Protect and Serve Don't Need A Hero by Lena Austin Page A

females orgasm just by sitting on the seat. Yeah, I could believe that. My scent was all over him, but I rubbed against his chest anyway. “Yeah. A bad memory. My human family left me and the family dog behind when they abandoned suburbia for the boonies. Beau -- the golden retriever -- died sitting in the driveway, waiting for those selfish bastards to come back for us. He fucking starved and died of loyalty.” I choked back a sniffle despite the anger I still felt. “Both of us were so clueless how to live without someone to take care of us. You’d have liked him. He was loyal, so trustworthy, friendly, and happy. Well, a dog. You know.”
    “Sounds like a boy scout or hero.” Apollo grinned down at her. “Obviously, you survived. How?”
    I buried my face in his chest. I didn’t want to remember those times when I’d have done anything -- anything -- for a morsel of food and a sheltered spot out of the cold. I shrugged like it didn’t matter. “A few squirrels and a shitload of rats made the ultimate sacrifice until Tigs and Rat found me in one of their construction sites.”
    They’d found a half-starved ball of matted fur too weak to run. They’d had to clipper cut me bald to get me halfway cleaned up, and I’d just hung my head and hoped they’d kill me quickly. I’d eaten what they gave me for days before I recovered enough to be scared, and by then there was no need.
    “They taught me how to shift, how to… live, I guess.” I tried the nonchalant shrug, but Apollo’s arms tightened around me anyway.
    “Hm. I owe those guys big time. I take it they gave you a job?” His heart beat slowly and steadily against my ear. I could have listened to it for years.
    I shut my eyes, full of contentment for the first time in my life. “Yuppers. Finish carpentry and millwork. I get a kick out of making things beautiful or restoring them to their former glory.” I reached around and grabbed me two handfuls of the city’s finest. “Did I mention you’ve got a great butt?”
    Apollo had a strange look on his face. “Back at you, baby.” The answer was absent-minded, but I forgave him instantly when he asked, “If you’re a finish carpenter, how are you with chisels and inlays?”
    “I’m no Sorrento, but I’m okay. Why?”
    He waved vaguely down below our feet. “I’ve got this inlaid compass rose thing. It’s too complicated for me. Want to take a look?”
    “Oh, hell, yeah!” I sat up, and we dressed hurriedly, like a pair of kids who’d been offered a day at an amusement park.
    Apollo threw me one of his green T-shirts with the sheriff’s department logo. I hope he knows he’s not getting it back. How my bra ended up on top of a bookcase is still a mystery. If Apollo hadn’t spotted the one strap dangling over the edge, it might still be there. As soon as I’d wriggled my way into my jeans, the cop scooped me up. “You couldn’t negotiate the stairs, even with your crutches. This is easier.”
    Yeah, I should have protested, but maybe I was enjoying the pampering. He carried me past a steel-reinforced security door, down a set of narrow stairs that probably had once been a fire escape or something, and into paradise.
    The lower floor was a giant workshop containing a lathe, drill press, compound miter saw and even a room-sized paint cabinet. “Whoa! Is that a dip tank? Seriously?”
    Everywhere was a project in various stages of completion. I tried not to drool at the Gilded Age armoire doors on the workbench. A fine set of Buck Brothers chisels in a custom display stand caused my fingers to itch. I ran my finger over the parquetry tabletop on a workbench I could reach. “Lemon wood, mother of pearl, and… um…”
    “Yeah, that I figured. What’s the whitish-tan wood?” Apollo pointed to one of the smaller points of a Mariner’s Compass inlay.
    “Boxwood. It starts white, but it turns tan as it ages.” I stuck out a finger and ran my hand gently over the blank spots where the