

Blind Seduction

Team Red--Book 1

T. Hammond

Bonus: This version contains the Team Red novella,

In Love with Teresa March
Blind Seduction: Team Red, Book 1

Copyright © Mar 2013, Jan 2014, Dec 2019, Jul 2020, by T. Hammond

Editor: Tara Shaner, Shaner Media Creations

Cover Design by Deborah Bradseth of Tugboat Design, www.tugboatdesign.net

Model Photography by Mike Laverdure, www.mikelaverdurephotography.com

Background Photography by T Hammond

Cover modeled by Yenny Rivas

Published by T Hammond on Smashwords

In Love with Teresa March: A Team Red Novella 1.5

Copyright © Jul 2013, Jul 2020 by T. Hammond

Previously published in the Shades of Pink Anthology, Vol. 1

This book is available in print.

ISBN: 9781484063170

All rights reserved by the author. No part of this ebook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, taping, or other information storage or retrieval system (except for review purposes) without the express written consent of the author.

Discourage piracy! Although you own this copy, Blind Seduction remains the copyrighted property of the author. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase/download their own copy, or ask your local library to add a copy to their catalogue. Thank you for your support.

This book contains adult situations, themes, and language, including explicit sexual content. This book is not recommended for readers under 18 years of age.

Books by T. Hammond

Team Red 'Blind' Adult version:

Blind Seduction, Book 1

Color Blind, Book 2

Blind Faith, Book 3

Blind Rage, Book 4

Blind-sided, Book 5

Blind Luck, Book 6

Blind Spot, Book 7- coming 2020

Team Red Novellas:

In Love with Teresa March: Team Red Novella 1.5

Blush: A Team Red Novella 2.5

Team Red 'Red' Young Adult version:

Red Rover, Book1

Red Zone, Book 2

Posse:

Posse: The Duoviri (prequel novella)

Posse: Legends

Disclaimers

Hey folks, this is a work of fiction; the talking dog should be your first clue. All the events and characters in this book are figments of my imagination. Although, at three in the morning, when they scream at me to write down the stuff they are acting out in my head, I sometimes wonder about the fine line between fiction and real life.

The city of Spokane is described with a lot of accuracy as far as landmarks, hotels, parks, and local restaurants though I made up Blind Seduction. Some places mentioned by name in the book are based on places I have been, but as this is a work of fiction, I made up employee names and events that happen at these locations.

The City of Spokane Police Department figures into my plot, but I have no actual knowledge of the structure, policies, and/or procedures. Spokane does have a COPS Shop at the Shadle Center, but I have taken more liberties than a playboy with a drunk date in my descriptions of events, employees, volunteers, and the inside of the location. My depiction of events at the Police Station and COPS Shop are total fabrication.

I took unintentional liberties with the actual borders for the city of Spokane. Some of the crime areas represented in Team Red books (most notably, Book 1), were actually in unincorporated Spokane that (if this wasn't, you know, fiction?) would have been handled by the county sheriff, not city police. I apologize for the error, but for the sake of simplicity, it is easier to leave Team Red affiliated with only one law enforcement agency rather than multiple jurisdictions.

Acknowledgements

My thanks for the patience and perseverance of my Beta Readers: Jen Moulton, Jocelyn Sanchez, Kim Culbertson, Nita Roberts, and Pam Roberts, who helped me with gentle criticism rather than 2x4s. Your restraint under the bombardment of emails is appreciated. And special thanks to Kim and Summer—your blunt feedback helped make Blind Seduction a better book, thanks for not pulling your punches.

For this updated edition of Blind Seduction, I'd like to add a special thanks to Kathryn Svendsen, of the Shelf Full of Books blog, who gave me some excellent feedback on the blind, and guide dogs when she read Red Rover (the PG version of the Team Red series). I updated some of the sections, in both versions, to include information on how real guide dogs would be trained. Of course, I took liberties with my story, taking into account Red's unique personality and situation. Any inaccuracies regarding guide dogs, their training, or care, intended or otherwise, are on my shoulders.

I am fortunate to have found a wonderful editor in Tara Shaner, of Shaner Media Creations. Her blunt feedback, encouragement, and bold red pen have made this latest edition of Blind Seduction a much better book. Thanks again.

A special thank you to fellow author, Ella James. When I was reading her book, Selling Scarlett, she had an "About Editing" explanation that struck me as an excellent idea (therefore, I asked her permission to use it); she was gracious enough to allow me to use all or parts of her insert. My modification (I'm a writer, damn it! Of course I modified it) is listed under the "An Indie Author" heading at the end of this book, but it is based on her framework, so I want to throw credit to her for a great idea, and providing a foundation.

Special thanks to my sister, Laurie, for the best Christmas present ever!

Teresa, I think of you often; you are missed.

# CONTENTS

Prologue

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen

chapter sixteen

chapter seventeen

chapter eighteen

chapter nineteen

chapter twenty

chapter twenty-one

chapter twenty-two

chapter twenty-three

chapter twenty-four

chapter twenty-five

chapter twenty-six

epilogue

color blind sneak peek

in love with teresa march

an indie author

about the author

Prologue

** Eight Months Earlier **

Warm breath caressed the back of my neck. I sighed at the damp heat stirring the tiny hairs at my nape. In my half-awake state, I had a fleeting thought it was strange to be sleeping upright, braced against a hard, firm... Rolling my face to the side, I opened an eye to see adoring, extravagantly lashed eyes gazing at me as if I were the most important woman in the world.

"Janey? Rex is staring at me again," I complained half-heartedly.

"If you'd quit dozing against his cage, he wouldn't watch you at all," she replied reasonably. "More importantly, you've been slipping him dog treats—don't think I haven't noticed—so you've been elevated to the rank of goddess."

Rather than attempting a defense, I slid a hand into my coat pocket and pulled out a broken dog biscuit, defiantly poking it through the links of the kennel partition. A warm tongue licked my fingers as soft, chestnut-brown eyes worshiped me. Rex delicately took the offered dog biscuit between sharp, white teeth.

I was visiting my best friend, Janey Declan, during the much-anticipated arrival of Stormy's third litter. Today, Halloween morning, we were treated to nine gorgeous German shepherd puppies over the course of five hours. I felt it entirely reasonable to have nodded off for a few minutes. The last thing I remembered was changing the bedding when it appeared Stormy's labor was finally over.

The plump babies wriggled blindly toward their mother's body heat. Stormy looked weary, but vigilantly nosed each of the new arrivals, as if doing a continual head count.

Both Janey and I were grinning like idiots despite our exhaustion; you'd think we were the ones who had labored for so long.

"Damn," Janey lamented, brushing wisps of blond hair off her face with French manicured nails, "nine puppies, and only two females. I'll have to use a different stud next time if I want more females for the kennel."

"Oh, but they are so beautiful," I argued, crooning at the small male I held across the length of my hand. "You'll have all of them sold by the time they're weaned in ten weeks."

Janey's grin was infectious. "They are beautiful, aren't they? Look at the markings on these two." She singled out a male and female with black saddles and dark faces. "They look like their dad. The coat pattern is already well-defined."

This would be an AKC-registered litter; each puppy wore a bright length of yarn around its neck indicating birth order. As each one was born, Janey recorded the puppy's gender and coat type, matching the shade of the yarn she assigned each new arrival to the pre-numbered list she kept on a clipboard by the whelping box. Janey hadn't anticipated so many puppies, so we got creative when a ninth body slid wetly into the blood-smeared towels. The last puppy was given two colors twisted together, yellow and red, and Janey listed him as Orange. She would buy the appropriate color, and add it to the box of colorful spools, before she needed to replace the entwined yarn – usually when it became worn, or the pup grew out of it.

The ninth puppy, a grayish-colored runt, seemed lethargic and didn't look strong enough to survive the night. I knew Janey would put in extra time massaging and warming him to ensure the best chance of survival. I was rooting for him to live so that he could get his official orange string.

Eight pups were healthy, active, and already fighting for position as they lined up along their mother's belly, rooting for the first drops of milk. There was one sable—the runt, six standard black and tans with dark saddles and black faces, and two blacks with gold socks, called bi-colors, exact replicas of their mother. Who knew how a sable ended up in the batch? Although I'm sure Janey could give me an exact juncture in each parent's illustrious pedigree where such a miracle could have been anticipated...Janey is somewhat anal about her breeding program.

I'd already picked out my puppy. I would be taking home the second arrival, who wore a thin piece of red yarn around his neck, and had aggressively pushed his little black body through his littermates. Yep, the pushy one! He was rooting at a swollen nipple with golden brown paws determinedly pressing down on the heads of the puppies to either side of him. Goal-oriented. He and I would get along perfectly.

"I'm worried about this tiny guy," Janey stroked the back of Orange, before maneuvering him to a teat so he could suckle. "He's smaller than usual and too thin."

"I'm sure Stormy will have him fattened up in no time," I consoled. "I love sable coats, but they're unusual for your kennel."

"Yeah, the sable coloring goes back a couple generations on the sire's side. If I look back another generation or two, I'll likely find a sable on the dam's side also."

"It seems to me roulette and dog breeding share a lot of similarities." I grinned. "Right when you think your choices are red or black, the ball falls in the green slot."

"Yeah, too bad the puppy names will be Halloween themed, or I could have named him Double Ott," Janey said, referring to the green double zeros on a roulette wheel. "I'll have to think of something really cute to suggest to the person who buys him."

Janey stretched and yawned, rolling to her feet with casual grace. She set a baby monitor on a shelf above the whelping box, fiddling with the adjustment on the camera, which allowed her to observe the puppies from inside the house.

"Hey Teresa, you ready to go inside? I could use some hot coffee and fuzzy slippers. I think my toes are frozen." The kennel was a converted three car garage, so it lacked the warmth of carpeted floors and insulated walls.

"Yeah, mine too." I tried to loosen cramped muscles, stiff from the combination of a cold cement floor and failure to move in the last thirty minutes. "I want to get inside and upload the new webpage template I finished week. Who knew we could make a living designing websites from home? This last template will give us a total of one hundred and forty designs, and I have a flash drive full of thumbnail photos I took over the summer we can add to the images library." I offered her the finger-sized data storage device. "Here, you take it; we'll load it from your desktop computer. It will be faster than my laptop."

I stretched my aching legs, hauling myself to my feet with a groan. As I bent to turn off the woefully inadequate space heater we'd been using, I remembered the heat lamp suspended from the ten-foot ceiling, and guessed she would want it turned on to keep some of the chill from the birthing area. My pre-coffee brain was amused at the imagined vision of her hopping up and down to reach the pull chain for the switch.

Janey, my best friend since kindergarten, glared. "I am so not gonna jump for it," she told me.

Yep, mind reading was a given when you've been friends this long. Obviously, there was no entertainment value to be had here, so I reached up and tugged the switch on for her while berating myself for not thinking of it sooner.

Janey resembled a real-life Barbie doll, more pretty than beautiful. A wholesome, blond, blue-eyed woman with a startling intelligence in her eyes when one cared to overlook the outside packaging. Her outrageously voluptuous 5'3" figure was encased in a few layers of thermal wear with heavy work boots on her tiny, size six feet. Even after five hours of kneeling in the kennel, managing the messy birth process, she appeared polished. If I were a jealous woman, I might be inclined to hate Janey for her looks, but she was the most friendly, most giving person I'd ever met.

I tugged my waist-length ponytail self-consciously. For some reason I always looked like I had walked straight into the wind, with my hair askew and my clothes loose and rumpled about my tall, lanky figure. While my athletic 5'10" frame was notable, polished was not a word people thought of when they looked at me.

We stepped out of the whelping box, roughly the size of a bathtub, and I latched the swinging mesh door behind us. Across from the new arrivals, Goofball (not his real name, which was longer and much more dignified) lay stretched out on his back, legs spread immodestly with his paws in the air. I'm pretty sure he was snoring. Most of the dogs were already out enjoying the crisp morning air.

"By the way, Red is mine. I'm snagging the name Druid too." I had already paid my deposit and been promised first pick of the litter. Once Janey decided on a Halloween theme for this brood, she and I had fun coming up with a list of possible register names for the puppies: Sorcerer, Pagan, Wiccan, and Oracle. The list got longer, and sillier, after a couple glasses of wine and lack of sleep.

Flipping off the light switch, Janey chuckled, "I seem to remember someone telling me last night she wanted a female pup." We paused outside the kennel door as Janey tugged the latch to be sure it was securely fastened.

"I gotta go with the pushy one," I explained. "Besides, there are only two females in the litter. I know you wanted to keep a female for the kennel, and you have a female requested by a customer. Dru and I will be absolutely perfect together."

There was a flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by a sharp clap of thunder. Janey shivered; she had always hated thunderstorms. It was probably the only thing we didn't have in common, besides our looks of course.

The temperature was only slightly warmer than when we had ventured out to the kennel at five a.m. to monitor the puppies being born. The clouds were dark and swollen with water, the wind fiercely bowing the treetops. What a miserable day this was shaping up to be. Nearly ten o'clock and I hadn't even had my first cup of coffee yet.

Being cold is the absolute worst. I shook my fist in mock fury at the sky. "Bring back the sun!" I was rewarded by a splash of rain hitting me in the face. Janey had already sprinted across the yard, unimpressed by my show of machismo.

With a final rattling check of the secured latch, I started toward the back door of her house as the sky let loose with a fury of its own. There was a loud snap of lightning. I registered the scent of ozone, and almost simultaneously heard the crack of something large being broken apart with tremendous force. Time slowed, or maybe paused entirely; my heartbeat with it.

Janey stood frozen on the porch and stared back at me, horror in her eyes.

I glanced over my shoulder. The world went black.
Chapter One

The window seat in my bedroom was my favorite spot in the house. Not long after I bought the large four-bedroom multi-level, I'd sewn a thick quilted cushion to pad the over-long, extra-wide bench seat. To complete my cozy alcove, I'd purchased a tactile, colorful selection of pillows to accent the dark green fabric. The final result was a plush nest, with a warm chenille blanket to snuggle into while magnificent storms rolled in from the west, punching the sky with jagged streaks of lightning and rattling windows with deep booms of thunder. The rest of my room was done in deep golds and coffee browns, mimicking the wooded ten acres surrounding my little slice of the Inland Northwest.

I'd grown up in the area surrounding Spokane, Washington. After a few years of college in wetter Seattle, I happily returned home to my trees, lakes, and mountains. Most importantly, I returned to four seasons instead of blasted perpetual drizzle. Seattle had been like living in an Ansel Adams photograph; everything in gloomy shades of ash. If it wasn't damp and over-cast, Seattle was drenched in a dark gray downpour. The trees and undergrowth had been more green and lush than in my favored Spokane, but who could tell with those charcoal skies and the incessant rain? Perhaps, after a few more years, I could've learned to say "rain" without a snarl in my voice. Biased? Maybe. I enjoyed the cold, snowy winters, the mild springs, hot summers, and stormy, wet autumns in my part of the state.

A motion-activated light turned on and drew my eyes to the raccoon shuffling across the fenced part of my backyard toward the man-made pond in my garden. Ha! Good luck with that. The goldfish had been moved into plastic tubs last week and stored in the garage in anticipation of the colder winter weather. The raccoon—make that raccoons, I amended noting the addition of three juveniles in tow—were probably hoping for an easy breakfast. Predators were abundant in the form of 'coons, heron, and hawks so screens over ornamental ponds were necessary to discourage the more insistent wildlife from treating my water feature like a Vegas buffet.

For the winter, I left the small pond uncovered so wildlife could get to fresh water if needed. Sometimes portions of the river froze over and animals had a hard time getting to water without risk of falling through the irregular ice. Every winter there were stories about four-legged travelers, often moose, deer, and sometimes an unlucky dog, falling through the ice while crossing the lakes. Fortunately, some are saved, but it's a huge risk to the people out on the ice throwing ropes or dodging antlers. Giving the critters a safe place to drink was rewarding, plus I had the added bonus of getting some great camera shots to post to my Facebook page.

Tugging the blanket tighter against my body, I stared out the window from my second-story perch. A faint smudge of light, barely discernible behind the silhouette of Mt. Spokane, let me know it would be dawn soon. I hated these crazy, restless nights when I woke up before the sun crested the mountains. In the distance, I could barely make out a flash of lightning from an incoming storm. Settling back against the tower of pillows, I closed my eyes, and strained to listen for the faint rumble of thunder.

