Pregnant Protector. Anne Duquette Marie

Nick was exactly the way a law enforcement officer should be. Strong, both in his hard, lean body, and in his personality. But there was something else about him she found disturbing—his loneliness. He tried to hide it, she knew, but having reviewed his file on Girard’s orders, Lara sensed it. Nick considered Julio’s family more his than his own, distant one; his parents, siblings and grandparents lived in Italy. Now, sadly, the Valdezes were back in Mexico. Despite Nick’s brusque, almost rude manner, she’d instantly warmed to him, both emotionally and physically, utterly surprising feelings for her to have toward a stranger suddenly thrust into her life.

      Circumstances such as murder and a grieving, angry man didn’t bode well for romantic attraction. Nick wanted justice for his partner, with or without her, and Lara knew a brick wall when she met one. Her dog’s ears swiveled suddenly, alerting her to Nick’s passage down the stairs from the guest room on the upper level. She swung around and greeted him with a smile.

      “Giving up on the ivories?” Nick asked.

      “I should have given up years ago. I’m terrible. Still, I love music.” She shrugged. “I try not to inflict too much suffering on others. Thank heavens Sadie doesn’t mind.”

      “Your dog’s tone deaf?”

      Lara noted it was the first time she’d seen him smile. “Yep. So is Lexi—that’s my oldest sister Kate’s dog. Kate’s the real musician. We share this house. But she’s out of town on business,” she said, anticipating his question. “It’s just us.”

      Lara sat back down on the bench and dropped her hand, feeling for the furry head never far from her side. “Hungry? We can leave whenever you’re ready. I thought we’d stop at a place I know near the beach. Or wherever you prefer.”

      “In a bit.” Nick sat down on the couch, his expression one people close to him would recognize as alert. “Tell me about your…house.”

      “Two stories, seven bedrooms, five bathrooms, kitchen and bar, formal dining room, four-car garage, pool and spa, tennis courts, plus a beautiful ocean view,” she said. “Actually quite modest for La Jolla.”

      His eyes traveled around the room, sparsely yet elegantly—and expensively—furnished. “You win the lottery?” he asked.

      “In a way.” Lara grinned. “Wanna know the story?”

      “Please.”

      Lara noticed his please was more an order than a question, a characteristic of most law enforcement officers who set up and controlled interviews. She did it herself, but today being treated as “business” was irritating. She’d never had a problem maintaining her emotional distance from co-workers before. But Nick had somehow skipped right past her “official” mode, and suddenly she wished the reverse were true.

      Lara lifted her foot to the bench and tucked her knee under her chin. “My mother used to be a K-9 officer, and Dad worked with explosives canines. Dad runs the kennels. Both Mom and Dad train. We all help out on our off time.”

      “We? Your siblings?” he asked.

      “Kate and I, now. My other sister, Lindsey, is married and works up at Yosemite with her husband. Kate and I occasionally do bodyguard work for friends or friends of friends.”

      Nick jerked his head in the dog’s direction. “You freelance with the dog?” Law enforcement officers were allowed to moonlight, such as working parking control at sports events, but dogs rarely were.

      “Sorta kinda. I don’t charge my friends. And legally, Sadie’s my personal property. I wasn’t assigned her. I came to the job with leash in hand.”

      “Unusual.”

      “Not since 9-11. Increased numbers of law-enforcement dogs are becoming a normal part of life in this country. And as our kennels provide many of the working law-enforcement dogs in this area…” Lara shrugged. “Sadie passed her certifications.”

      “Go on,” he ordered. Lara lifted one eyebrow, and was rewarded with another “Please.”

      “Kate and I worked a charity event for children’s cancer a few years ago. A rock concert,” she specified. “My father’s a friend of the lead singer. The rock star’s girlfriend and their young daughter were there. The daughter has cancer.”

      “Damn.”

      “Yeah. Anyway, Kate and I foiled a kidnapping attempt on the daughter. We caught the perps and kept the family safe. The rock star was very grateful.”

      “So, this?” he gestured around the expensive room.

      “We don’t take pay, of course. But Kate had her arm broken. I had a couple of broken ribs. Our dogs were okay, thank God. They got a good workout on the kidnappers.” She grinned. “And despite their zeal, neither dog damaged a tooth.”

      “Good girl, Sadie,” Nick said. In acknowledgment of the praise, Sadie graced him with a single, minute twitch of her tail.

      “The rock star paid Kate’s medical bills, and mine. When I got out of the hospital—”

      “You were hospitalized?” he interrupted.

      “I needed a few stitches,” she said. “No biggie. So when I got out, the rock star presented the house as a fait accompli to our kennels, complete with gardener, pool man, stocked bar and paid utilities. Plus a Mercedes in the garage. Like I said, we don’t charge friends, but we couldn’t refuse or sell the place without taking a heavy tax hit to our business. The client must have paid his lawyer big time to set it up that way. He and his girlfriend really love their daughter. Happy ending for all parties concerned.”

      Nick nodded. “So you and your sister moved in?”

      “We did. Mom and Dad still live on the kennel property, of course.”

      “Where’s your sister now?” Nick asked.

      “Kate and her dog are at a FBI convention—new bombs, new antiterrorist methods, new canine training. Kate works for the Port of San Diego—coastal cities need harbor security just as tight as airports. She gets to do the occasional cruise ship. They always request her when in port.”

      Nick noticed the pride in Lara’s voice when speaking of her sister. He found himself asking, “So you’re both single?”

      “We are.”

      Her tone said, Back off, but Nick suddenly remembered Captain Girard’s words. “You up to this? Girard told me you’ve just come off compassionate leave yourself.”

      “That’s right. Jim was a pilot. We were to get married last year. His chopper crashed. End of story.” She lifted her chin. “But don’t worry, I won’t hold you—or the investigation—back. The shrinks said I’m good to go.”

      “Sorry. Damn.” He started to reach for her, to give a consoling hug, then stopped. An awkward pause filled the room. He filled it with the lame “Well, with your sister not here, at least I won’t have to share the shower.”

      Lara eagerly seized the opportunity to change the subject. “With Kate gone, it’s quiet, but secure. I don’t think you need a ‘safe house’ yet. For the present I’d rather Sadie and I stayed on our own turf to protect you.”

      “Makes sense,” Nick admitted. The security measures in his older apartment building couldn’t match those in La Jolla’s rich district. Nor did his apartment have the hi-tech central monitoring system he’d noticed throughout the house.

      “And we’ll be using my Mercedes. It’ll draw less attention than my squad unit.”

      “You’re very lucky.”

      “Yep. Sadie even has her own pool.”

      “I didn’t mean the house. I mean, you lived to fight another day. The rock star and his family remain intact. The bad guys are behind bars—where I intend to put Julio’s killer.”

      Lara