“Hold up a minute,” Reese said when Brantley started for the SUV they’d parked at the curb.
He walked around the side of the house, through the chain-link metal gate, into the backyard. He knew from the placement of the windows the Wrights would’ve both been able to see him if they’d been inclined to look. He didn’t give them a second thought as he walked over to the dog.
He moved slowly, talking softly. “Hey, there, buddy.”
The closer he got, the more the dog shrank in on itself, cowering away from his touch.
Reese crouched down. “It’s okay. I promise, I won’t hurt you. Not now. Not ever.”
When the dog’s nose started to twitch, he held out his hand, let the dog sniff. He managed to get in a couple of pats, noticed the little guy’s tail beginning to wag.
Oh, wait. Not a little guy like Mrs. Wright had said. This one was a girl.
His opinion of the mother dropped another notch although he hadn’t thought it was possible.
“Whaddya say we get you outta here? Maybe get you a burger.”
As though the dog could understand him, she took a step closer, allowed Reese to unhook the chain from the collar.
“Up you go,” he said, lifting the dog into his arms to keep her from having to exert too much energy.
Poor thing was definitely underweight. Reese could feel her ribs protruding, her hip bones.
He tucked the dog in close to his side, rubbed her head to reassure her as he made his way back to the front yard. When he arrived at the rented Tahoe, he saw the back passenger door was open and Brantley was holding a bottle of water. “I had a feelin’ you were gonna do that.”
Thankfully, he didn’t sound upset.
They made a few attempts to get the dog to drink, but she seemed more interested in getting into the SUV, her legs trembling so much she could hardly stand.
“So do we want burgers or chicken?” Brantley asked as they pulled away from the house.
“Burgers.”
“You pick out a name for him yet?”
Reese’s eyes snapped over to Brantley. “You wanna keep it?”
“That’s not the plan?” Brantley countered with a grin.
Okay, maybe it was. It hadn’t been. Not until he’d picked up the dog. Now he was invested.
“Hey, I’m game if you are.”
There was that strange warmth in his chest once more. The one that constantly reminded him that he loved this man. More so with everything he learned about him.
***Sebastian Buchanan watched JJ out of the corner of his eye while he continued to henpeck the keyboard in an attempt to draft the email he wanted to send to Gallegos as a follow-up to their phone conversation.
He knew JJ was watching him, could practically feel her anxiety.
Looked as though the hot little hacker had a pet peeve.
“What are you doin’? Please tell me that’s not how you normally type,” she demanded, turning in her chair to face him.
Baz took the opening, smiled, and paused what he was doing so he could do the same. “Do you have a problem with my keyboard etiquette?”
“You can’t poke the keys like that. It’ll take you a month to get anything done.”
“I thought I was doin’ quite fine,” he said, peering over his shoulder at the words on the screen. Hey, Detective Ga—that was as far as he’d gotten before she interrupted.
“Baz.”
God, he loved when she said his name. Especially when it was tinged with frustration and that sexy little edge she had going on.
He played innocent. “Yes?”
“Do you know how to type?”
If JJ would’ve thought about it for even a second, she would’ve remembered that he knew how to type, but where was the fun in that?
“If I said no?”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Would you be lyin’?”
He laughed, couldn’t help it. Anyone else would’ve prompted him with something else. Something like, Would you like some help? Or maybe, I could teach you if you like. Not JJ. She was skeptical on a good day.
“Yes,” he said, going for the truth.
“So you did it just to irritate me?”
“You’re damn cute when you’re irritated.” He flashed her a grin.
“Well, you’re…” Her lips pursed and she exhaled through her nose, making her nostrils flare.
She was even damn cute like that.
JJ spun back around to her computer. “Type your damn email, Detective.”
Chuckling, he went back to work, utilizing his eleventh-grade typing class education to tap out a good sixty words per minute, finishing up, and shooting the message over to the detective.
He was about to ask JJ what he could help her with when his cell phone rang. Glancing down, he saw that it was his father, decided to take the call.
“Hey, Dad.”
“This is a nice surprise,” Wesley Buchanan said with a smile in his voice. “I figured I’d be bumped to voicemail.”
“I have a few minutes. What’s up?”