The whirl of a coffee grinder startled me. I gasped and sat straight up, covers pooling at my waist, leaving my torso bare to the room's chill. Waking so abruptly confused me. Still dark? Hadn't it been close to dawn? It took only a moment to remember my world is always dark now. A dream, I had been dreaming.

I was not in my window seat. I hadn't curled up there since I left the hospital over six months ago. Why bother if I can't look out over the view?

Deal with it, you whiner! Out of habit, I tapped the button on my bedside clock, which informed me in a solemn, mechanical voice it was Tuesday, July 9th, 6:42 a.m. I flipped the covers back and swung my feet over the side of the bed, then slid my butt off the edge. Padding nude to the en-suite bathroom, I pulled a towel off the shelf. Time to start my morning.

After I brushed my hair and teeth, I braced my hands on the sink vanity, shifting my weight forward as if to view my close-up image in the mirror. After thirty years, it was easy to mentally picture my chocolate almond-shaped eyes, dark brown hair, and golden, blush-tinted skin. Each morning, I tried to semi-impose what I must look like now, with my scar-altered features. American Indian mixed with something vaguely Asian or Polynesian. Who knew? My adoptive parents didn't have much information regarding my heritage. It was all guesswork. Janey seemed to think I looked "exotic" and beautiful. What does exotic mean anyway? I always thought I looked geeky and awkward. It didn't really matter at this point.

Supposedly, the scarring wasn't really bad, if you overlook the right eye. The familiar mantra, "I should never have looked back," crept its way into my brain. I firmly forced my mind to consider the projectiles from the tree could have struck my spine if I hadn't turned the angle of my body to glance over my shoulder.

There is a permanent slow-motion reel running through my head. I stretch out that particular point in time, less than three seconds in reality, into endless minutes of what-ifs.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

As it was, small daggers of wood damaged my eyes, and added some interesting scars to my face, while a larger branch had slammed into my shoulder and knocked me senseless. Thankfully, Janey was far enough away to avoid being hurt, and she had called emergency responders to the scene immediately. Janey has a good head on her shoulders and didn't panic. Her quick thinking saved my life.

I lay in the hospital recovering from the accident until shortly before Thanksgiving. At that point, I was transferred to a rehabilitation facility where I learned new skills for coping in a world without light or color. In the past few months, I'd noticed an increased awareness to scent and sound, but all things tactile were still beyond me. I didn't seem to have the sensitivity in my fingers to differentiate the little bumps and subtle nuances of braille. Stupid fingers!

Janey and I never mentioned the scars after the first time I had asked her to give me an honest assessment of the damage. I had waited until the third or fourth month to ask; by then the pain was a memory and the swelling finally gone. Tactile insensitivity aside, I could feel the fine, and not so fine, traceries of scar tissue. I suppose vanity demanded I hear someone tell me the facts so I could stop wondering. According to Janey, the damage was not as bad as it felt to me.

The loss of sight in both eyes was the most distressing aspect, but the scar slashing down over the right socket, from my eyebrow to the outer corner of my eye, took the longest to heal. The doctors had thought I'd lose my eye, but somehow they managed to save it, so aesthetically my face was still whole.

There were five other facial scars; more like punctures really, which I'm told have healed to fine, almost invisible, lines. "Quit playing with them!" Janey scolded me all the time as my fingers were inexplicably drawn to the ridges and bumps.

The splinter that had damaged my left eye completely missed the skin, embedding itself in the corner of my socket, to wreak its damage internally. My eyes look normal (if not a little freaky due to the big-ass scar bisecting the lid of the right one), and I'm told people can't necessarily tell I'm blind as I've retained the habit of tracking sound with my eyes, and turns of the head, as though I can see.

There were other punctures to my shoulders and right arm from the large branch that knocked me out, but I don't think about them as much. Out of sight out of mind?

While doctors were busy debating how to save my right eye, Janey had presented me with a selection of colorful, decorated eye patches she swears give me character, making me look dashing and mysterious. Of course, I think she's full of crap. She'd gifted me with twelve patches in all, taking time to describe each one in detail, and declaring which outfits they would match. Janey had entertained me with outrageous stories, helping me hold onto the threads of sanity.

"Now this one," she'd told me while placing a satin, embroidered patch in my hand, "is puke green. The same color as the sweater you like to wear all the time."

"Hey! That's my favorite sweater! It is not puke green, it's mint," I corrected. "I get compliments every time I wear it."

"Pity compliments," she sighed had heavily. "It hurts my heart you can't tell when people are simply being kind," she told me in exaggerated sympathy. In my mind, I could see her shaking her head and frowning at me in wonder. Did I mention Janey's favorite color is yellow? I mean really, who likes yellow? We have mercilessly teased each other about our favorite colors for over twenty-five years.

"Now this one," she had said, plucking away the demeaned green patch and replacing it with another, "is a lovely black and gold, which matches the swimsuit you bought last summer."

I'd laughed, picturing myself in the gold, shimmery bikini etched in black lace, wearing a matching eye patch over the right lens of my sunglasses. "You're such a goof ball. Where would you get a gold and black lace eye patch anyway?" I ran my fingers over the abrasive lace, which would probably itch like heck if I wore it. "It's really chartreuse isn't it? You're planning to get your secret kicks from parading me out in public dressed like a clown."

"Mmm," Janey had feigned deep consideration, "while that idea does hold some appeal, I will be seen in public with you, and I'm not willing to sacrifice my personal dignity for a few laughs. You are safe from fashion ridicule."

I'd appreciated Janey's pick-me-up assortment of patches, but luckily, subsequent good news from the doctors meant they wouldn't take the eye. I could stick with my preferred sunglasses instead; I hadn't been looking forward to all the scratchy lace.

The eye patches now adorn a cradle of teddy bears. Why? Janey and a couple of other (dubious) friends fashioned the child's bed into a pirate ship and tore right-eye buttons off a dozen bears, replacing each eye hole with a patch from my collection. (Am I the only one who has noticed if you drop the 'R' your friends become fiends?) I now own a veritable booty of pirate bears.

With a sigh, I wrapped my long hair into a twist and shoved a pair of chopsticks into the bun. I pushed away from the mirror and felt my way to the dresser. Knowing the placement of everything in the room had yet to cure me of walking without reaching forward, as if anticipating a huge ledge sprouted overnight. Grabbing a pair of panties from the top drawer, I stepped into them. I'd pulled out the next drawer, when my bedroom door opened. (See what I mean? I hadn't closed my bedroom door, so if I'd left the room, I would have barreled right into the darn thing!)

"Eeeek, naked woman! I'm going to go blind!" screeched a dramatic falsetto voice.

"Oh, cut it out you moron." I grinned toward the voice of my live-in assistant, Ken Weston. "If you go blind, it won't be from seeing my boobs." My voice inferred other things would be the cause. "Are you the one who closed my door? What if I smashed into it?" I snatched up a bra, most likely the one I wore yesterday, and held it up. "Is this the beige one?"

"Yes, it is, and if you spent more time studying your Braille, Ms. March, you'd be able to tell the color by fingering the tag." I didn't understand why I suddenly became Ms. March when HE was the one affecting a school teacher tone—it seemed kinda backward to me.

"As to your first and second questions, I was grinding beans and didn't want to wake you. I had hoped to rouse you gently with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. And you wouldn't have smashed into the door because you insist on doing the zombie thing with your arms straight out whenever you're walking around the house. Furthermore, I was coming to open your door when I was visually assaulted," Ken complained with an exaggerated, lispy cadence to his speech, which meant he was teasing. Ken was one of those gay guys you couldn't tell was gay unless he wanted you to know it. "Want me to grab you something from your closet?"

"Yeah, could you set out a top that will go with jeans and the sage-green sunglasses?" Bra already tugged into place; I had finished fastening my jeans when Ken draped a length of cotton over my wrist.

"The shirt is new. Argyle pattern in pastels and it has a nice sage splash right in the front. Damn, I'm good," he said smugly, giving himself credit for matching the colors so well to my sunglass collection.

His first job as my new assistant had been a shopping trip with my credit card and a minimum set of instructions. Janey was so jealous of his good taste and thrifty bargains she insisted he come shopping with her when it was time to update her wardrobe. Me? I was happy to leave the shopping to someone who enjoyed it. Shopping: Yuck!

My selection of sunglasses was on an orderly rack above the dresser. While I could usually tell which was which by a combination of shape and size, I was pretty good at keeping track of where each pair was on the hooks Ken added later.

Ken was my one extravagance. I had been hesitant to hire a male assistant due to the intimate nature of my needs. Actually, I had been hesitant to hire anyone, not understanding the benefit of having someone under foot while I learned how to be independent again.

Ken had been up-front about his sexual orientation from the beginning. He hoped it would convince me that my 30-year-old female body wouldn't drive him into "uncontrollable lust" (direct quote). Ken's casual acceptance of my blindness, his wicked humor, and cheerful nature won me over in the first ten minutes of his interview. His thoughtful consideration had cemented his place in my home a thousand times since then.

Ken's complete lack of interest in me as a woman made it easier during the first couple times he'd inadvertently seen more than I was comfortable flashing. It was inevitable when two people shared a house I suppose. I was so glad I took Janey's advice and gave him a try, although her opinion was suspect as she has referred to him, on more than one occasion, as "eye candy."

Although he's only twenty-four years old, Ken's a registered nurse. During his interview, he stressed his nursing experience in a rehab center and his familiarity with cranky, old, blind people (see above reference to humor). Janey tells me he's a good-looking blond, blue-eyed, surfer-dude type with a great smile and confident, direct gaze. She told me to imagine a sandy-haired Keanu Reeves, but with intelligence in his eyes. He's five or six inches taller than Janey, with a sculpted chest (her words), and a nice, tight rear. Is "fuck-a-licious" even a word? Anyway, Janey tells me it's a loss for women everywhere that he's batting for the other team.

I was startled by a knock at the front door. Usually, I'd have heard a car drive up. "That will be Janey," Ken informed me. "Come along old, decrepit one," he snarked, placing my hand on his arm, tugging me insistently toward the stairs leading down to the living room.

I decided to ignore the snide comment—after all, he had been traumatized only minutes ago. "I hadn't realized we were expecting company. Did you make enough coffee for all of us? I'm not giving up my portion!"

"Now you know why I ground extra beans. You get crabby you get when you don't have at least two mugs by breakfast. Last step," Ken said absently, as we leveled out to the ground floor. I usually maneuvered the house by myself, but Ken knew when we talked and walked together I didn't always concentrate on counting the number of paces, let alone stairs.

Ken detached my hand with casual practice, wrapping my fingers around the curved back of my dining room chair; the scent of coffee instantly had the silencing effect I'm sure he was hoping for. I pulled out my seat, as he answered the door, then cautiously swept my hand across the table to locate the mug my nose knew was waiting.

Janey's voice filtered in from the foyer as she called out a general hello to the room. I could hear her whisper with Ken, but I couldn't make out the distinct words. Ken made some mumbled reply as they both entered the dining area.

The clock on the mantle announced seven o'clock with a tinkling wind chime tone telling me it was a.m. At noon, the chime would change to a deeper gong reverberation for the p.m. hours. I have no idea where Ken found the clock, but it was perfect.

"Hey, girlfriend."

"Hey, back atcha," I replied. "What's with all the furtive whispering? Ken told you he's getting his eyes checked because he saw a half-naked woman this morning?"

"There are some things that are simply impossible to bounce back from," Ken said gravely.

"She has no shame. Parading around bare-assed again, was she?" Janey's voice was equally serious. "Maybe it's time we got her a man so she'll stop throwing herself at you."

"Hey, you two. Sitting right here." I waved my hand in front of me, not knowing or caring if they were even looking in my direction. I had my coffee. It is all about clear priorities. I took a sip and placed the mug carefully on the table. Finally, in my defense, I scoffed, "He walked in on me again, the pervert."

"Well, I have a man for you anyway." Janey stepped close enough to press something large against my chest; my hands came up automatically to grasp the large, furry, squirming bundle of puppy trying to climb my torso. "May I present Declan's Stormy Druid."

"Oh. My. Gosh! Dru! You kept him for me?" The pup lunged upward to lick my chin. "Geez, what are you feeding him? He weighs a ton!" I was laughing at his enthusiasm and trying to stay balanced on the edge of my seat. Remembering priorities, my right forearm slid along the table top gently nudging my precious coffee into a safer zone.

"He's a bit larger than average for an eight-month-old. I'd guess he's about fifty-five pounds or so, and still growing. He'll probably put on another thirty or thirty-five pounds before he's done. And there was never any question he would be yours. I've kept him at the kennel while we waited for you to be ready for him. He's even passed the AKC S.T.A.R Puppy program had CGC obedience schooling which comes with a framed Canine Good Citizen certificate."

"So, you're telling me my dog with a pedigree has a pet degree?" I teased, and Janey groaned at the bad pun. Cuddling the young dog, I realized there was one scent that rivaled coffee: puppy breath.

"I've spoken with a guide dog trainer friend of mine about getting him certified as a seeing-eye dog. Carley tells me there's quite a bit of pre-training involved, about a year or more, just getting them socialized and familiar with traffic, enclosed spaces like elevators, and stuff like that."

I shook my head as Janey yakked a mile a minute. I've never known anyone who can talk so fast, or so much, without gulping air.

With barely a pause between thoughts, she continued, "I took Carley's advice and we skipped the 'heel' command in obedience class, as he has to learn to pull a harness, not walk beside you. She says the normal guide dog training takes approximately four months, then dogs are matched to owners, so we're kinda doing everything out of order. Of course, when you picked him he was supposed to be a pet, not a seeing-eye dog. I did get a service vest and guide dog training videos, so we can work with him. Carley says he listens amazingly well, and he's been very adaptable when I've taken him places to familiarize him with new noises and locations."

"You've never spoken about her before." I mentally paged through a list of Janey's shepherd contacts, but couldn't recall anyone by this name.

"Carley Lippold. Her facility, Blind Sighted, is located in Burien, outside Seattle. I've occasionally donated dogs to her guide dog school. Usually runts, or puppies showing good temperament but not up to show standards. It's a write off for my kennel, and Carley gets quality dogs added to her program.

"I took Dru with me on a road trip a few months ago. Carley assessed him and tried some minor preliminary tests for his suitability. She told me he'd be a perfect candidate for her program, although the final aptitude determinations are made between eighteen months and two years old. Her program is amazing. After matching each dog to an owner, she invites the blind person to stay at her facility for a month to learn how to care for their guide dogs: feeding, grooming, and poop scooping," Janey chuckled. "Thank goodness you have all this wild area around your house. You should never have to clean up after him unless he decides to poop during a walk in the park or something."

Dru was heavy in my lap, but surprisingly calm after a few initial chin licks. His head pivoted as he followed the sound of our voices, but he didn't struggle, or otherwise fight to leave my arms. He was a good boy.

Janey droned on about obedience class, and from long practice, I found I filtered out much of what she was saying until, "What? You neutered him?"

"No, no, you're tuning me out again, aren't you. I was saying, Carley recommends companion animals be spayed or neutered, but I felt that should be your decision. He's a pure-bred German shepherd from a champion lineage. Last year, you paid top dollar due to his breeding potential, so it wasn't up to me to make that decision for you. I only wanted to tell you what the recommendation was. You can't see him, Teresa, but he turned out to be the pick of the litter. He has beautiful conformation and the smoothest gait of any pup in his brood. I know a teenager in town who would probably be ecstatic to show him for you as part of her 4-H club activities. Let me know if you'd like to enter him in any of the GSD shows."

I snuggled my cheek into the ruff of my dog's neck. "Hear that, handsome? You've got blue ribbon potential."

"He's really social," Ken added. "I've taken him with me a few times, at Janey's request. He gets along great with other dogs, and loves being around kids. I was worried at first, when a toddler screeched and came running straight at him in the store. He just sat down and let the kid pull his ears, and step on his tail. He's really mellow."

"Oh! Ken, we need to get bowls and brushes. And food. He'll need a leash and toys..." My voice trailed off and I smiled, giving Dru a soft squeeze.

"What's this 'we' shit? I know who is really going to be running around to get him properly outfitted in the style to which he should become accustomed." There was a smile in his tone that led me to believe it wouldn't be such a hardship. "Food, bowls and his harness are already taken care of. Janey brought them with her and they're at the front door. The bowl and water system only need to be filled every few days so he can free-feed. He's wearing a new red collar. I'll pick up anything else he needs later this morning when I go shopping."

