Defender for Hire. Shirlee McCoy

on, boy. Let’s get you inside where it’s safe.” He slid his arms under the dog and was rewarded with a sloppy kiss that he would have wiped away if he’d had a free hand.

      “You can’t carry him. You’ll hurt your shoulder,” Tessa protested.

      “It’s already hurt,” he grunted, the strain of the hundred-pound dog dragging at his injured arm. “And if you don’t open the door so I can get inside now, it’s going to hurt more.”

      She frowned, but ran to the door. Dirt clung to her pants and her down vest. Her elbow peeked through a rip in her long sleeved T-shirt, the skin raw and bleeding. She was worried about her dog’s well-being—Seth was worried about her.

      She ushered him through a large foyer and into a nearly empty living room. A dark brown couch stood against a wall and a rocking chair sat in front of a fireplace. A throw rug in muted greens and blues lay in the middle of the floor. No coffee table. No shelves. No books or magazines or photographs. A blank slate with cream-colored walls and dark wood trim.

      “You can put him on the couch,” Tessa said, her voice trembling. “He’s bleeding. I really hope his vet gets here soon.”

      He placed the dog on the couch and took Tessa’s arm. “Let’s worry about you now, okay? Sit,” he commanded, leading her to the rocking chair.

      “The police—”

      “I’ll handle it,” he cut in.

      She leaned her head back against the rocking chair and closed her eyes.

      “For the record,” she murmured, “I’m not good at taking orders.”

      “I’m not ordering. I’m helping. But I’ll keep that in mind for the future.” He pulled a throw from the back of the rocking chair and tucked it around her. She still smelled like vanilla, under the musty aroma of earth, dead leaves and fear.

      He shoved the envelope he’d brought her into his pocket and opened the front door, waiting impatiently as a police car pulled up in front of the house.

      Seth knew the officer who got out of the car. Deputy Sheriff Logan Randal had a reputation for fairness and a drive for justice. Seth had worked with him on a few occasions, and he had a lot of respect for the guy.

      “We got a call that someone was assaulted?” Randal asked as he approached the house, his eyes narrowing at Seth. “What are you doing here, Sinclair?”

      “I know the home owner.”

      “You’re the boyfriend?”

      “No, he’s not my boyfriend.” Tessa edged in beside Seth, her shoulder brushing his arm. “Not that that has anything to do with what happened.”

      “It has a lot to do with it, ma’am. Most victims know their attacker.” Randal moved forward, forcing them both to step back into the foyer.

      “I didn’t know mine,” Tessa insisted.

      “How about we sit down, and you can explain what happened?” Randal suggested. He placed a hand on Tessa’s shoulder and led her down the wide hall.

      Seth could have taken that has his cue to leave, but Randal would want to interview him when he finished with Tessa.

      That was as good an excuse as any to follow them into a large kitchen. Like the living room, it was pristine and nearly empty, the walls light yellow, the cupboards bright white. A small round table sat in the center of the oversize room, four chairs positioned at perfect intervals around it.

      Randal pulled one out for Tessa and motioned for her to sit, his gaze on Seth.

      “If you want to go home, I can send an officer to your place,” he suggested.

      “I don’t mind waiting.” As a matter of fact, Seth was set on sticking around. He didn’t know what had happened out in the woods, but it was obvious Tess was in trouble. It wasn’t his problem, but if he could help out, he planned to.

      “Then how about you wait in the living room or in your car? Another officer should be here shortly. He’ll take your statement if I’m not finished with Tessa by then.”

      “How long will this take? My dog is injured, and I need to make sure he’s seen by the vet,” Tess cut in, her fingers tapping against the tabletop.

      “You said the vet was on the way,” Seth reminded her.

      She nodded. “She is, but I don’t want Bentley to injure himself more while he’s waiting.”

      “I’ll wait with him,” Seth offered.

      That would make Tessa and Randal happy. Seth wasn’t so sure it would make him happy. He wanted to know what had happened to Tessa, and he wanted to know who to blame. Tessa had been quick to deny knowledge of her attacker, but that didn’t mean she’d been attacked by a stranger.

      He fingered the envelope, half tempted to toss it on the kitchen table and let Tessa explain who it was from and how it was possible that the tarantula and the attack weren’t connected.

      He’d wait, though. Give her a chance to tell Randal what she needed to. She was almost a stranger, after all, and he had no right to barge into her life and take control.

      That’s what his sister, Piper, would probably say. His three brothers would have a different view of the situation.

      But Tessa’s opinion was all that mattered. She’d tell the deputy sheriff what she needed to. With or without Seth’s prodding.

      He hoped.

      The doorbell rang as he walked into the living room, and the front door swung open. A mousy brunette rushed inside. She glanced in Seth’s direction, her gaze dropping to Bentley, who lay still and quiet on the sofa.

      She hurried to the dog’s side, putting her hand on his head, sliding it down toward an area on Bentley’s haunch that was glossy and slick with blood. “Where’s Tessa?”

      “Speaking with the police.”

      “I’m Amy Spenser. Bentley’s veterinarian.” She opened the dog’s mouth, examined his gums. “He’s in shock. I’m going to have to take him to the clinic. Tessa!” she called, her attention focused on the dog, her dark eyes nearly hidden behind the thick lenses of her glasses.

      “Right here.” Tessa hurried into the room with Deputy Sheriff Randal right behind her.

      Amy’s gaze cut from one to the other, then settled on Tessa. “I’m going to take him to the clinic and start some fluids. You said you thought he was shot?”

      “I heard a pop. Nothing like other gunfire I’ve heard, but I don’t know what else it could have been.” Tessa touched the dog’s scruffy chin, her red hair sliding over her shoulder, nearly hiding the bruises on her neck.

      “If it’s a gunshot wound, the perpetrator might have used a silencer.” Randal leaned over Bentley, touching the bloodied area. “We’ll need the bullet if there is one.”

      “I’ll keep it for you,” the vet responded. “Right now, though, I need to get Bentley stabilized.”

      “I’ll carry him out to your car,” Tess said, patting the dog’s big head, her hand trembling.

      If he’d known her well, Seth would have taken her hand, tried to still the tremors.

      “Let me,” he said instead, sliding his arms under the dog and lifting him from the couch. The poor mutt didn’t even whimper.

      Cold wind knifed through Seth’s jacket as he followed Dr. Spenser to an SUV and lowered Bentley into the back. The dog licked his hand, its tail thumping. No wonder Tessa had given him a home.

      Seth closed the hatch, his shoulder throbbing. He’d been up since before dawn. After therapy, he’d dropped off Tessa’s unwanted pet and then gone to the office where he poured over files until his neck cramped and