and he pulled out of the turn and came to a stop. Shit.
Brute barreled down the sidewalk toward him, his head to the concrete and his tail down in concentration. He opened the door, but Brute lumbered right past him without lifting his nose. Not letting the dog go without him, he left his car at the curb and took off jogging after Brute. If he lucked out, his dog would have better tracking skills than he did and would find Rocki. Or he was screwed and Brute was chasing one of the damn cats in the neighborhood.
At the end of the block, Brute cut across the Lipskis’ front yard. Tony jumped over the four-foot fence into the side yard in an attempt to gain some distance. Unable to see Brute, Tony vaulted the chain-link gate and hit the ground running through Doctor Jamison’s backyard. Brute led him to the street behind his house, heading north.
Concerned that Brute decided to head back to the house and gave up on tracking Rocki, he slowed to a jog and scanned the area. Late mornings meant everyone in the neighborhood was gone to work. Garage doors were down, kids were absent, and no one loitered outside that he could question about seeing an unfamiliar woman in the area.
Brute barked and ran through the Carmichaels’ side yard. Bob and Carla Carmichael shared a backyard with him. He rounded their house and spotted a pair of feminine legs, legs he’d noticed on more than one occasion, disappear through his kitchen window.
He slowed to a walk, checking himself. Going in there ready to wring her neck for hooking up with Darrell and putting Kage in the position to deal with his uncle would not get him any answers. Now that he was confident about what she did for a living and that she was safe, he was pissed. No woman should ever put herself in a position to answer to Darrell Archer. Cop or not.
Chapter Six
T hat big, lovable, stupid dog.
Rocki glanced at the window above the sink in Tony’s house, the one she’d squeezed through to get inside, and couldn’t imagine how Brute managed to get his massive body through the opening to follow her when she ran. Once she’d spotted Brute three blocks from Tony’s, she’d backtracked her steps, dodging houses and cars, hoping the dog would follow her home.
Tony was going to kill her. She’d lost his dog. A dog the size of her fricking car.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” Rocki paced the kitchen, brushing broken glass off her hands and forearms.
Dots of blood pushed to the surface and trickled along the lines of her palms. She grimaced. Her hands stung, but she had to find Brute before a car hit him or, more likely, he hit a car and got hurt.
She rushed to the faucet and turned the water on. Holding her cuts under the stream, she scanned the backyard for Brute. She hoped the dog would return to the house on his own, but time was running out. She’d have to go back out and find him.
Nothing was going right. She barely escaped Darrell’s men after she found the keys to the Porsche and broke all kinds of traffic laws to escape his house. Luckily, she lost the men chasing her when she entered the strip mall. Her knowledge that the ladies at Land’s End kept the back door propped open to accept deliveries, thanks to investigating a burglary two years ago, allowed her to slip inside and hide until the coast was clear. Then she hailed a cab with the ten dollars she had stuffed in her pocket, and instead of having the driver drop her off at Tony’s place, she’d walked two blocks making sure the area wasn’t staked.
Now she was back at Tony’s for the third time in twenty-four hours because she’d spotted his dog running away. Before she headed out to find Brute, she’d leave a note for Tony in case she failed. Maybe he’d know where Brute liked to run.
It killed her to rely on Tony for help. Until she knew more about Darrell’s accusations of Gino working the other side of the fence, possibly working for the underground, she had to keep her mom safe. The
Brute barreled down the sidewalk toward him, his head to the concrete and his tail down in concentration. He opened the door, but Brute lumbered right past him without lifting his nose. Not letting the dog go without him, he left his car at the curb and took off jogging after Brute. If he lucked out, his dog would have better tracking skills than he did and would find Rocki. Or he was screwed and Brute was chasing one of the damn cats in the neighborhood.
At the end of the block, Brute cut across the Lipskis’ front yard. Tony jumped over the four-foot fence into the side yard in an attempt to gain some distance. Unable to see Brute, Tony vaulted the chain-link gate and hit the ground running through Doctor Jamison’s backyard. Brute led him to the street behind his house, heading north.
Concerned that Brute decided to head back to the house and gave up on tracking Rocki, he slowed to a jog and scanned the area. Late mornings meant everyone in the neighborhood was gone to work. Garage doors were down, kids were absent, and no one loitered outside that he could question about seeing an unfamiliar woman in the area.
Brute barked and ran through the Carmichaels’ side yard. Bob and Carla Carmichael shared a backyard with him. He rounded their house and spotted a pair of feminine legs, legs he’d noticed on more than one occasion, disappear through his kitchen window.
He slowed to a walk, checking himself. Going in there ready to wring her neck for hooking up with Darrell and putting Kage in the position to deal with his uncle would not get him any answers. Now that he was confident about what she did for a living and that she was safe, he was pissed. No woman should ever put herself in a position to answer to Darrell Archer. Cop or not.
Chapter Six
T hat big, lovable, stupid dog.
Rocki glanced at the window above the sink in Tony’s house, the one she’d squeezed through to get inside, and couldn’t imagine how Brute managed to get his massive body through the opening to follow her when she ran. Once she’d spotted Brute three blocks from Tony’s, she’d backtracked her steps, dodging houses and cars, hoping the dog would follow her home.
Tony was going to kill her. She’d lost his dog. A dog the size of her fricking car.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” Rocki paced the kitchen, brushing broken glass off her hands and forearms.
Dots of blood pushed to the surface and trickled along the lines of her palms. She grimaced. Her hands stung, but she had to find Brute before a car hit him or, more likely, he hit a car and got hurt.
She rushed to the faucet and turned the water on. Holding her cuts under the stream, she scanned the backyard for Brute. She hoped the dog would return to the house on his own, but time was running out. She’d have to go back out and find him.
Nothing was going right. She barely escaped Darrell’s men after she found the keys to the Porsche and broke all kinds of traffic laws to escape his house. Luckily, she lost the men chasing her when she entered the strip mall. Her knowledge that the ladies at Land’s End kept the back door propped open to accept deliveries, thanks to investigating a burglary two years ago, allowed her to slip inside and hide until the coast was clear. Then she hailed a cab with the ten dollars she had stuffed in her pocket, and instead of having the driver drop her off at Tony’s place, she’d walked two blocks making sure the area wasn’t staked.
Now she was back at Tony’s for the third time in twenty-four hours because she’d spotted his dog running away. Before she headed out to find Brute, she’d leave a note for Tony in case she failed. Maybe he’d know where Brute liked to run.
It killed her to rely on Tony for help. Until she knew more about Darrell’s accusations of Gino working the other side of the fence, possibly working for the underground, she had to keep her mom safe. The
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