"While you're doing the shopping, I'll bring Teresa over to my house for lunch. Bas will be here in four days. She and I can spend some time together before he sets himself up in the spare room."

"Who, or what, is a Bas?" Ken asked suspiciously.

Janey's voice turned excited, "Sebastian, my big brother. He recently finished his twenty years in the Navy and retired last week. He's taking care of business in New Jersey, then dropping in to stay with me for a few months while he decides what he wants to do next."

"Big Jerk, you mean. Bas the Ass," I added. I couldn't keep the loathing out of my voice.

"He is not," Janey scolded. "It's probably been more than ten years since you last saw him. He grew out of his womanizing man-ho phase a long time ago."

"Man-ho?" Ken choked out the words around a laugh.

"Yep. If it had boobs, he'd nail it where it stood," I clarified. "Talk about indiscriminate. It's a wonder he didn't end up with an STD. Ha! He probably caught something more than once."

"Oh stop, he wasn't that bad. Give him a break! He was twenty-six when you walked in on him and Sherry. You'd think he had women strewn across the lawn the way you reacted. Let it go already."

"I was scarred for life. Eighteen and the first time I'd ever seen a naked man was walking in on him having sex with Sherry Dangerfield. On the kitchen counter of all things! Didn't he realize food was prepared there?" I didn't mention to Janey her brother was hung like a horse (I mean, ewww, you don't tell your best friend such intimate facts about her brother).

My mind easily recalled the scene: Bas bowed over the woman's splayed body; one large hand cupped around her jaw. I must have made some noise, or maybe Bas happened to glance up and see me frozen in the doorway. I can still see the smirk on his face when he lifted his mouth from Sherry's neck, slid his hand down as if he was holding her restrained by the throat, and then, staring straight into my eyes, he pistoned his hips harder into her. I fled and managed to avoid him for the remainder of his military leave.

In my inexperience, I assumed all men were equipped like Bas. It took years before I screwed up enough courage to lose my virginity. His size, coupled with the aggression in his face and body, had scared me. Intimidated me. Fear contributed to the dislike I'd felt for him over the years.

Bas would be thirty-eight now. Last time I'd seen him, he was tall, blond, and built like a minor deity. Broad chested and beautifully proportioned, Sebastian Declan embodied the physically ideal man, and he knew it. Muscles pulled tautly over a huge 6'3" frame which moved with an unexpected fluidity. Even when he was at rest, he radiated an alertness which suggested he could snap into action from a perfect standstill. That threat of action made me nervous even casually being in a room with him.

His eyes were more gray than green, and twinkled with devilment. I'd always argued he was up to no good, but a more generous person would've probably said his eyes were lit with the joy of life. Yeah, whatever. Amiable when we were younger, as we aged he and I barely tolerated each other—I thought he was a man-whore, he thought I was a prig. We were both right. The only thing we had in common was our love of Janey, so we got along by avoiding each other.

Our mutual strategy had managed to keep us out of each other's path for a good twelve years, excluding incidental eye contact at family gatherings. With luck, we could continue to avoid each other for another dozen. Eye contact would certainly not be an issue anymore.

The puppy was still calmly curved against my torso. It struck me as somehow against the character of a young dog to be so still, but I was thankful not to worry about dropping him. His warm weight felt comfortable, but he was already a good-sized dog and wouldn't be able to climb into my lap for much longer. My left arm was curled around his body so I ran my right hand softly over the face tucked against my neck. My fingertips learned the length of his muzzle and the contrast between the softness of the fur around his face and ears, versus the coarser ruff over his chest. His ears were large and strong, already held at attention and tilted forward at the top of his head. I couldn't resist stroking them and leaning forward to tease, "I bet you get great reception with these things, Dru."

In my mind, I heard a snort. "Aren't you the comedienne? And it's Red."

"What's Red?" I asked aloud, confused.

There was a slight hesitation in my mind, "My name is Red."

"Holy crap!" I told the room at large. "The dog talks!"
Chapter Two

** Morning, Tuesday – July 9th **

"I thought you said she was off the painkillers," Janey retorted drolly, obviously to Ken, as her voice was aimed away from me.

"Yes, but she may have bumped her head on one of those imaginary protuberances she obviously believes are located all over the house," came the equally droll response. "It would be logical for there to be imaginary voices, too."

"Har har, you two. Seriously, the dog told me his name is Red, not Dru." At least, I don't think I imagined it.

"Why would a black dog call himself Red?" Janey asked, stressing the logical, or in this case, illogical. Whispering loudly to Ken, "Has the fish been talking also?" Janey referred to the betta, Murphy, on the kitchen counter...well, I assumed Murphy was still there.

"I only know what he told me, not his intelligence," I defended with no small amount of wonder. Scratching the pup thoughtfully under his chin, I decided the best way to find out, and make sure I wasn't imagining things, would be to ask him. "So, the peanut gallery and I want to know why a black dog is named Red."

"That's what Janey called me. Maybe we should be rating her intelligence, hmmm?" Red's words didn't have a distinctive voice in my mind like you'd associate with, for example, Sylvester Stallone or Tom Cruise. Nothing instantly identifiable as a specific person, age, or nationality. His voice was more emotions and attitude – like when you talk to yourself in your head. Oh, oh...I didn't like the direction my thoughts were taking here. Those were the kind of smart-ass things I would think or say.

Tentatively I relayed, "He says that's what you called him, Janey."

There was silence before Janey softly verified, "I call all the puppies by their yarn color. Since it's up to the owners to name their dogs, it's easier. I've never called him Dru, or Druid." Another pause, "You do know how this sounds, right? You admitted, out loud in front of witnesses, the dog talks."

Conceding with an affirmative nod, "Yeah, you're not the only one questioning my sanity. I already realized he speaks like I talk to myself, in my head. Hard to distinguish between the two, but there's a subtle difference." I leaned back so I could tilt my dog's face up and thought to him, "Can you hear me?" There was no response, so I asked out loud, "Can you hear me when I think words to you, Red?"

I swear he hrumped at me. "What? You think I'm a mind reader?" Yes, there was a definite trace of sarcasm there. "I was as surprised as you were that you could understand my thoughts, but I don't hear yours. Other people don't seem able to hear me. I just now tried to talk at Janey but it didn't work with her." I could sense laughter in his next comment, "Now who has reception like a radar dish?"

I chuckled.

"What?" Ken asked, clearly intrigued by my slim grasp of reality. Probably wondering to himself how could he have missed the signs?

I chuckled again at my new train of thought, but brought myself back to Ken's query. "I teased him about the size of his ears earlier. He just retorted by pointing out I'm the one with reception like a radar dish as I am receiving the signals, rather than him. I have a smart dog!" I boasted.

"What you have is a loose screw," Janey corrected under her breath.

I bit back my exasperation. Obviously, we don't want to upset the crazy girl, so we must use a soft voice and guide her gently back to the real world. What? She thinks, simply because I'm potentially crazy, I won't recognize she just insulted me? The temptation to do something wildly outrageous flitted through my mind. Mental sigh. Must be nice to my friends. I'll save the crazy display for a later date, and more appreciative audience.

"Hey, Pal," I addressed Red, "how's Orange doing?" Janey'd never told me if the smallest puppy had survived, so I figured this would be a good way for all of us to determine if I was going nuts, or not. There is no way an imaginary voice could know the answer.

"Janey called him Little Guy. She brought him back from the vet all doped up and he went home with a man later the same day." Red let out a soft, rumbling growl. "Please tell me neutered doesn't mean what I think it means," he whined. "I can't tell time very well, so I don't know how long ago this was. I think the man said something about Valentine's Day?"

I mock-covered Red's ears and spoke toward Janey, "Neutered? You had to talk about that in front of my dog? He's traumatized!" I exaggerated. Tilting my face down toward Red, I added, "And yes, it means what you think it does." Facing Janey again, "Red says you called the sable 'Little Guy' and a man picked him up around Valentine's Day; the same day you had him fixed."

"Holy shit, Teresa," Janey murmured reverently. "Your dog talks!"

The next half-hour passed in a blur of excited questions, and laconic answers, as Red proved to be an intelligent companion with a biting wit and endless patience.

"How did you learn to talk?" I inquired at one point.

"I learned words from listening to Janey, the radio, and TV in the kennel," Red informed me.

"Can you 'talk' to other dogs?" I asked.

"No," he replied.

"Can other dogs talk to their humans?" Janey chimed in. This question was followed by a short silence as Red stirred himself, from his position snuggled under my chin, to look toward her.

"Is English not her first language?" he asked rhetorically. "If I can't talk to other dogs, how would I know?"

We all laughed over his comment.

"You're not even a year old, how can you communicate so well?" I wanted to know.

"I don't think like people do, but I understand a lot of what you say. I have never tried to 'speak' at anyone before. Sometimes words are really confusing because what people say doesn't always match their body language. Dogs rely on body language more than words. When you made the comment about my ears, I knew what you meant and thought back at you. There are some words you say that I don't know what they mean, and sometimes you say sentences that don't make sense to me, even though I know the words. What is a peanut gallery anyway?"

What followed was a lively discussion regarding slang and context.

*****

"Do you have a favorite dog food?" I asked, curious.

"I only know about the food Janey gives us. Food is food. Some food smells more interesting. I like chicken because it smells and tastes really nice. Bread is good too."

Red's weight became too much to hold comfortably so I placed him on the floor. He settled at my feet, leaning against my knee and chair leg. His weight felt warm, and reassuring. My heart was utterly full; I was amazed by the unexpected feeling of completion. How like Janey to recognize what I had been unable to pinpoint since my accident.

Ken was topping off coffee when I asked Red, "How good is your sense of smell? Can you smell emotions, or sickness?"

Red seemed surprised when we explained humans couldn't pick up on scents like anger, nervousness, and illness. He informed us how changes in odor from sweat and (what we assumed were) hormones or pheromones, combined with body posture, gave dogs an accurate assessment of people's emotions. He wasn't able to clearly associate many scents with words because he hadn't been around a person he could smell to connect the scent to a particular term.

Red told me there were smells that indicated stay away, leave, or come closer. Also, males and females definitely had specific aromas (hence our assumption regarding hormones) but some odors didn't have any association to words yet. Red wasn't sure about recognizing sickness as he hadn't been around any sick people, except Janey when she had a cold a few months back. "There was a smell, kind of sour and 'wrong,'" he attempted to describe.

I drank deeply from my newly refilled mug. The constant talking over the last thirty minutes, translating mind-speak (as Red and I decided to call it) to my friends, was hard on a woman's throat. Ken made the best coffee, I thought with a contented sigh. He insisted the secret was a pinch of salt on top of freshly ground beans.

"Can dogs pick out one emotional scent from others if there are a lot of them together?" I wondered aloud.

"Sure, especially when you add in body language," Red told me. "I can smell you were happier when you started to sip your coffee. You leaned forward over your cup and held it like you didn't want someone to take it from you, and you spent a lot of time breathing in the scent."

I smiled and told my friends about Red's observation.

"Janey likes Ken's scent because when he walks close to her she smells really, really happy and her body leans toward him like she's trying to rub up against him. And Ken..." I was smiling over Red's perspective, and still deciding if I was going to translate Janey's interest in Ken to the room in general, when I felt Red's body shift to alertness. "Ken likes Janey too. He sniffed her as he poured her more coffee. He likes her scent."

"Ken's gay," I countered absently. "Gay men prefer to be intimate with other men." At my comment, Ken stopped where he was standing. His stillness was reminiscent of the proverbial deer caught in headlights, and I felt heaviness in his silence. My face turned in his direction; my brain processing Red's running commentary intermingled with my own new ideas.

"I'm not really sure what you mean by 'intimate with other men,' but Ken definitely likes Janey's scent."

"What?" Janey demanded, clearly confused by the silence.

"Busted," I replied, turning to face Janey. "It appears Ken isn't batting for the other team after all."

"Crap," Ken cursed under his breath.

"Are you really twenty-four?" Janey asked, carelessly acknowledging to the room her priorities were seriously screwed up.

"Focus, Janey," I interrupted forcefully. "I'm more interested in the fact this manly-man has seen me naked."

"Arrrgggg!" Ken interjected to the conversation. "Is it any wonder why I lied? I had been trying to get a job for months before you offered me the position. Everyone seemed to discount me because, stereotypically, personal assistants are women. I have a gay brother who came up with the idea of pretending to be homosexual so I could secure this job. More importantly, you needed some possible medical care, and I do have a degree in nursing, so I was a better fit for you."

His voice took on a cajoling lilt, "Except for misrepresenting my sexual preference, I've never lied to you. I would never disrespect you and, don't take this the wrong way, but you aren't my type. Yes, I am 24, and sure, I've seen you in various stages of undress. But Teresa, you're my boss. I'm not interested in you that way—no matter what the dog may or may not have said." In a rush, he concluded, "I really like this job. I'm good at it, and I think we get along very well together. I want to continue working for you."

"Actually, Red seems to believe you and Janey have the hots for each other. Did you really sniff her hair when you poured her coffee?" I asked with a knowing grin.

Janey cleared her throat, but there was no other noise from her side of the table. I was forced to imagine the eye contact and nonverbal communication going on.

Deviously, I made a mental note to ask Red later. Red's potential cast a new twist on my previously dark reality. A full smile, feeling much like a sunrise, dawned across my face.

"Since you're no longer one of the girls, it may mean we re-work some of the ground rules, but I think this relationship works for us, Ken. I can't imagine opening my home to anyone else." I paused to think about our situation. "I will tell you though, the idea you helped me pick out my bras is freaking me out a bit."

New house rules were pretty simple and consisted of: knock and wait for "Come in" before entering rooms with a closed-door. Once the new rule was in place, we discussed taking Red to get a shampoo while Ken went shopping for pet supplies.

Ken gathered up the coffee cups and told us we needed to get going. Subtle? Not.

While I glared daggers at his retreating form (I was pretty sure there had still been a swallow or two of coffee remaining in my mug), Janey ran down the day's itinerary, which consisted of dropping Red at the groomer's, dropping me off at her house while she stopped by her pharmacy and the library. Then she would come back to her place so we would make lunch together.

Optimistic, I got up to grab my coat. Maybe we could stop for coffee while we were en route?
Chapter Three

I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket before I hung my jacket on the peg in the entryway, casually tossing my purse and Janey's house keys on the small table by the front door. Doing my usual zombie imitation, I shuffled my way to the living room, and placed my cell phone and sunglasses on the coffee table, before reclining into Janey's couch. I rested against the back, leaning my face sideways enjoying the butter-soft fabric.

We had shopped together for the couch set, and I smiled at the remembrance of her dragging me from store to store to find the exact shade of chocolate-brown she envisioned. Janey took the shopping experience very seriously, insisting that, with every piece, we snuggle back to test the height of the couches for comfort. Then we bounced on cushions to make sure they weren't too hard or too soft—you might imagine the teasing Goldilocks jokes I came up with.

I was the one who spotted the pale golden-brown cluster of furniture at the fourth store we visited, and instantly fell in love with it. The fabric was some type of soft microfiber that tempted me to run my hands over the high-backed recliner. Janey was mildly disappointed the set didn't come in the dark chocolate she had been imagining, but as soon as she sank into the couch's plush embrace, she decided she could live with the lighter color.

In my mind's eye, I was able to see the matching loveseat arranged directly across from me, on the other side of a low coffee table, and the rocker-recliner sat in the corner of the room, by the fireplace, under the graceful arch of a Tiffany floor lamp. It was a beautiful room; my favorite space in Janey's house.

It only took a small roll of my head and I was basking in the warmth of the sun streaming through one of the living room's large-paned windows. Inhaling deeply before a content sigh, I detected the lemon scent of furniture polish, and a light undertone of sandalwood against my cheek. I grinned; Janey was caught up in the aromatherapy craze. She was always spritzing her bed sheets with fragrances she insisted would promote better sleep. Therefore, it came as no surprise she had begun misting the furniture with scents too. It was a nice aroma, with maybe a hint of lime, and some spice I didn't recognize. Refreshing. Nothing like the cloying floral scents carried in most chain stores.

I drew in a deeper breath—nope, still didn't recognize it, but the fragrance was pleasant and I decided I would like to get some for spraying on my window seat cushions. I could think of nothing better than having the soothing scent of lime and fragrant woods, encompassing me in my haven, as I listened to an evening storm.

