to all this trouble for the cover of death to be killed as a by-product
of someone else trying to take out Kennett. And yet if he acted to protect himself
and Willow, he’d blow his cover.
Hobson’s choice.

For the moment, he chose protecting his cover. Only because the house had gone stonily
silent.

And so had they. Neither of them spoke.

After a safe, but tense, interval, Jack whispered, “What was that?”

Willow looked up into his eyes. He had to hold himself back from kissing her. She
smelled of something that gave him ideas of a tumble in bed, and if there were a SMASH
assassin on the premises this might be Jack’s last chance to kiss her before his death
became real.

She looked up at him, inching her lips closer to his, totally unaware of the real
potential for danger. “Old Man Terrence haunting the bomb shelter?”

Oh, shit! She thinks we’re playing scary movie or haunted house here.

“Bomb shelter?” Jack stared at her intently. “I’ve heard rumors about one and a ghost.
Is it beneath the house?”

“Beneath the apple barn. The entrance is a trapdoor just behind the cash register.
Shane keeps it locked with a padlock.”

Jack arched a brow, trying not to inch closer to Willow’s lips now that the threat
of danger seemed to be waning. A SMASH assassin would have shot them by now if he
intended to. Still, losing his head in a kiss wasn’t the smartest idea. “A padlock
will keep a ghost out? Never heard that before. Maybe someone should tell those guys
on
TAPS.
”

“I love your accent,” Willow said, out of the blue. “It’s sexy.” She pressed into
him.

Good thing he still had the designer jacket on. It kept him from feeling the soft,
delicious warmth of her body and losing control.

“I think the lock’s more to keep curious kids out.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked.

Willow let out a heavy sigh. “I believe in life after death.” She paused. “I have
to.”

She didn’t know how on target she was. After all, he was still alive after his official
death. He wished he could reassure her; instead he kept his face neutral.

Beside them, good old Duke staggered back to his feet and lumbered toward the door
into the living room, doing his best to growl and bark. His bark still didn’t score
high on the menace scale. But Jack gave him credit for trying. If that drugged guard
dog was game for checking out the house, so was he. No one could say a dog outdid
him in the courage department.