Sophie perked up with interest. “Sergeant Jackson is the three-legged dog?”
“That’s him.” The good doggo’s owner, Matthew, had told us about the organization. Like his dog, Matthew was missing a leg. It had come up in our conversation about Sergeant Jackson, and how he’d been an explosive-detecting K-9 until he’d been injured by an IED—the same way Matthew had lost his.
“Fate,” the man had said, rubbing the dog’s head. “I needed a running partner who could pace me.”
I’d watched Mindy carefully as she’d laughed and shared with Matthew stories of their time in the military, tales no one else could really understand.
I knew her fiancé had been killed in the Middle East, but if there were shadows in her thoughts just then, they didn’t show. She’d seemed relaxed, like Matthew and Sergeant Jackson’s contentment had rubbed off on her.
I didn’t want to miss an opportunity, so I’d asked him for the name and number of the organization that had matched him and Sergeant Jackson. I tried not to bring projects to Sophie too often, not wanting to take advantage. Or saving my markers for when it counted maybe.
When he’d tapped the info into my phone, Mindy had looked at the two of us like her heart was growing bigger in her chest in that very moment.
Well, dogs did know the way to one’s heart.
“Anyway,” said Sophie, “we need to make sure that Sergeant Jackson and his new family come to the fundraiser. I hope everyone will be as excited about it as I am.”
“I can’t see how they won’t,” I said. “You specialize in getting people excited about something, right? Especially about opening their wallets.”
“Well, I don’t take on a cause unless I believe in it,” she protested.
I raised my hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it. Only good. This is a good reason to open your wallet.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said.
Ryan sunk onto the battered sofa and patted the cushion beside him. “Come and get off your feet, Sophie.”
But my sister was, appropriately, like a terrier following a scent. And she was studying me. “Since we have a minute, I’ll tell you what other cause is on my radar.”
“Look out,” murmured Ryan.
Now I was worried.
Sophie rubbed her palms together. “Let’s talk about my idea for you, dear brother.”
“Me?” I pointed at my chest, as if she could mean anyone else.
“Yes. I know I’m not a detective, but I can put two and two together,” she said.
Ryan chuckled. “Yeah, because the clues are pretty obvious.”
I furrowed my brow. “What are you talking about?”
With a tsk, she pursed her lips like I was the one being stubborn. “As if you don’t know.”
I glanced at Ryan, who gave me no help, then back at my sister. “I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She parked a hand on her hip, which was amusing, given the size of her, but I didn’t dare laugh. “That whole ‘Mindy and the dog’ story.” She took a beat, her gaze locking firmly on me. “John Henry Winston. I’m talking about you and Mindy.”
“What about Mindy and me?” I asked in my most neutral voice. It came easily, since I used it all the time at work.
And other times too.
At work, the mask was a tool. A way to stay in control of an interview or interrogation. Even a confrontation.
Outside of work, it was habit—or it had been until Mindy, when it had become more like camouflage.
And I had no idea whether Mindy could see through it or not. Sometimes I thought so, that she glimpsed something of the tangled emotions she evoked in me, the rare moment of indecision. And sometimes I wondered if she only saw the workaholic, single-minded detective. She wouldn’t be entirely wrong on that count.
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m eight months pregnant and that gives me permission to say anything I want. Wait—actually, I would tell you this even if I wasn’t pregnant.” She wagged a finger under my nose. “You need to do something about all that chemistry between you two.”
“The what?”
“I was dead sure at our wedding that the two of you were finally going to take care of business.” She shook her head. “But all these months later, you two are still throwing off sparks.”
“You kind of do, man,” Ryan chimed in.
I shook my head in denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re mistaking camaraderie for chemistry.”
That was such a lie. I’d felt sparks from the second I met Mindy a year ago at Sophie and Ryan’s engagement party at New York–New York.
Her eyes had drawn me in, but so had her spitfire personality. She’d been bold and friendly, not waiting for an introduction before launching into a proposition. I’d been in the thick of the Thomas Paige investigation, and she’d offered to help in any way she could.
That case was exactly why I’d had to tamp down the instant attraction I felt for her. I wasn’t going to risk compromising one of the most important cases I’d ever worked on. Not with a distraction or anything else.
Hell, all active cases were the most important, taking priority over home, hobbies, and especially relationships.
So I’d shoved that lust for Mindy into a box and set it aside.
But desire was desire, and sometimes it was a force of its own. Like the time it had cropped up again at Sophie’s wedding and I’d wanted so damn badly to ask her out for drinks.
No, that wasn’t honest. I’d wanted so damn badly to kiss her, to wrap her hair around my hand and not let her go until her knees wobbled. Asking her out for drinks would have been a first step.
But I hadn’t. What had come out was “coffee,” like my tongue thought it knew better than the rest of me.
Ah, one of my life’s regrets.
Heavy footsteps came down the hall from the back of the building, and a man poked his head into the front office. “Sorry to keep you waiting. When I get Army brass on the phone, I have to get through all my talking points before I hang up, because it may be a while before I can manage such a feat again.”
“I understand,” Sophie said graciously. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with us.”
“Not at all. It’s you who’s doing us the favor, Mrs. Sloan.” He looked from her to Ryan—who’d stood up—to me, and Sophie introduced us.
“Randall Parks,” the man said, with a firm handshake and good eye contact. “So . . . you want to go back and meet some of the dogs?”
“Absolutely!” Her answer was instantaneous. Proof that dog people can recognize one another, obviously.
Parks led the way, and Ryan followed along with Sophie. But my sister stopped at the door, turning and stopping me with a hand on my chest. “You’re off the hook for now, brother mine,” she said breezily. “Because . . . dogs. But I’ll just say this—life is short, as you know. Maybe just . . . go for it.”
Ryan had paused to wait for her, so she hurried to catch up with him, leaving me to bring up the rear.
It allowed me to think without my sister’s eagle eye watching my expression for any clue as to what I was thinking or feeling. But if she could figure that out, she’d be ahead of me.