A light brush against my foot was my first indication I was not alone in the large room. The touch was closely followed by a rumbling purr and the weight of a small body hopping up on the couch next to me. "Hey, Cat," I greeted. Yep, her name was Cat. Never let it be said Janey wasted precious time naming her pets—it was a habit I hoped wouldn't persist when she had children. I can hear it now— "I'd like to introduce you to my son, Boy." Poor kid.

Purrs grew louder as the furball jumped onto the back of the couch to run her face against my cheek before she settled herself next to my head, pinning me down by my hair. Silly cat. "Where'd you come from? I would have thought you'd already claimed this spot, absorbing rays." As I ruffled her fur amiably, her spine lifted into my touch.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the quiet of the room, disturbed only by the rumble of Cat's mini-motor. Perhaps it was the absence of Red's chatter in my head, but I was startled to realize how lonely I had become in the past year. Janey, Ken, and now Red, were the extent of my contact with sentient beings.

"Hey Cat, wanna go bar hopping with me?" I smiled at my absurdity, but continued, "I've just realized, I haven't been laid in almost three years now. I think it's about time to find Lover Number Three. What are your thoughts on this matter?"

The gentle head-butt reinforced my own opinion.

"Yeah, maybe bar hopping is not the best option—it never was before the accident, and there's no reason being blind would improve the venture." I ruffled her fur again to reward her sage advice.

A random thought crossed my mind and I straightened suddenly swinging my feet to the floor, yanking my hair out from under Cat's curled up body. The mini-motor cut abruptly, no doubt in ruffled protest. "Holy crap, Cat! My assistant is a man!" I flushed in mortification, heat rushing to my cheeks as I thought of the things he does for me daily. I buried my face in my hands. He has been puttering around in my house for over four months now, putting away my clothes, and everything.

"There are toys in the bottom drawer of my nightstand," I confessed. Turning to look over my shoulder at Cat, I added emphasis in case she underestimated the importance of my words. "Yep, THOSE kinda toys."

I let my body fall backward so my head bounced on the couch back and screwed my eyes tightly shut as I rode the wave of humiliation. With a dejected sigh, I tilted my head in the direction of my new confidant, "So, you gotta be straight with me, Cat. Is it more pathetic I am just now remembering I have a drawer full of, most likely, dust-encrusted vibrators? Or that I am worried my recently not-so-gay assistant might have been in the drawer when he was learning where I keep my stuff?" I groaned as another scenario came to mind. "Or, there's the third option—he's helpfully left a package of batteries in the drawer." Ah, man...the more I thought this through, the more embarrassed I got.

"He's the compulsively thorough type who would have diligently gone through the entire drawer and cataloged everything. Vibrator? Check. Back up vibrator? Insert evil chuckle. Check. Flavored lube? Probably unscrewed the cap and tasted it, the perv." I grumbled in disgust. "Life-like 8-inch dildo? Imagine raised eyebrow. Check. Scarves and assorted 'body jewelry?' Check, aaaaand check." At least he didn't know I'd named them. No, it wasn't a lot of privacy, but I'm not sure I could have born the shame of explaining Ricky, Buzz, and Oh-Henry.

"There are a few other things in that drawer you're too young to know about, Cat, and I don't want it to be known I corrupted you—so we won't discuss them." Cat graced me with another head butt and revved up the purr again. "I can imagine the shit-eating grin on his face while he went through the drawer; he probably even tried on the nipple clamps."

I contemplated firing Ken.

The one-sided conversation continued with a dramatic sigh. "Can't fire Ken, just because I will forever imagine him tasting my personal lubricant." Note to self, toss the banana lube when I get home and get a bottle of Astro-Glide instead.

"Drat! If I fire him, Janey would never forgive me." Distracted from my angst, a bemused titter escaped. That's one dance which could only end up in bed. I thought it polite to warn Cat since we were bonding. "Ken is apparently not gay. Which means those two will probably be yowling away in the bedroom tonight, so don't be alarmed by all the heavy breathing and smoochy noises. They will probably try to get as much sex in as they can before Bas the Ass hits town."

Cat, predictably, had no comment, although the purr motor did subside respectfully.

"Okay, so maybe Bastian isn't quite so bad, but let me tell you, Cat, it took me three years—three loooong years—before I was able to gather enough courage to have sex after I saw the size of him. Can you imagine seeing a cock that large, being used with such vigor, when you're a virgin? It was a huge deterrent." I chuckled at my unintended pun. "Only time I ever got drunk? Liquid courage; worked up enough guts to do it for the first time with some college guy. Average-sized equipment, thank goodness."

A longer pause. A heavier sigh. "I'm lonely, Cat." I pulled her off the couch and buried my nose in her soft fur. "Vibrators are fine and dandy if all I wanted was a quick orgasm. But, unwinding myself with an orgasm in a couple of minutes is no substitute for spending a quality hour or two with a man."

Feeling foolish for my emotional display, I placed Cat on the floor, and resumed my resting position against the couch, eyes closed, turned toward the heat from the window. Cat, being a cat, jumped right back up on the couch and began to scent-mark my shirt. I gave in and placed her on my lap.

"I miss the intimacy. I miss the little shiver down my spine when hot breath touches that sensitive spot at the nape of my neck." I reached up and touched the location under discussion, teasing the fine hairs there, imagining a warm exhalation. A breathy hum escaped my lips; one that might have been a moan had the touch not been imagined.

Cat meowed and arched her hindquarters up for a scratch.

"Hussy," I scolded with a fond smile as I obligingly tickled my nails over the base of her tail.

The motor revved again as she turned and settled on the couch beside my thigh.

It was obvious she was really getting into this bonding thing, so I confided further. "After we dated for a few months, I accidentally scratched Devon's back one night during sex. He was Lover Number Two, you know." I paused in my story while I considered the ranking and title. "Well, he was the second person I had sex with anyway. If you only have sex with someone once, to get rid of a pesky virginity problem, are they really considered a Lover?" I shrugged, why split hairs?

"For the sake of true confessions, we'll count him as the first, but we won't refer to him as Number One—that would be giving him too much credit." Yes, that time it DID sound a bit snarky, even to me. "So, after three months with Devon, I had my first and only orgasm—with a man anyway." Oh, yes, definitely sarcasm. Bitter? Me?

"I have no idea how it happened, because I had always been so careful, but I dug too hard into his shoulders and I scratched him." I looked down toward Cat. "I completely understood his anger—it must have stung—but I didn't do it on purpose. Did he take my spontaneous reaction as a compliment? No-oooooh. He threw a hissy fit. Accused me of marking him up to prevent him from being with other women.

"Honestly, Cat? It never occurred to me, until that instant, we weren't exclusive. So, I ended my relationship with Devon. Thirty years old, and I have spent more quality time with Ricky, Buzz, and Oh-Henry than I have with a real human."

I'm pretty sure I daydreamed there for longer than I realized before I gave myself a mental shake to snap out of it. "Damn! When I get home, I will have to get rid of Ken for half-an-hour so I can get reacquainted with Ricky and friends. Second order of business is to find myself a lover, Cat—I'm past due, don't ya think?" Time to move on with my life.

My cell phone chirped, startling me so badly I dislodged Cat from beside me on the couch. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun: Janey's ring-tone. "Hey Girlfriend, got your errands done already?"

"Yeah. It's one of those days where all the traffic lights were green." I grinned at her cheerful pleasure in a day running smoothly. She continued, "Meet me at the curb. Instead of cooking, I'll take us to lunch before we pick up Red from the groomer."

"Sounds great! I'll be out front in two minutes. Ciao." I half-heard her answering goodbye as I disconnected the call. Leaning forward, I swiped my hand across the coffee table to find my sunglasses and placed them on my nose. "Well Cat, it's been nice chatting with you. I have to tell you, out of all of my friends, you're probably the best listener." I smiled as I formulated a plan in my brain. "I'll take myself out to dinner tonight for some steak at Spencer's. Maybe I'll chat up the bartender or a sexy waiter."

I stood up and headed toward the hallway. "In the meantime, Cat, pull the covers over your head tonight. When Janey gets Ken home you will not get an ounce of sleep, poor girl." Pulling on my coat, I caught the faint, teasing scent of sandalwood again. I really needed to ask Janey about the name of the fragrance.
Chapter Four

** Evening, Tuesday – July 9th **

The mysterious fragrance was a special blend Janey had concocted at a custom shop in Idaho. The scent didn't have a name; only a recipe on a card under Janey's account—who knew you could have an account at a fragrance store? "I spritzed the cushions a couple weeks ago." She was pleased and praised my sense of smell. "I'll call the shop in Coeur d'Alene and have them mail you a couple of bottles."

Over a light lunch of salad and soup, Janey gave me her detailed plan for Operation Ken. The two of them had already agreed to Red Lobster for dinner tonight, which coincidentally worked well with my plans. Smiling, remembering my advice to Cat, I encouraged her to take Ken home and screw his brains out. Further, I didn't expect to see his mindless shell until after noon, tomorrow.

After assuring me Red's training was sufficient enough to get him into a restaurant with me, I talked to her about the G-rated part of my evening plan, which consisted of a nice dinner out—me and my faithful canine companion.

Janey and I picked up a pleasant-smelling, handsomely groomed Red, and then she dropped us off at my house. I explained my evening's objective to Red, who pledged his nose to my cause. He especially liked the part about us going to a steakhouse for dinner. Dogs are so easy to please.

Ken got Red "dressed" in his harness and I spent a few minutes adjusting to the handle height difference with the extra inches in the shoes I planned to wear. The heels put me over the six-foot mark, so we took a practice walk through the living room. I let Red steer me around furniture and, oddly, was confident in his assurances that imaginary protuberances had not sprung out from the walls to knock me senseless.

I decided I would go without my cane, since Red and I seemed to do so well. His mental instructions were like a sarcastic monologue in my head. He had me laughing over his silly observations about my heels, the happy smell wafting off Ken (I had to take his word for it), his own joyous thoughts about going out for the night, and the exciting probability of steak take-out.

Ken left me with a hug and the guarantee my cab should arrive within the next half-hour. We reviewed my purse's contents, including credit cards and money. I preferred to use credit cards, but it was always nice to have cash available if the need arose.

My tall, lanky frame looks best in uncomplicated straight lines, which hint at the strength and tone of my body. I have curves, but they are considered gentle contours, unlike Janey's voluptuousness. I dressed in a sleeveless black, beaded knee-length dress with a simple V-cut neckline, showing a hint of my unfettered C-cup breasts. My underwear consisted of a black thong offset by the lace border of thigh high stockings. Strappy three-inch heels added sexy length to my long legs. I was self-conscious about the facial and shoulder scars, deciding to leave my butt-length hair loose, held back in jeweled clips, to distract from the worst of the blemishes on my shoulders.

I never wore much make up when I had my sight, so I didn't see a need to start now. My soft black cashmere sweater-coat was calf-length and wrapped softly around my knees as I walked. When the cabby rang the doorbell, I excitedly slid my sunglasses on. Need I mention, Red felt compelled to remark about my own happy smell?

Spencer's Steakhouse is located at the Doubletree Hotel. The cab driver dropped me off where a hotel employee, valet I assumed, escorted me inside. A woman guided Red and me to the Steakhouse with a welcoming chatter and refused to accept the tip I offered for her trouble.

Red told me to save my money next time. "What, do you think I'm not able to follow a scent trail that leads to food?" My dog is a smart ass, in the best kind of way.

The hostess politely asked me if I would like to follow her to a table, or would I prefer to take her elbow. I explained to her we would follow, and Red would be able to guide me to the proper chair if she would be kind enough to pull it away from the table for me. I also asked to have another chair removed so my dog could lay by my feet with a line of sight to the entryway.

My waiter, Mark, was a young-sounding man who patiently explained the evening's specials as he helped me finalize my meal choices: a house salad, a medium rare rib eye steak covered in mushrooms and onions, and a side of roasted garlic mashed potatoes. I assured Red the steak would be large enough to ensure leftovers. A treat to celebrate our new-found independence.

With dinner ordered, Red relayed his unfiltered observations regarding surrounding diners: a couple on the far side of the room; a few tables accommodating three or more people who, we concluded, were probably business associates; and a totally dysfunctional family of four. Red was fascinated by this last table, which seated a mother, father, and two teenagers. They were all holding phones in their hands, texting. Throughout the meal, they never spoke to each other, or acknowledged the waitress who reached around them to set plates down as the courses changed.

If I kept my voice lowered, none of the other diners were seated within hearing distance. Red informed me the bartender was female (so much for Plan A), the waiter smelled of a woman, and at least two distinct children (Plan B went up in flames).

One of the males at a table of what we assumed were business associates, was staring at me. Red inferred he seemed more curious than interested in me as a woman.

With a sigh, I committed to Plan C: enjoy the meal with my exceptional canine companion. Hopefully, Operation Ken was progressing with better results, I thought with a grin.

Red let me know when a new couple came in. The hostess escorted them to a nearby table, but Red told me they were seated out of hearing distance and so I could still talk softly.

"They smell pretty nervous," Red observed.

"Maybe they are on a first date. They would be nervous if they didn't know each other very well, and they would be trying to make a good impression. It can make the couple a little stressed." I tore off a piece of bread and popped it in my mouth, sans butter.

There was a clattering noise from the newly seated couple's table.

"He dropped his knife. She was so startled, she knocked over her glass." Practice making perfect, thanks to the nearly steady stream of conversation, I was now able to easily pick out Red's mind-speak from my own thoughts. I could hear Red's teasing tone clearly in my mind. "Puppy love is so cute, don't you think?"

I grinned in appreciation of my dog's humor. "When he kisses her goodnight at the door, he'll probably be so nervous he'll end up stepping on her toes. I hate the awkward first date stage."

"Yeah," Red replied. "It's so much easier to be a dog. All a dog has to do is sniff another's butt and within a minute they know what the other dog likes to eat, if they are healthy, where they've been, and if the other dog's a female, whether or not she's in heat."

What could I say to that? In one sentence, he pretty much summed up what I could only guess about a guy over a two-hour dinner date.

My salad was served and I slipped Red a slice of bread with blue cheese dressing when he told me a new man had entered the restaurant and was being ushered to a table close to us. He assured me I could still speak quietly, with my head down. Red informed me the man, an alpha according to his posture and alertness, had watched us as he approached his table. Now seated, the man was observing me intently. "He's not being careful about it either. He's too far away for me to read his scent."

I broke off another piece of bread and laid my hand against the side of the table so my fingers held the morsel over the edge. Tapping my toe against the leg of the table was our prearranged signal to let him know I had a bite of food ready, in case he was scanning the restaurant. Hopefully, to the casual observer, it looked as if I was holding a bite negligently while I sipped my wine.

Red let me know the coast was clear. "Ready," and I dipped my offering a bit lower. The bread was taken from my hand with swift, but gentle teeth. "Oops, we got caught by the new guy. He is smiling."

"If he doesn't seem to care, then make sure he's the only one who sees me hand you food. I don't want the restaurant to get in trouble if people complain about me feeding you from the table—I didn't ask Janey what the rules were for guide dogs at restaurants."

I took a sip of my Merlot and enjoyed the flavor before I tore off a piece of bread for myself. I'd had enough salad, but Red informed me he really liked the smell and taste of the dressing, so I tried my best to dip slices of bread into the remains on my plate before passing them down to him. I finished my bite and tapped the table again when the last tidbit was prepared for my boy.

"Ready," Red encouraged. "He caught us again. I was more careful this time," Red assured me. "He's laughing at us now."

Red's tone changed, "Waiter coming with steak. Oh man, dinner smells so good." I sat back in my chair and was ready when the server announced himself and asked if he could take my salad away. I assume the roughage remains were whisked off to a waiting bus tray and I inhaled the steak's aroma as it was placed in front of me.

The server cleared his throat nervously, "Errr, ma'am, I don't know the right way to ask this. I don't want to offend, but can I give you any assistance in cutting the steak, or offer any direction as to the food placement?"

I smiled at his well-intentioned thoughts, and genuinely appreciated him asking if I needed any help. I found it endearing. Flashing him a grateful smile, "I'm not offended, Mark. Thank you for asking. I can handle my own cutting, but if you would be so kind as to pretend my plate is the face of a clock, and the point farthest from me is 12:00, then tell me where the food is placed?"

