Chapter One
Dennis
The kitten’s plaintive cry stopped him dead in his tracks.
And made him groan.
Dennis Luview was a just-retired Special Forces fighting machine, an Army veteran who couldn’t talk about his work even if he wanted to–and he didn’t want to–but there was one defining weakness that cut through his elite combat skills, his experience in taking out terrorists, and his stone-cold soldier’s mind:
Strays.
When the service door at the end of the hallway to the kitchen snicked shut, he realized the kitty must be outside, in the alley.
In January.
In Boston, Massachusetts, where the poor thing would be a frozen catsicle in no time flat.
Looking ahead, he teetered. The hotel’s carpet had a dizzying pattern that forced him to stop in place, firmly plant his feet on the ground, and get his bearings. After thirteen straight hours of travel from Germany, he’d checked in at his hotel, taken a much-needed shower, shaved, and dressed in what he assumed passed for normal, informal, hotel-bar attire.
He was now a freshly minted civilian on his way to have a few drinks, cobble together dinner from bar food, do pretty much anything except–
Deal with a stray cat in distress.
“Haven’t even had a single damn drink yet,” he muttered, then pivoted to go down the hall. Garlic wafted through the air like a temptress, basil joining in to make his stomach growl.
He’d landed at Logan Airport too late to pick up the new truck he’d ordered and drive up to his hometown of Luview, “Love You”, Maine–the tourist trap where every day was Valentine’s Day. And it was just as well.
A man needed a night of transition before facing all that sickening happiness.
As he approached the hotel’s exit, he was keenly aware of his surroundings, his back vulnerable to attack. A door to the left led to the kitchen, the one straight ahead letting in sour notes of dumpsters and furtively smoked cigarettes.
Dennis knew his way around an alley. Spent more than enough years working in them.
Pressing the door bar, he opened it and–
“Mew.”
He froze. Blessed–or cursed–with extraordinary hearing, he knew he’d been right. The sound was too soft. Too weak.
But where was the kitten?
“Sweetie,” said a woman’s voice, muted as if she were buried under the mound of black trash bags that reeked to high heaven. “Come on. I have a special treat for you.”
She spoke like she was talking to a preschooler.
His shoulders dropped.
Whew. Not a stray. Not his job.
“Come on, kitty. Let me help you. You look so lost.”
Ugh. Yes, a stray.
Not your job, he chided himself. Go away and leave it. Don’t get tangled in someone else’s mess.
“Pffft!”
Standing on tiptoes, he looked across the top of the overstuffed dumpster and saw the tiny tabby, faced away from him, giving quite the butthole show. The kitten was barely off mother’s milk, so small that he could fit it in his shirt pocket.
“How did you get here?” the hidden woman asked the cat, as if it would answer. Her voice was tinny, with an echo that made Dennis stare harder.
Responsibility was Dennis’s strong point and his greatest weakness. This mystery woman he couldn’t see had the situation under control. No need to interfere. The cat would be fine; she obviously cared.
In fact, it was probably hers, and he’d just complicate things, so he should turn around and–
“I can’t help you if you don’t let me!” the woman said, her voice beginning to shake, as if she were about to cry. The sound of plastic being shuffled around filled the air, and it dawned on him that she must be in the dumpster. “I just want to feed you and make you warm and safe!”
Besides stray animals in need of rescue, there was one other thing Dennis couldn’t handle.
And that was a crying woman.
Checking the ground, he found a small bucket full of sand and cigarette butts and used it to prop the heavy metal door open. Experience taught him that these big exterior doors often locked from the inside. No need to start his retirement from rescuing people being the object of a rescue.
There wasn’t much of a moon tonight, but floodlights gave everything a gritty glare.
His jacket, an afterthought when he’d left his hotel room to head down to the bar for dinner, was turning out to be a saving grace. Pulling his arms out of the sleeves, he readied it.
“What’s your cat’s name?” he called out, jacket in hands, spread wide to protect from kitty scratches.
“AIIIEEEE!” the woman shrieked, a sudden thump on metal followed by a major curse word. The kitten, scared half to death, shot backwards, giving Dennis a chance to reach up and grab it in his makeshift blanket, sparing him from shredded forearms.
“Ow! Who is that?”
With a firm hold on the frantic kitty in his arms, he peered over the edge of the dumpster, breathing through his mouth to manage the odor. On tiptoes, he looked down to find her inside, obscured by darkness, but not for long.
Because he got a gorgeous view of her ass as she started to climb out.
Then slipped.
“Ow!” she shrieked again, her hand coming back up to grip a small bar near a sliding plastic door on the other side.
“You need help?”
“NO!”
Snowflakes began to float down on them, lazy and new. He still couldn’t see her face, but her huffing and puffing included a few more curse words.
Salty woman. He liked that.
“You know,” he joked, “my brother found his wife in a metal charity-donation box. When he hears this, he’ll think I’m trying to one-up him.”
The woman paused with one leg out the plastic door, the other still inside the dumpster, her shapely figure making him smile.
Then she was through.
“Is there a deep-seated psychological problem in your family that manifests with men seeking out women in unsafe situations involving discarded items and abandoned debris?”
As he tried to process that, she tore around the corner of the dumpster, holding her hand on the top of her head, glaring at Dennis like he was there to mug her.
When he was younger, he’d have been offended. Now?
Now he just snorted.
Wrestling the bundle of claws in his hands was easier than managing that glare.
“What are you doing to that poor kitten?”
“Calming her down.”
As the woman entered the light, he felt something other than his jaw clench. Glossy brown hair, long and straight, fell on either side of a fine, elegant neck. Below her strong bangs were bright red lips and eyes that were open and warm.
Skeptical, though.
Of him.
“See?” Under the jacket, the kitten was slowing down, Dennis using one hand to pet it through the fabric. “If you’d been successful, she’d have shredded you.”
“Is it your cat?”
“Huh? No.”
“Then how do you know it’s a she?”
“I don’t.”
Silence rested between them, the only noise emanating from the kitchen. A little further away, whooshing sounds came from the busy highway, heavy trucks occasionally vibrating like minor chords of modern music.