There was an answering smile in Mark's voice. "The rib eye is sitting between ten and seven. The mushrooms and onions are under the steak. Potatoes are at one through three. I placed a steak knife on the table at nine, next to your regular knife. I moved your wine glass a touch when I put the plate down, and you will find it at two, a couple of inches from your plate. And, so you know, there is a glass of water on the table at one, approximately six inches from the plate."

"How is my bread situation looking?" I asked. I couldn't help my widening smile as I imagined Red's ecstasy when I started dipping bread in steak juices.

Mark's tone was mock solemn, "The bread situation is looking grim, I'm sad to report. I may have to dump another roll or two in the basket for you." He leaned in closer and whispered, "Do you need a small side of dressing?"

Busted! I laughed but declined the additional dressing, although I gave a green light on a few extra rolls. I shared with Mark I'd hoped to be sneakier than I'd obviously been.

My waiter chuckled and reassured me he happened to look up from another table he was serving when he caught me in the act. "You've been very discreet," he praised.

Mark wandered away. I tipped my head down toward Red, "That's twice we've been seen. You need to pay better attention, or you'll lose your bread privileges until we get home." I was assured "stealth mode" was his new catch-phrase.

The rest of the meal progressed without incident until Red alerted me the man across the room, the one dining with business associates, had stumbled to his feet and begun a weaving approach toward our table. "Incoming." Red informed me. He stood on his feet at my side for the first time since we'd arrived, protectively barring the man from standing too close to me.

I cautioned Red to do nothing more than stand in his way. "No growling or threatening. If I think your teeth are bared in anything but a polite doggy smile, we will have words. Our conversation will begin with the phrase, 'So sorry we forgot your steak doggie bag at the restaurant.' We are in a public place so there's nothing he can do to hurt me."

As the man got near, Red told me, "He smells wrong." He leaned against my leg, as he focused on the man I suspected was drunk, hence the "wrong" smell and unsteady walk.

"The Alpha has noticed the other man coming our way. He is in a dominant posture, watching us," Red whispered with a definite sense of urgency in my mind.

"Hey, lady. Are you, like, famous or something?" a voice slurred in my direction.

"No," I replied.

"I think you must be in disc...desg...disguise, 'cuz you're, like, wearing those sunglasses, and the waiter dude is paying you special attention, like. 'N they let you bring your dog in here too?" The speech definitely displayed signs of intoxication.

He bent closer and I caught a whiff of his breath. Nasty.

"What's wrong with your face? Oh wow, are those scars? No wonder you're wearing them glasses." The words were almost unintelligible, and the volume of his voice rose with each remark. Red moved away from my leg and must have shouldered him away.

"Hey," the guy protested, and I heard a soft thump.

"Red?" I asked, as he fell against my thigh.

"I got a knee in the side. Can I bite him now?" Red whined. "Here comes the Alpha...and he is not wearing a polite doggy smile." I could hear the approval in Red's tone. Can dogs chuckle evilly?

I stood up in confusion. "Red, are you hurt?"

"Sit down, Teresa, it's okay, I'm fine. The Alpha grabbed him by the shirt. They have moved to the doorway and are having a..." there was a pause, "conversation." There was a longer pause before Red asked innocently, "So are balls what I think they are? And how DO you remove someone's balls through their throat?" The satisfaction in Red's tone led me to believe he was asking rhetorical questions and my dog had a firm grasp of sarcasm. Ha, as if I had any doubt.

"Waiter incoming." Red warned seconds before Mark arrived at the table and began to make a fuss. Oh man, so much for enjoying a quiet meal (Plan C, crashed and burned). I sat down as Red had suggested and squirmed uncomfortably as the waiter fretted.

Yes, I did want the name of the person who accosted my dog, and the name of the company he was in town to represent (moments later Mark pressed the man's business card into my hand).

No, I didn't want to press charges, unless I had to take my dog to the vet to get x-rays (Red assured me again, he was fine, only sore).

No, it was not necessary to comp my meal. I didn't hold the restaurant accountable for some drunken jerk's actions.

And yes, I would love a complimentary dessert, thank you, Mark. (I felt obligated to accept the latter, as Mark was so distressed—the lightweight, so easily upset).

The man, or as Red referred to him, Alpha, stopped by briefly to ask if my dog was okay. He knelt and ran a practiced hand over Red's ribs before pronouncing my dog fine, and praising Red's good behavior in a deep, gravelly voice. He solicitously asked if he could do anything for me. I let Alpha know I was fine and thanked him politely for his concern and intervention. I hoped I didn't sound rude or abrupt, but I found I was still upset and distracted by what had happened.

Red told me Alpha returned to his table, and then informed me the man was VERY interested in me. But, I was done. I wanted nothing to do with the man who accosted me. I had no interest in pursuing the man with the wickedly sexy voice who had stepped in to help us. I asked Mark if he could make the dessert "to go," box up my leftover steak, bring me my check, and call me a cab.

"I'm tired, Red," I said, after finalizing the credit card payment. I swiped at a tear escaping the corner of my right eye, hoping no one noticed. Removing my hair clips, I tilted my head downward to use the dark strands as a shield to hide my face. A self-conscious attempt to cover the scars, which were evidently more noticeable than Janey or Ken had let on. Love is blind, I thought to myself, noting the irony.

Mark was kind enough to help me into the sweater coat I had left with the hostess at my arrival. I flipped up the soft collar to conceal more of my face. A tidy package of meal remains, and my purse in one hand, I let Red lead me from the restaurant.

I had no desire to banter with Mark when he escorted me past the hostess station to the cab outside. More significantly, all interest I had in the third drawer of my nightstand had died a quick death. I didn't feel attractive or sexy.

Another tear escaped as I ducked into the back of the cab. So much had changed in a few hours—well, except one thing. "I'm lonely, Cat." I whispered under my breath.

Thankfully, Red was quiet for the trip home.
Chapter Five

** Wednesday – July 10th **

I spent a sleepless night bundled up in the window seat feeling sorry for myself. Nothing's more depressing than a pity party of one. I had no plan for moving out of my funk, but I did know I didn't want to ruin Janey and Ken's budding, whatever—dare I say romance? I pictured them going at it like a couple of rabbits. Nope, I'm pretty sure they were skipping the romance and diving headlong into lust. Silly rabbits.

The first thing I did (even before coffee), was toss the flavored lube. I completely creeped myself out with the idea of taste tests...not to mention, on further reflection, at what point does the stuff go bad anyway?

And no, there was no pack of batteries in "The Drawer." Although, I DID find one of my silk scarves tied in a large, loopy bow around Oh-Henry. Yep, Ken was toast. I'd have to bide my time for the perfect opportunity for retaliation. On a positive note, I got a good laugh over the fact Ken not only man-handled a synthetic penis, but he went so far as to pick it up in order to tie a bow around it. That thought, combined with his faux-gaydom, might somehow figure into my revenge plotting. It was the early days of Operation Revenge on Ken, but I had years of age and experience behind me. I would think of something epic.

I admit it. It was a ploy of avoidance on my part when I intentionally left the house by 10 a.m. to catch a bus to downtown. I didn't want to deal with a cheery Ken or, heaven forbid, a cheerier Janey if she decided to accompany Ken back to the house after a night of unbridled passion. I made a point of leaving my cell phone on the kitchen counter, as though I'd forgotten it.

First thing Red and I did was head off to the beauty salon to get a manicure. As awkward as it was to get around town without my sight, I had to wonder how much more difficult things were for someone who had always been blind. I had a set of mental maps, and benefitted from a mind's-eye concept of where things were, what they looked like, and I knew colors. Is it worse to have been born blind, or to have once been able to see things and have sight taken away? I suppose it was a matter of perspective. I, for one, was happy to have once had my sight. I missed many things, but there was comfort in the fact I had images to hold in my mind.

"Just a clear coat today, Cyndi," I told my manicurist as she placed my fingers in a small dish of something wet, "and let's cut them all the way down to fingertip length."

Red had asked to stay outside the door, as the chemical smells bothered him. So, I was alone in my thoughts, barely registering Cyndi's voice drone on about her daughter...something about goats, a yellow prom dress, and a tractor. In retrospect, I wish I had paid better attention. As it was, I puzzled over the trio of items for the rest of the afternoon wondering how they all entered into the same conversation. It was the start to a crazy joke, or maybe a really weird dream: a goat, wearing a yellow dress, rode a tractor to prom...

On impulse I asked, "Do you have time to cut my hair?"

*****

The public transit system is pretty good so we were able to catch another bus easily. Red and I took a nice long walk around Spokane's city center. While not large, the downtown area bustled with activity and we had a great time learning to maneuver around the lunch crowd.

By two o'clock I was tired of walking and bribed Red with promises of a hotdog at Riverfront Park. Red wasn't sure what a hotdog was (he said it in a way that added a comic puzzled accent on the "dog" part), but I built it up with lots of emphasis about the meaty smell and the fact it was wrapped in bread.

The Spokane River, regulated through downtown by a small system of dams, features a series of waterfalls. Bisecting the city is an artificially constructed diversion, which created an area resembling a pond. The "pond" at Riverfront Park is actually a deceptively fast-moving body of water that passes through an old power station's turbines, after which it resumes its course and is dumped back into the river downstream.

Spokane Falls is a focal point of Riverfront Park, which hosted the 1974 World's Fair. Pathways and spanning bridges interconnect the 100-acre park, hosting a small children's ride area, an antique, hundred-year-old carousel, and an IMAX theater. In the summer, sky gondolas take tourists and locals alike out over the river to view the beauty of thousands of gallons of water pounding the rocks in a series of spectacular waterfalls. This summer, Janey, Ken, and I had been frequent visitors to the concerts, and other special events, featured throughout the warmer season.

Red and I found a bench to relax on while we munched on park food. Hotdogs were a big hit with my new furry friend.

While we sat in relative privacy, listening to the crash of water below us, I made an effort to explain last night's fiasco to Red. I tried to tell him about people and attraction. He understood the words I used, but it took a while before he understood the concept that humans are mostly visual when it comes to their attractions and courtships.

"Unlike dogs, we don't rely on taste or smell to figure out who we want to get to know better." Red reminded me about Ken sniffing Janey's hair and I had to explain how that would have been considered a violation of her personal space if Ken had been a stranger. When people got to a point of smelling each other (does that only sound weird to me?) there is already an attraction and familiarity established.

"People can be pretty stingy when it comes to giving respect, or love, to others, Red. Beyond a mate, we search our whole lives to find people who are worthy of our friendship and affection. Unfortunately, we have a tendency to screw up because we judge a person by what we see." Red and I had an insightful disagreement regarding how well humans read body language. I marveled at how much I was learning from him.

My very serious eight-month-old informed me people were not too bright. We relied superficially on someone's looks to determine a base attraction. That beginning is later strengthened by an individual's priorities, like intelligence, strength, or possibly physical fitness. Yet, we weren't aware enough to read obvious posturing and body language. "It's like you look at people, but don't see them. If you're so bad at reading visual clues, it doesn't make sense to rely on looks to pick your mates." Yep, he had me there.

Red had a hard time understanding why the drunk considered me inferior when he was obviously not worthy of me (I love my dog). I smelled good and healthy; by Red's standards, this meant I would be potential mate material. Well, if I were a dog.

Completely unaware of how much I needed the emotional lift, Red reminded me Alpha, at the restaurant, had found me attractive. I had to explain to Red, once Alpha had gotten as close as the drunk and saw I was flawed, he might have had the same reaction. The key difference was, being more self-assured and respectful, he possibly would have hidden it better.

"He had a good look at you, Teresa. He stared right into your face the whole time he checked me for injuries. The more he looked, the stronger the signals," Red insisted. "His body language, words, posture, and scent said the same thing. He found you worthy."

I was happier as we rode the bus home and felt better prepared to face post-date Ken and Janey.
Chapter Six

** Late afternoon, Wednesday – July 10th **

Ohh gawd. I returned to not only post-date Ken and Janey, but more accurately post-coital-date Ken and Janey. It was painfully pathetic to watch the two of them hang all over each other...well, "watch them" metaphorically speaking, of course.

It was lust spiraled terribly out of control. Sad really. My best friend and her un-gay boy toy were as smoochy, and as all over each other, as I'd warned Cat they would be. I was still having a rough time getting over the concept of Ken being straight, and plotting my revenge. Now I needed to get comfortable with him having carnal knowledge of my best friend. They probably thought they were being subtle with all their lovey-doveyness; they seriously underestimated how great my hearing was after the eight months of sensory shift from visual to audio.

The two of them surfaced long enough to comment about my new shorter haircut. I'd ended up chopping off almost two feet of hair, which I felt wonderful about donating toward wigs for cancer patients. So, it now swung in a loose curtain around my face. Cyndi assured me the long bangs and chin-length cut swung forward, concealing my face when I tilted my head down a touch. Hiding, I know; after last night, I needed the camouflage and a big floppy hat wasn't gonna happen.

Ken said it looked great. Of course he did, he was not only my friend, but a paid employee. Janey, on the other hand, was practically in tears.

"Janey, it's only hair for goodness sakes. It will grow back."

"But it's so short! And it covers your face. I can't see anything but your sunglasses anymore!"

Obviously, my goal had been reached. I gave myself a mental pat on the back for a job well done. "It's easier to take care of now," I soothed. "What's the use of long hair when I always kept it pulled back or pinned up?"

"Oh my god! You cut off your nails, too?" Janey wailed. The way she was carrying on, you'd think I'd hacked the heads off the pirate bears collection.

I couldn't resist teasing her. "It's a good thing you can't see the skull and crossbones tattoo over my right ass cheek. I thought I might as well go all out on the make-over."

Ken snorted his coffee. At least, that's my best guess at what the muffled sound was. Janey was silent. It started as a soft giggle, then Janey laughed, and the stress of the room dropped dramatically.

In a quieter, but determined voice, she asked, "What happened? You love your nails. You love your long hair."

Ah, the downside of a long-lasting friendship is eventually your friends know you exceptionally well. I gave an edited version of last night's disturbance, and I told Janey I wasn't comfortable with my face exposed. Janey started to cry and got all clingy. Silly limpet.

Eventually, Janey sniffled herself into a relative calm and told me the cut looked very nice and she was sorry she'd gotten all upset. Uh huh...I amended her description to silly lying limpet, but let it go. She was trying to be supportive.

Ken made a nice meal of spaghetti and French bread, and we broached the subject of newly revised assistant hours. Ken agreed I didn't need him at the house twenty-four hours a day anymore. I was comfortable getting around, and I now had Red for company and support. Over dinner, we devised a new schedule, reducing his availability: nine in the morning to six at night, five nights a week. He still had a room at the house, but now had weekends off to correspond with Janey's schedule. It was agreed they would play (aka: have crazy monkey sex) at Janey's place where they would have privacy and I wouldn't be subjected to Janey's tears if he were having problems performing his studly duties. That earned a threat to have my bed short-sheeted next laundry day. Yeah, whatever.

Overfull with pasta and garlic bread, we all sat on the couch for movie night. Movie night at my house was a random evening where the sound is turned off on the TV. Janey and Ken take turns making up dialog and strange voices to describe the action. Tonight featured a B-Movie spaghetti western (not an accidental choice considering dinner). Ken was cracking us all up by trying to find different lines to describe every time Clint Eastwood squinted into the camera. Eye actions ranged from a fierce "I wanna kill something" squint, to an evil "I'm gonna bust yer ass" squint, to a "Hey baby, yer kinda sexy—wanna screw up against a water tower?" squint.

After dinner, I sat at the table with a slice of cheesecake and a mug of Seattle's Best coffee. Red had fallen asleep during the movie but was awake now and chewing on a furry bone. The toy box he'd pulled it from was Janey's idea; teach a dog these are the things you can play with.

I was contemplating if I wanted to try taking dance lessons at one of the studios in the area in an effort to ignore the activity on the couch. My patience finally ran out after about thirty minutes of whispered innuendos and stolen, lingering kisses. Yep, I was jealous, but sheesh, I was trying to drink my coffee and carry on a conversation with myself.

"Ken, can you drag my friend out of here? By the hair if necessary. You two are not as quiet as you think you are," I informed them. "I heard a zipper being lowered, and I don't want you two fooling around on my couch."

After much good-natured ribbing, and thankfully the sound of a zipper being reversed, my two friends left me in blessed peace.
Chapter Seven

** Morning, Friday – July 12th **

I rolled over in bed, groping wildly for my phone, which insisted Girls Just Wanna Have Fu-uuunn..."Arrgg, what time is it? The only acceptable way to wake me is with coffee."

"No problem! I can arrange coffee," Janey chirped, clearly having already had some herself. "And it is seven-sixteen a.m., lazy bones. Happy Friday! Rise and shine!"

"What are you so perky about this morning?"

"Bas is here. We are going to breakfast and swinging by to pick you up on the way. Be ready in fifteen minutes."

"Oh, you are so not dragging me out anywhere with your brother," I protested. "Red and I had a nice mellow day yesterday. I am not going to let those two hours relaxing in a hot tub last night be wasted." A leisurely yawn escaped before I snuggled back down under the covers. "You guys have fun. I am sleeping..." I let loose with a loud, very fake snore. "I'm going back to bed now. Bye."

"Don't you dare hang up! We will be there in a quarter-hour, whether you are dressed or not," Janey threatened. "It's time you two tried to make nice." Without another word, she hung up.

Glaring toward the phone in my hand, I was stunned she hung up on me after specifically telling me not to hang up. Crap! I did not want to go anywhere near Bas the Ass.

With a sigh, I reluctantly swung my legs over the side of the bed. It appears I was going to have to get dressed and let my friend, no... no... definitely fiend today, take me to breakfast.

"Red, come on downstairs so you can go outside. We have company coming over." I let him out into the backyard while I returned to my room upstairs. Dressing was easy: appropriate underwear, jeans, random t-shirt, and sneakers. I ran a quick brush through my hair and used some of the product Cyndi gave me to keep my new-do under control and smoothed down. Teeth cleaned and I was ready to go.

I was on the stairs when the front door opened and Ken announced himself. "I've been elected to come get you. There are five of us, so we don't have room for Red. I'll be your guide dog for the morning. Woof woof!"

"Oh joy," I told him. "I'd better put a couple biscuits for you in my coat pocket. Speaking of coats, how is the weather?"

"Typical July. Sunny; a lot like your disposition this morning."

"Ha ha," I replied wittily. "Let me check with Red. I'll see if he wants to stay outside or come in."

Red decided to stay out and enjoy the morning. As Ken led me to the car, I promised myself this fiasco would all be over in a couple hours. I could go back to avoiding Bas the Ass for another decade. At the curb, Ken told me we were taking Janey's SUV, and I was to slide into the center of her backseat.

"Fuck me!" Bas' voice growled near my ear. He stood outside the car, likely in order to facilitate my sliding in. "You cut your hair off!"

"Hey Bas, nice to see you too." Ignoring the comment about my hair, I ducked past Bas, with Ken's assistance, and slid quickly into the back seat.

I was completely unprepared when my hand connected with a rock-hard thigh. Startled, I lost my balance and would have fallen forward except for the hand reaching out to steady me. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, I hadn't realized there was someone else here—I mean Ken said there were five of us, but—"

"No problem," the unidentified male chuckled with smooth masculine confidence, politely interrupting my rambling apology.

Unbidden, my conversation with Red came to mind, and I fought the urge to take a deep sniff.

"Although, a woman has usually bought me a drink, and asked my name, before she's comfortable enough to feel me up."

Thoroughly embarrassed, I sat down and faced the front seat, bowing my head so my hair could swing forward to cover my face. I liked this hair cut more and more. Screwing my eyes tightly closed, I took a breath, through my mouth, before asking in a low voice, "Could you please tell me if my seatbelt is to the right or left of me? I'm sure Bas will get impatient if he has to wait on me."

Bas' voice was close to my right ear. "I'm in no rush. More than happy to wait on a woman." He touched my hand and I'll admit I flinched away from him. My dislike was more deeply ingrained than I'd remembered. "I was going to put your hand on the buckle," he growled. His voice was a mixture of sex and menace.

God, I needed to grow a backbone. "Is it beside my leg?" I asked, tentatively laying my hand on the seat beside me. I was pretty sure I hadn't felt his body move fully into the vehicle, so I wasn't worried about groping him like I had his friend. He didn't bother answering when he saw I found the belt and carried it over my lap.

My hand stopped mid-movement, unsure of how I would get it buckled without inappropriately brushing my hand against the other passenger's hip. In the same quiet voice I'd used with Bas, I said with at attempt at teasing humor, "May I ask for your assistance in buckling the clasp? I've already been overly familiar considering I haven't even learned your name yet."

"I'm David," came an answering chuckle, "and happy to help." The buckle was removed from my fingers and, with a light tug, clipped into place beside me.

"Saint Teresa, you're still so goddamned courteous," Bas mocked as he slid in and rudely bumped my leg. He had no problem touching me as he secured his seat belt. I don't think I imagined the extra little caress against my hip. The Ass.

I felt stiff and uncomfortable sandwiched between the two large men. I already knew Bas was a tall guy, and it felt as if his friend David was also big and imposing (especially if his hard thigh was any indication). I kicked myself when I reflexively tucked my arms across my body; a futile attempt to avoid touching either of them.

Bastian, not known for subtlety, "So what's with the hair? It's always been long. Why'd you hack it off?" His voice was combative, like I'd done something wrong and he was planning on arguing about it.

From the front seat, Janey intervened, "She cut it a couple days ago. Some asshole the other night made a comment—"

"Janey!" I snapped sharply.

"But..." she tried to continue.

"Janey! Just drop it. Please," I added in afterthought. I knew I was being rude. I couldn't help it. This was Bas the Ass, and I was NOT going to give him ammunition to torment me. "I wanted it short. I cut it. End of story." My words were crisp and I expected no more comments on my hair.

"And what's with your nails?" he continued, gruffly. "You've always had those claw things done in funky colors."

Beyond annoyed, I went on the offense. "Who are you, the fashion police? You haven't seen me in years Sebastian, what makes you think you know me well enough to presume anything about my likes, or dislikes? If you plan to spend breakfast criticizing my looks and fashion sense, Janey can turn the car around. I'd prefer to spend time with my dog—HE likes me."

Bas was silent. "You're right, old habits die hard. I don't want to fight," he offered as a half-assed apology. "You've always had long hair. I see it in all the photos Janey sends me. I don't think she's sent me one picture over the years that didn't have both of you in it. I've never seen your hair cut, or your nails short. It surprised me, that's all.

"The huge boulder at your other side is my friend, David Preston," Bas continued, no doubt hoping to change the subject. "We served together the last four years and got out of the Navy within a couple of days of each other. I talked him into coming out to Spokane with me to see if he'd like to settle in this area."

I turned my head slightly in David's direction, making a conscious effort to tilt my head so my hair brushed my cheeks and shaded my face. "Spokane is wonderful, David. I'm sure you'll love it here. I've traveled quite a bit, but I think this area is one of the most beautiful I've seen."

"I'm looking forward to checking it out. Bas is pretty sure I'll end up moving here. I have to admit he made it sound like heaven." David's voice was low and sexy, with a purring rumble that made the back of my neck tingle. Thankfully, my hair hid any blush resulting from the brief mental comparison to Cat's purr-motor, and my memory of our "conversation" on Janey's couch.

"You'll have to ask Bas to take you for a walk along the Falls; we had a lot of snow last season, so the water is high with melt-off from Mt. Spokane. There are several places to catch some spectacular views of the waterfalls in town." We chatted amiably about attractions in Riverfront Park, and some of the clubs close to his hotel.

Bas leaned over and whispered, "So darn polite." His breath caressed the shell of my ear, his tone so low I was sure David couldn't hear the words, although, by his sudden silence, I knew he realized Bas was talking to me.

"So, tell me about the asshole from the other day." My head snapped up toward Bas and a few sharp words hovered on my tongue. Before I could filter out what to say, he snatched my sunglasses off the end of my nose.

Irritation exploded through me. How did he do it? How could he make me shrink into myself so that all I wanted to do was disappear? I turned my head, avoiding the hand brushing at my hair in an effort, most likely, to grab my chin and turn my face back to him.

"Bas! Enough!" David's voice was abrupt. Clipped. An officer's tone—well, well, well.

"She's done nothing but hide since she got in the damn vehicle," he growled. "It's pissing me off." His tone addressed me, "You used to have a spine, little mouse. You've avoided me for twelve years, and I'm sick and tired of tip-toeing around you." His voice was harsh and critical.

So much for a kinder and gentler Bastian. Tears welled up; I detested myself for the show of weakness. No, not for showing weakness—for feeling weakness.

Janey abruptly pulled the car over and hit the brakes. "Out Bastian!" she yelled at her brother. "Get out of the goddamned car and take a friggin' walk back to your hotel. It's my fault she's here. Teresa tried to tell me she didn't want to come, and I had to pressure her. I thought you'd matured enough to leave her alone. I'd hoped the two people I love most in the world could find some common ground, but no; you have to prove you're a bully.

"Teresa has been nothing but polite, and you choose to mock her for it. Fine. Get your cantankerous ass out of the car and take a walk. I'm having breakfast with Teresa and Ken. I'm looking forward to getting to know your friend David, too. Who is, by the way, also polite; I don't know what your problem is with well-mannered people."

"Janey—" Bas started.

"No! Out! I've had enough. I'll call you after breakfast. Maybe we can meet up for dinner."

The door opened and I felt Bas' hand move to unlatch the seat belt. I kicked myself for leaning away from him, and into David, like some kind of Victorian miss. In a surge of defiance, I lifted my face to Bas as he leaned over the buckle. I caught the faint sweetness of toothpaste when he exhaled across my cheek, getting an unimpeded view of my damaged face.

"Jesus," he said, whisper-soft. "You almost lost that eye."

"Take a good look, Bastian. This is why I hide my face. I can't see people, but I feel the stares. I have better hearing now, so I hear the in-drawn, horrified breaths, and the not-so-subtle comments. It's my right to protect myself because people are cruel and petty. People are selfish and thoughtless. People want beauty and it scares them to see imperfection." I turned away, letting my hair fall forward again. I. Will. Not. Cry!

"I am tired of people being thoughtless assholes because I don't conceal the scars." I looked up in his direction again, refusing to hide like the mouse he accused me of being. If you're going to say something life altering to someone, you should have the balls to look them in the eye, so to speak. "I'm tired of people like you being an asshole because I'm not perfect."

I felt as if my teeth were clenched down on a mouthful of razor-sharp words, and I wanted to spit every one of them in his direction. I wanted to cut him with those sharp edges and make him bleed. "Go back to your hotel room. Take a nice long look in the mirror at that sinfully handsome face of yours, Bas. Look into those terribly beautiful eyes, which stare out at the world with cold brutality and mocking disdain. Be sure to admire that chiseled body the gods would envy and know this truth: it's not how you look in the mirror that's important. What's important is how you are reflected in the eyes of the people who love you. Be happy I'm not one of those people, Sebastian Declan." I could feel my lip curl up in a sneer. "Because I find you lacking. I find your reflection to be ugly, as ugly as the scars on my face make me."

I turned away in dismissal. Hating Bas. Hating myself for finally voicing my dislike in front of Janey, who loved her brother. Hating I'd put her in the middle of a situation that had built from fear into loathing over a dozen years of avoiding him.

Bas reached out and touched my arm. Yep, couldn't help it, I flinched again. "I am so very, very sorry," his voice was low and raspy. He withdrew from the vehicle and closed the door firmly, but not with the anger I had expected.

"Well," I said into the shocked silence, "I think I've about ruined everyone's appetite. Feel free to drop me back at my house now."

Janey made the apology I should have thought to make. "David, I'm sorry you were caught in the center of our family drama. If it's all right with everyone, I'd like to have breakfast at my house." Without waiting for anyone's input, Janey pulled back into the flow of traffic.

"Aww, you're gonna make me cook, aren't you?" Ken whined teasingly. "You are so gonna owe me some really great sex for this."

I snorted, "Well Ken, a woman can only rise to the performance of her partner. You may need to kick it up a notch if you want great sex."

"Oh zing!" Janey laughed. "Actually, he doesn't do too badly for such a young buck, especially when you take into account he was gay only a couple of days ago."

"Gay?" David asked cautiously, confused but understanding there was a joke here somewhere.

The fifteen-minute trip to Janey's house was spent in a spirited retelling of the months leading up to the Great Reveal. I'm sure David was initially tempted to escape the vehicle at the first available opportunity, but he soon joined in with the teasing. During that drive, he became one of us. A friend.
Chapter Eight

Ken started clanging pots and pans in the kitchen as soon as we arrived. Within a short time, I was able to enjoy the smell of sausage while slurping my first mug of coffee for the day. Finally. My world was improving with each gulp.

While Ken cooked, I settled into my favorite spot on the sofa. Cat was sprawled over the couch back absorbing the early morning sunshine. She bestirred herself enough to give me an obligatory greeting; a paw swipe this time. Having bonded over true confessions BFF rules now dictated acknowledging your bud when they came into a room. I appreciated her assurances my secrets were safe, and expressed as much with a vigorous scratch of her up-raised rump.

Welcome ritual completed, I sipped my coffee, happy to divert myself from uncomfortable reflection on tearing Bastian apart. Some people need squirrels or shiny objects for distraction. Hand me a fragrant mug of java and you can lead my mind anywhere.

My attention focused on the conversation between Janey and David. There were a few remarks thrown out from the direction of the kitchen, but I doubt Ken could really hear well over the sizzle of meat and frying potatoes. David's relaxed demeanor soon put me at ease. Having anxiously recovered my sunglasses from where Bas left them on the back seat, I now casually tossed them onto the coffee table while we all sat around in the living room.

I was comfortably wedged into the cushions when Ken called us to the table for breakfast. A deep inhale to absorb the blend of smells from the kitchen convinced me moving was in my best interest.

For expediency, Janey led me to my usual spot at her table, which put her on the right, David to my left, and Ken directly across from me. After months of familiarity, I already knew how my food would be placed on my plate. I'm not a huge toast fan, but Ken usually made me a slice with every meal, as I found it was a great tool to hold food steady without using fingers. Predictably, even though I could smell a waffle, I found the toast at twelve o'clock. Toast was a stronger implement.

In between bites of waffles, potatoes, and sausage, David shared stories about Navy life, growing up as a military brat, and informed us his parents and younger brother still lived in Oregon. I found the more I listened to him, the more I enjoyed David's easy manner and wicked sense of humor. He was sexy, smart, endearing, sexy...oops, that slipped out again. Sugar overload from the maple syrup? I briefly wondered. Mental shrug, who cares? I forked another maple-drenched bite of waffle into my mouth.

David was going to turn forty in November. He had put in his twenty-one years of service and was looking forward to new career opportunities. His military specialty, as a warrant officer, had involved computer programming for complex satellite imaging. It was a job he could do freelance from anywhere in the country.

Janey loved hearing the stories about Bas, and quite frankly, I found a few of them amusing myself. Who would have known Bas had a sense of humor and could get into so much trouble? It almost made him human. Though I suspected the stories emphasizing Bas' good qualities were greatly exaggerated for Janey's benefit, I actually liked David more for giving her such a wonderful gift.

After our meal, when we were all comfortable in the living room, David surprised me by asking about the accident and my months of recovery. His questions were blunt without being offensive, probing without being painful, and insightful enough to leave me wondering about his intuitiveness. At one point, he even talked me into letting him examine my face, and he traced the deepest scar with large calloused fingers. "Bas was right about this one," he said quietly. "You did come close to losing your eye. You must have had a hell of a team of surgeons to have saved it."

"It was close," I admitted. "Twice they came in to my room and argued about whether or not they should remove the eye, but I really wanted to try to save it. It was painful, but I'm glad they tried; even gladder they succeeded." This was the perfect opportunity to tell David about my Booty of Pirate Bears and their decorative eye patches—a story good for a lot of laughs.

When we finished our coffee, Janey pulled me aside while the guys went out to the deck to take in the view. Her voice choked with emotion when she hugged me and spoke softly into my hair. "I owe you an apology, Teresa. You have tried, for years, to shield me from seeing how much Bas disliked you. You've never said a bad word, or indicated in any way he showed you disrespect." She sniffled, "You've done an even better job of hiding how much you fear him. I would never have insisted you come with us if I'd known. I was so shocked to see you jerk away when he touched you. How stupid am I?"

I hugged Janey back and tried to find the right words. "I love you, Janey. You are closer to me than a sister, and as dear to my heart. The truth of the matter is, Bas and I simply don't get along. I could have said no to breakfast, but I wanted to try."

I held her a smidge tighter, then loosened my hug so she could read my face. "Your brother has never tried to hurt me, so don't over-think this, okay? Bas has always intimidated me with his sheer size and presence. I would have been fine if I could still see—I would have had a measure of control. But I felt trapped in the vehicle, and let's face it Janey, Bas is a predator—I was acting like prey. I couldn't have waived a bigger red flag in front of a bull if I'd tried. He and I have proven we can be civil if you don't put us in an enclosed space together," I teased. "We can continue to play our game of avoidance and polite inanities.

"In truth, I should never have said what I did to him. My words came from fear and more than a little bravado. I lashed out and owe him a heartfelt talk and sincere apology for being unnecessarily cruel. It would have been better to let him walk away without saying a word. I'll call him later today and ask him to come over for coffee sometime this weekend. It's time he and I resolved a few things, best done face-to-face, without witnesses."

Ken and David came in from the deck, sliding the glass door closed behind them.

"I have to tell you, Teresa, I am worried you two might kill each other."

"I'll have Red referee, he'll love it." I gave Janey another quick hug and stepped back.

Ken, ever the opportunist, came up behind Janey and I could hear him smacking kisses on her. "Hey baby, wanna fool around?"

"Letch," Janey returned fondly. "Let's drive Teresa home and drop David off at his hotel."

"So, are you planning to let your brother move into the spare room, or are you going to make him stay at the hotel? I know you want to spend more time with him before he finds his own place."

"It was his idea to stay there. He's actually been in town for a couple of days now and has been staying at the Doubletree. He said he was here Tuesday morning when I dropped you off, while I ran errands. He was resting in the spare room and heard you talking to Cat about me bringing Ken home. He decided to take your advice and get out of the way so he could catch up on his sleep."

If I were the fainting type, I would have plopped into an indelicate swoon at that point. I swear all the blood left my face, and I bet my skin turned cold to the touch. Yep, I could have happily let the ground swallow me up at that moment.
Chapter Nine

I was able to attribute my sudden paleness and clammy skin to being freaked out because there had been someone in a room and I hadn't known it. It wasn't necessary to explain the confessions I'd made to Cat, my supposed audience of one.

Crap! I'd tried hard to never give Bas the ammunition he might use to shoot me down. In one unguarded instant, I had laid it all bare such that the one person who could hurt me the most heard every word. I couldn't have felt more raw or exposed if I'd stood naked, scars etched like angry graffiti into my flesh. Hesitantly, I began to itemize my confession in what I thought was an empty room. Oh my god! Mortified did not even begin to describe the emotion.

Calling Bas to apologize was going to be the hardest thing I had ever attempted to do. I couldn't be angry; it wasn't his fault. At no point would it have been okay for him to pop out of the bedroom and say, "Hey stop, you're not alone!" I'm sure he felt he was doing the nice thing by staying silent. It was only by chance I even found out, since I'd asked about the hotel accommodations.

I wanted to believe Bas was honorable enough to keep my blathering to himself...if for no other reason than to sideswipe me with the info at a later date when I was unprepared. Asshole! After showing him the cutting edge of my tongue this morning, I pessimistically expected no mercy.

Ken decided to stay at Janey's and clean up while she dropped us off at our respective places of residence. He would pop over to my house in a few hours to finish up the laundry he hadn't done the day before, because I'd wanted the afternoon to myself.

David's hotel was closest, so we stopped there first. He stepped out of the backseat on the driver's side and reached through the driver window to give Janey an awkward one-arm hug. He surprised me by coming around, opening the passenger door, and asking me if I could step out.

Bemused, and admittedly still in shock from the looping replay of what Bastian overheard, I stood up and found my personal space being Invaded (yes, with a capital I). Before I could register his intent, David had me pinned against the back door, bracketed my face gently in his big hands, and tilted my head up toward his warm and waiting mouth.

I was stunned by the gentleness, and underlying hunger, as his lips parted mine and his tongue swept me away. Ohhhhhh. Myyyyyy. The man had serious kissing skills. I also judged him at a glorious 6'4" or taller, since I found myself rising up on my toes for a better fit of my mouth against his. My hands clenched at hips set several inches higher than my own.

He pulled away from my lips and let his breath fan my face. My nose detected coffee and maple syrup. He brought his mouth back to mine again; another kiss that caused my knees to buckle. I was caught against his front, and it was a very nice front: hard, solid, with intriguing contours. His chuckle was a combination of triumph, pleasure, and need. The need was sexy.

"Dinner." Soft kiss. "Tonight." Softer kiss. "Pick you up at five o'clock?" His mouth stopped tantalizingly close, barely resting on my lips. The warm draft of his breath lightly tickled my nose.

I'm pretty sure I whimpered. Geez, where had my brain disappeared to? It had been here a second ago.

I felt his lips quirk up in a smile. "The last part was a question. You're supposed to give me an answer." He enticed me with a voluptuous kiss. "A really good answer would be, 'Yes, David.'"

"Okay," I responded with a sigh against his awesome mouth, brain still too muddled to articulate the polite response he'd been seeking.

David helped me back into the passenger seat. He pressed a quick kiss on my nose and told me he'd see me at five.

Janey put the car in drive and inched away from the curb.

I turned to her and asked, "Did you get the number of the big-assed truck that just hit me?"

"Oh, Girlfriend," she sighed, "you've got your hands full with that one."

Soon after Janey pulled into traffic my brain reengaged. Thankfully it wasn't gone; it had only short-circuited. Silly brain.

"Side trip," I told her. "We need to stop at the Evil Empire," a reference to my favorite big-box store. "I need a few personal items and I don't want to send your lecherous boyfriend out to get them."
Chapter Ten

** Late Morning, Friday – July 12th **

It was a beautifully warm day, mild for summer. I wandered out to the back yard for a game of fetch with Red. It didn't take us long to figure out I threw like a girl. Well, duh! For some strange reason, I've always seemed to throw harder sidearm than overhand; I was soon sending Red on some serious runs off into the bushes.

Strength doesn't always equate to accuracy, especially when the thrower is sight impaired. When he complained, I gave Red a choice: he could either have a more challenging game, or I could go easy on him and start making sissy tosses again. He manned up and was soon racing off after another wild throw. It will be our little secret my aim is much better than I let on. (Insert devilish chuckle.)

After one particularly vigorous heave, I tugged my cell phone out of my breast pocket and sat on the porch steps. Janey had been considerate enough to program Bas and David's cell numbers into my phone—speed dials 24 and 25 respectively. I took a deep breath and made the dreaded call to Bastian, assuming he would ignore my call and let it go to voice mail. If I were him, I wouldn't want to be talking to me right now.

"Yeah," he said abruptly, giving no indication he knew it was me.

"It's Teresa. I called to apologize." I sighed and reminded myself to be the grown up. "I was out of line, and unnecessarily rude. I'm sorry, Bas. We need to come to some type of an accord. Janey is important to both of us and I'd like to think we could try to be civil around her. I'm hoping you'll agree to come over for coffee this weekend, so we can talk."

The silence on his end of the line was total. I couldn't even make out any background noise, such as a TV or radio, to indicate if he'd made it back to his room yet. "An accord, huh? You're the only woman I know who not only understands that word, but can use it properly in a sentence."

Don't say it! The urge to comment about his type of women was powerful and biting. If you can't say something nice...

Hopefully correctly interpreting my quiet battle, he tried again, "I'm actually a couple of houses away. I was on my way over to apologize to you."

Totally did not expect that. I closed my eyes, cringing inside that I'd have to face Bastian so soon. Geez, it wasn't even noon yet. I'd hoped to work my courage up over the course of a couple days.

A ball dropped lightly on my foot before Red leaned his face up to mine and licked my chin. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I answered him, realizing too late the phone was still next to my cheek, so I was answering Bas, also. In a stronger voice I repeated, "Yeah. I'll put coffee on and see you in a few minutes." I disconnected the call.

While I prepared the coffee, I told Red about what happened in the car earlier. He was all growly and protective, which I found amusing and completely adorable. It was also reassuring how much we had bonded in a matter of days.

"Don't minimize my concern, Teresa," he chided me. "This man threatened you. He could be dangerous."

"We've had our differences over the years, Red, but he has never tried to hurt me. Remember how you told me when the cat runs you have the impulse to chase it? I was acting like a scared cat. I think Bas couldn't help himself either. It doesn't make his behavior right, but I'm confident he won't hurt me."

The knock on the door was firm. Three sharp raps, then silence. "Be nice," I told Red with a frown before opening the front door. As I stepped back from the doorway I greeted, "Come on in, Sebastian."

"You let just anyone in? How'd you know it was me?"

Charming, he was back to being Bas the Ass and I hadn't even closed the door behind him yet. An oversight I remedied with a bit more force than was necessary. "I recognized your knock; besides who else would it be? You were minutes away, I was expecting you, and if you were not you, I'd have my dog scare you away." Red growled obligingly. "Bastian, meet Red. Red, this is Bas, Janey's brother."

Red stood attentively at my side. I thanked him for the support with an affectionate scratch on the top of his head with one hand, while indicating hooks by the door with the other and suggesting Bas hang up his jacket, if he was wearing one. While I listened to the rustle of fabric I warned, "Be careful what you say under your breath. Red's got great hearing and I don't want him picking up new swear words."

Bas chuckled. "You don't want me teaching your dog to swear?"

"Red talks to me. Since you're family, in a manner of speaking, I'm surprised Janey hadn't mentioned it to you yet."

"Oh, Janey said you talked to your dog. She failed to mention he talks back."

"Trust me, he talks back at every opportunity," I assured with a smile. "Coffee?" I wandered toward the kitchen and Red fell into pace beside me guiding my steps with his body. "Do you still take yours black?"

"Black is fine, thanks." His voice got closer as he spoke.

I poured coffee into two mugs using a combination of long practice, and a fingertip curled over the edge to let me know if I got too close to the rim. I held myself still as he reached across me before turning at the waist to place the pot on the heating element.

"I've got them both," he told me. "Table or sofa?"

"Errr, sofa is good," I decided.

My dog tittered at me, "He totally sniffed your hair."

"Did not!" I protested, sounding like a two-year old.

"Didn't what?" Bas asked. His voice was projected forward, so I knew he hadn't turned around or stopped on his way into the living room.

Red's fur against my leg was comforting, so I gave in to impulse and ran my hand over his coat, scratching with more force behind the ear. "Red's being a troublemaker." I glared at the dog. Total waste of time as the hand I still had on his head was body language not matching my words. It was becoming increasingly clear Red was correct in his confusion about words and posture not matching. Taking my hand away, I threatened, "We are going to have words."

Yep, I'm sure he just gave me a mental raspberry. "And will the conversation involve withholding treats and doggie bags?"

"Mmm, no. But we could have a discussion about neutering. You were mighty curious the other night," I retorted from my position of superiority.

Red stopped dead in his tracks. "Now that's simply mean. You can't threaten a trip to the vet every time I'm winning an argument." His tone became cute. "I am soooo looking at you with adoring eyes. Your heart would be melting right now if you could see me."

"Don't try to get on my good side, you sweet talker. You're stirring up trouble and you know it. Besides, you aren't winning anything because there is no argument. Do you know why? Because I refuse to have a battle of wits with an unarmed person." Oooh, I gave myself mental points for quoting my favorite coffee mug. Who knew I'd be able to use it in a real quarrel?

"This is me turning my back on you and giving you the cold shoulder."

I couldn't help it, I laughed. "How is pouting supposed to be effective when I can't see you doing it?"

"Well, ask the Bas-hole. I'm sure he'll tell you what I'm doing."

At his quip, gentle amusement turned into full hilarity; I could feel tears threatening. Oh. My. Gosh! Why have I never thought of calling him Bas-Hole? It was classic, though totally inappropriate since I was trying to make nice. Still, I was positive future opportunities would present themselves. "Remind me to get you an extra treat for that one." Bending over in a softer voice so our guest wouldn't overhear, I clarified, "I'm jealous I didn't think of Bas-hole first."

Directing my attention to the couch area, "Well Bastian, it appears Red wants to draw you into our squabble. Can you confirm my dog is, indeed, giving me the cold shoulder?"

"I cannot confirm or deny what he's thinking, but he is facing away from you. It does look like he's deliberately ignoring you," Bas drawled with a tinge of humor in his voice. "And he yawned."

I got swatted in the ankle with a bushy tail. "Hey! You bonehead," I protested. Putting my hand out at Red's head height, I requested, "Come on, get me to the couch then you can continue to sulk if you want to."

Red brushed his head against my hand and prompted me closer to my coffee cup. Good dog. Once I was curled up on a corner of the sofa, "Your coffee is on the table," he directed. I reached out and he clarified, "No, the other way." His nose pressed to my wrist to adjust my hand sweep, until I connected to the ceramic mug, which was a bit farther left then I'd assumed.

Red lay down against the couch and placed his chin on my shins so he could stare up at me. Pouting apparently forgotten, it struck me he probably still remembered I was anxious about this visit.

"Thanks Red."

"Very strange," Bas commented. "I have never seen an animal do something so..." he searched for the right word, "specific? It's one thing to lead you to the couch, but it's a whole new level when he moves your hand to locate something you didn't tell him you wanted."

Grinning I explained, "Red knows by now, I always need coffee in my hand." I took a long sip.

"So, what was the not-argument about?" Bas asked in an almost friendly manner.

I choked on the swallow of coffee I'd taken. Yeah, my dog's laughter filled my head. "I'll go get you a towel," he offered, moving away from the couch and returning a moment later to lay a dish towel on my leg.

Stalling maybe, but I took my time mopping up the coffee I'd spilled onto my hand and, under the direction of my ever-helpful dog, the few spots that had trickled onto my t-shirt. Making a decision, I turned to Bas and answered truthfully, "Red told me when we were at the counter you smelled my hair. I was disagreeing and calling him a troublemaker."

"Well, I'll admit I caught a whiff of your shampoo when I reached over for the cups. Something fruity, smelled nice."

"See!" Red crowed.

"I'm starting to believe you can really talk to your dog, although it's a leap to believe he talks back to you."

"He can't read, color identification is a bit inconsistent since dogs can't see red or green like we do, and we have figured out he doesn't count accurately above four. But he's been exposed to quite a bit, and is good with items around the house." I paused to think. "He is very good at describing things, but it has to be in the context of something he has experienced or smelled. And he's teaching me about body language, not that it's going to benefit me, since I can't see. It's interesting to experience the world the way he sees it. He has some pretty strong opinions about people sniffing each other.

"Go ahead and point out something to him. Red can tell me what it is."

Bas was silent as he thought things through. "I'm going to collect a few things from around the room and bring them back to the coffee table," he said. "Want a top-off on your mug while I'm up?"

In answer, I held out my cup. I noticed he was careful not to touch me as he lifted it out of my hand. Bas wandered around the room, stopping often, presumably to examine or pick up an item. Within a few minutes, I could hear him at the coffeemaker before he returned to the couch. A soft multi tap-thud indicated he had placed a number of items on the coffee table.

Another, shorter interval, before he returned, "Hand out," he instructed, "I have your coffee." He gently folded my outstretched fingers around my mug, placing it in my hand the way I usually held it, handle away from me.

"Okay," he started, "I picked up a few things. Your dog, Red, can tell you what they are when I point at them." There was a bit of scraping and tapping as he rearranged them on the coffee table in front of me.

Bas must have pointed at something because Red told me, "It's your fish."

"Murphy, my betta."

An acknowledging grunt was all Bastian offered.

"I don't know what that's called," Red told me as Bas indicated another item. "It was on the kitchen table."

"Hold on a sec, Bas. Red doesn't know the name for this. Let me ask him a few questions first."

My focus shifted to the warm breath washing over my knees. "Red, is it big or small?"

He considered, then asked, "Compared to what?"

I chuckled, "I'll try to be more specific. Is it a decoration?"

"No."

"Have you seen me or Ken use it before?"

"Yes."

"How did we use it?"

"Ken made it in pieces and he put his glass on a piece when he was in the chair by the window."

I considered the possible items that would be on the kitchen table. "Ah, it's called a coaster. There are six pieces in a holder. When we use coasters, we take a piece, a coaster, out of the holder and put it under our cup or glass. It protects the furniture. It's like the mat we have on the floor under your food and water dishes to protect the floor from drips."

Bas' hand must have moved over something else. "It's a picture of you and Janey. He took it out of his wallet."

It struck me as odd Bas had a picture of Janey and me that he carried around with him, until I remembered him saying something about all the pictures his sister sent had both of us in them. "Red says you're pointing at a picture from your wallet," I said by way of identifying the object. "I'm surprised you didn't chop off the half with me in it."

Bas' voice was quiet, "You seem to have this preconceived idea that I hate you, or something. It's a nice picture. Of both of you," he added. "Janey sent it a few years ago when I was overseas."

"He's pointing at a box," Red told me to let me know the game continued. "I don't know what it is, but it was next to your purse on the kitchen counter."

I ran the limited possibilities through my brain, "Oh crap!" I swore. "Please tell me I didn't leave what I think I did on the counter." Unfortunately, if it was next to my purse, there was only one answer since I was at the store to buy a personal lubricant. "I left the Astro-Glide next to my purse." I muttered, more to myself than in identification. "Really, Bastian? Couldn't you have grabbed a spoon or something instead?"

"Truthfully, I never thought you'd get this far into the guessing game, and come on, it was right there."

He was laughing at me. In good humor, and not spitefully, which was a positive. I can't say I blamed him, I handed him the ammunition. Speaking of which...I soooo did not want to have a talk about the things I shared with Cat. This really was the perfect opening though.

"Sebastian," I started, "I need to talk with you about the stuff I said when I was at Janey's on Tuesday."
Chapter Eleven

Aww man, how do you even begin a conversation like this? Well, I always have been a "jump right in" kinda gal. Cannonball!

"You do realize I didn't know there was anyone at Janey's the other morning. Right?"

"Yeah," he replied, sounding as uncomfortable as I was, "it didn't take me long to catch on." There was amusement in his voice. "Is it a habit? I mean, the going to Janey's house so you can talk to Cat? I think it was very nice of you to give her a heads up she was in for a sleepless night."

I made a quick replay of my Cat chat and felt mildly relieved he apparently came into the conversation AFTER I cataloged the nightstand drawer.

"I woke up before you got to that part."

... orrrr not. I took a fortifying swallow of coffee and swung my legs to the floor. Huh, I wonder where the dog went to? Reaching forward, I placed the mug on the coffee table then put my elbows on my knees and cradled my head in my hands. We were both adults, right? Granted, Bas had a hell of a lot more experience, and one would presume at this point he was pretty jaded. While I was terribly embarrassed, he was probably mildly entertained by my ignorance.

"You're hiding again," Bas pointed out in amusement, rather than annoyance this time.

"Yes, yes I am. And, blindness aside, I will probably never look you in the face again as long as I live." I inhaled a large gulp of air, but the added oxygen to my brain did not help at all.

"When I think of the stuff I said in those thirty minutes, I am simply mortified, Bas. It was bad enough I babbled on about my non-existent sex life, but I said some pretty explicit and personal things about the time I caught you in the kitchen with Sherry Dangerfield."

"Yeah, well, about that—" he started.

I cut him off. "It's not like I think about you and... and, that time. But, Janey mentioned you were coming to visit, so you were in the back of my mind already. When I was telling Cat about Janey, Ken, and sex, everything kind of spilled out of my mouth. Before I knew it, I was going on about how that monster dick of yours scared me so bad I had to get drunk so I could have sex my first time."

A hand brushed back the hair covering my face, and for the first time in memory, Bas touched me with deliberate kindness. He grasped me firmly by the shoulders and pulled me backward into his body as he relaxed against the couch cushions. He was gentle, but persistent, as he maneuvered me into a curled position with my legs over his lap and my face tucked into the curve of his neck. And he held me.

Bas is a tall man, but his height isn't always the first thing people remark on. Bastian has been a fitness fanatic since he was in his teens. Janey tells me he is in the gym at least four times a week, and leaning into his body, I could tell he was as wide and ripped as I remembered. The chest under my cheek was rock-solid and well-defined. The arms around me were large and bulked with muscle. Add all this to his sun-streaked blond hair, piercing grey-green eyes, and beautiful face, and you have a man whom women stop and stare at, simply for the pleasure of looking at someone so gorgeous.

"Wow," he remarked, "we are more fucked up than I thought."

"Don't swear in front of the dog," I chided softly. "He's a lot like a two-year old. He repeats everything."

"I will admit, I have to believe you about Red. He is scary-smart. I've never seen anything like how he reacts with you."

Bas let out a breath and it ruffled through my hair. "First," he whispered against my ear, causing a slight shiver and a very inappropriate pearling of my nipples, "I am sorry for my behavior this morning." Did he kiss my hair? I didn't dare ask; the thought was too weird.

"Second, I promise, I will never hurt you in anger." His head tilted in a way that gave the impression he was looking down, trying to see my face. "You DO know I would never hurt you or anything, right? Except for a slap on the ass between consenting adults, I've never struck a woman in my life."

"Ah, TMI." I gulped, trying to divert my imagination from Bas in bed with a consenting adult sporting pink hand prints all over her butt. The imp in me thought it would make a hysterical pattern on a pair of pajama bottoms. On my imaginary PJs, I would add "Spank Me" in big letters over one cheek.

Setting aside my inner BDSM fashion designer, "I know you wouldn't hit me. It never crossed my mind."

"Then what's with the flinching? Geez, woman, do you have any idea what was going through my mind when you reacted to my touch like an abused wife? I'll admit I was hurt, and insulted you kept cringing from me."

"I am really out of my comfort zone here, Bastian; I need to go back a dozen years to explain properly." Deep breath in. Exhale. "How clear in your memory is the day I walked in on you having sex in the kitchen?"

"It's pretty crystal. I'd gotten my first two-week leave in months, and I hadn't been home in almost three years." Bas tightened an arm around me. "It was the first time I'd seen you all grown up and I was buried balls-deep in another woman. There is an irony there you'll never understand," he told me cryptically.

Bas shifted slightly to tuck me more securely under his arm. "It was not the way I had planned on renewing our acquaintance. To make matters really complicated, from that point forward you managed to avoid me every time I was in Spokane. Although, I think I caught a glimpse of you once in the years afterward...I'm not positive it was you, but it may have been."

"Halloween? 'Bout six years ago?" I felt his nod. "I wasn't sure if you'd seen me. I ducked into the closest department store and headed straight for the baby section. Every time I thought I saw you, Bas, I went right to infants. There were several occasions over the years, and I was positive you would never think to look for me there. I learned more about onesies, breast pumps, and crib safety features than half the clerks who worked those departments. As a great side benefit, I always had the best gifts at baby showers."

I heard the rumble of laughter in the chest under my cheek. "I must have hit every department that day, except babies and toddlers, looking for you. You are to be commended on a brilliant evasion technique. I'm only sorry you felt the need to implement one."

He sighed heavily into my hair. "I kicked myself, hard and repeatedly, after you saw me with Sherry. Called myself every name in the book for not showing restraint and waiting for what I really wanted."

His lips brushed over my forehead and kissed me softly at the hairline. "What I really wanted was you."
Chapter Twelve

I stiffened in confusion, but Bas held me still, and pleaded into my ear, "Hear me out." I made the effort to relax my muscles until I was lying pliant against his body again. "We've had a lot of communication problems over the last fifteen or sixteen years, and I want to get this out in the open, okay?"

I nodded. What else could I do? This talk had diverted to a tangent I never imagined. Bastian wanted me? In what reality was that even an option?

"I looked up one day when you were only fifteen and saw you. I mean, I really saw you," he emphasized. "Not Janey's friend since kindergarten. Not the kid who came over every weekend 'cuz her adoptive parents had better things to do than raise their brainiac daughter. I saw the potential of you. Your long dark hair, chocolate eyes, and a sarcastic mouth, which tilts up at one corner before it becomes a full-blown smile. I wanted your mouth in places I'm sure your mouth had never been. Damn, you were only fifteen."

Bas placed a finger under my chin and lifted my face. "I have thought of this mouth for years." He kissed me. Sebastian Declan kissed me, and the kiss held a sweetness I hadn't realized he was capable of.

My surprise was so complete, I didn't kiss him back.

After tucking my face into his neck again, he sighed, no doubt disappointment over my lack of participation. But come on, we had never been friends. This revelation left me stunned, not stupid.

"I asked for a transfer out of country," he continued. "I was sent to the Middle East. Not much opportunity for meeting women, or dating, over there. When I was back in the States, back in Spokane, you were eighteen by then, and I'd planned to look you up and finally do something about the hard-on I'd been sporting for three years.

"I'd gone out for a run that morning and bumped into Sherry while I was on my way back."

Unable to resist the wide-open pun potential, I interrupted his story. "Bumped into her? Yes, that's one description for it. Repeatedly bumped into her, as I remember it." Our shared laughter over my teasing was a nice break in the tension.

Bastian continued, more relaxed, "She and I had dated years before, so when she expressed an interest in—well let's call it what it was, a quick fuck—I thought it was a way to take the edge off until I could wine and dine you properly. I was an idiot." He took a deep breath. "One minute I had my face in her hair, because her shampoo smelled like yours, then I looked up, and there you were.

"Damn, I had no idea you were even in the house, but there you stood. You were wearing this transparent little top and a pair of white panties. Your long hair was messy around your shoulders and breasts; your eyes were heavy as if you'd just woken up. And god, that mouth, Teresa." Bas' hand stroked over my head and he speared his fingers through my hair, gripping a handful in his fist. It wasn't painful, but he used the grip to control my head and firmly forced my face back up to his own.

His breath washed over my face as he continued speaking, "All I saw at the time were those lips, soft and parted. I was thrown back to the previous time, three years earlier, when I'd envisioned that mouth, and those lips, wrapped around me."

The kiss was more forceful. This time I wasn't taken unaware. His mouth was greedy. His tongue was bold and very thorough, alternating between spearing deep to curl with my tongue and backing away to lick at my lips. I felt devoured. Bas arched his hips and I became uncomfortably aware of the erection, straining against the back of my thighs, still draped over his lap.

No! No, I was not going there! I broke off the kiss, and yes, I was calling myself all kinds of stupid because I was really enjoying the sensations. I refused to be overcome by hormones like some regency romance novel ninny.

"Wow, Bas. This is—was—wrong on too many levels to name." I was still breathless, the taste of him warm and lingering on my lips. "I realize you are turned on by remembering me watching you, while you were boinking another woman, who you were imagining was me." I paused, unsure if that was logical or not. "Let's not forget the part about you professing an interest in me, but you screwed her to take the edge off? Do I understand the situation correctly? You intended to ask me out on a date, but you cheated on me before you could ask?"

"I already admitted I was an idiot. The blood was all in the wrong head." His grip on my hair eased, but I kept my face tilted upward. "Teresa, I was twenty-five, maybe twenty-six, who remembers anymore? I was young and stupid. There is one big thing here you're not taking into consideration."

Yeah, that's where my thoughts went too. But, who can blame them; the zipper of his jeans was under a lot of stress. I know what "big thing" I was considering, but decided it might be prudent to ask, in case his thoughts weren't in the gutter like mine were. "What?"

"Fifteen years, Teresa. For fifteen friggin' years every woman I've dated, screwed, or paid attention to, had your hair, or your eyes—none of them ever came close to having your mouth. Geez, even Sherry is superficially you: long dark hair, brown eyes, and same shampoo.

"Every time I came back on leave, I looked for you. It was only a few years ago I realized your avoidance meant you were thinking about me, too, in order to elude capture."

Elude capture, huh? Military guys are so...military.

"Yeah, about that." We were turning back to the conversation I wanted to avoid, but was trying to be grownup enough to discuss. "I asked you if you remembered that morning because it was a pivotal event for me." I made a half-hearted attempt to squirm off his lap, but Bas held me still. With a resigned sigh, I relented, it wasn't like he was hurting me; he merely wasn't allowing me to hide from him. I could actually understand his stance. "It's no surprise, I'm sure, I was probably the last eighteen-year-old virgin in North Spokane. Geez even Janey—"

"Oh no," he cut me off. "You will not discuss my sister's sex life with me."

"Okay, fine," I snickered, and then continued. "I'm half-asleep, minding my own business, and I walk in on my best friend's brother having sex on the kitchen counter. Bas, you have to know you're way above average size—what, maybe two feet long? There are horse ranchers in the area who have never seen a penis that large."

Bastian gave a full-throated, hearty laugh that shook his whole body. I'm pretty sure he kissed my hair again. "Because I'm a guy and we have to measure everything, I can assure you I am a humble ten inches or so, not twenty-four. Yes, I realize I'm on the hefty side, I also know while it may be a snug fit," his voice dropped to a wicked, suggestive growl, "every hard, thick inch WILL fit."

I blinked. I had no idea what to say to that.

When in doubt, ignore it. And definitely don't think about the Astro Glide front-and-center on the coffee table.

"Bas, except for quick glimpses from afar, that image, in the kitchen nailing Sherry, is the last picture I have in my head of you. In my mind, you will always be staring at me with those fierce, wild eyes, your hand at her throat, with your over-large cock pounding her with so much force it looked painful and scary. I will never be able to erase that visual and replace it with a different image."

"Breathe," he said quietly into my hair.

I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until I exhaled.

"That graphic image, my first imprint of a naked man and the sex act, haunted me for years. When I turned twenty-one, I finally decided enough was enough. I was tired of being intimidated, so I did the mature thing: I got drunk and slept with a guy from a college class right after finals. We went to his apartment, it lasted a glorious five or ten minutes, then he rolled over and passed out. I made my escape and spent the rest of the night barfing up an overabundance of cherry brandy. No, I didn't appreciate the comedy in my choice until later." I smiled, and somehow felt Bastian sharing the humor with me.

"But the really pathetic part? I was so happy it was done. I'd finally had sex. Although it was uncomfortable, it was not really painful, and I realized I had nothing to fear from sex—well, except for a poor performance review, but I didn't think he had any room to talk, so I wasn't sweating it.

"The blame is mine. I let myself be intimidated by one aggressive image of you. Logically, I knew men's erections averaged around six or seven inches, not twenty-four." I grinned and hit him with another pun, "I allowed myself to blow it all out of proportion."

A quick hug was a more than adequate reward.

"A few years later, I hooked up with Devon. Nice enough guy. No fireworks, but good enough in bed I eventually grew to enjoy it. I even relaxed enough to feel adventurous. Of course, three months into the relationship I realized I wasn't the only girl he was sleeping with, so I dumped his ass. Or maybe it was a mutual thing because of the fingernails and the scratches—boy was he pissed."

Bas picked up my hand and ran his thumb over my newly clipped and filed nails.

I confirmed the guess he didn't articulate, "Next time I sleep with some guy, he won't have to worry about scratches, the nails will be too short to do any harm." I smiled, smug with my simple solution.

Returning to the topic at hand, "When I was running my mouth off at Janey's apartment, I was only letting off steam. It's been years since I've been intimate, and I was frustrated. At myself, mainly."

"Sleep with me," Bas offered. Less than a heartbeat later, I felt a lurch from the beast straining his zipper. No doubt hoping this would be a democratic decision and thus his vote would count in favor of the idea.
Chapter Thirteen

I was shaking my head before I formed the words to explain myself. "There are a host of reasons we shouldn't sleep together, the most important being you're Janey's brother. When we break up, or you get tired of me, I will still be Janey's friend. It's been hard avoiding you when you were here for a few weeks at a time. It will be impossible if you live here 24/7 and I can no longer see you coming."

"We're not even dating and you have us breaking up?" he asked, clearly bewildered by my superior female logic.

I was surprised he was delusional enough to think his interest would last longer than the attention span of a three-year-old. It's one thing to cling to an obsession for fifteen years; it's quite another to stay interested after you get what you've been coveting. That is assuming there is any truth to the story of his suspended courtship plans.

"You said you wanted to sleep together. Who said anything about dating? You're a player, Bastian. I have heels higher than your standards. Why would I risk dating you when we both know you'll get bored and be on to the next girl before the semen dries on the sheets?" Crude, but I was pretty sure accurate! "I have minimal experience with men or sex; I doubt I could hold your attention past the first blow job." As a positive, since we're being crude, this would mean the semen wouldn't even hit the sheets.

"I have no desire to attempt fitting all of you into any of me, Bas. Frankly, I only have your word you'd fit; I'm not fully convinced it's anatomically possible. I certainly don't think a two-ounce bottle of lube would be enough to even make the attempt." Ouch, even the idea hurt. "Not to mention, you're an aggressive man. I am not looking for a partner who wants to overwhelm or consume me."

"You don't even want to give it a try?" he asked quietly. "I'm not sure you really know what it is I want, Teresa."

Wow. How do I answer this and still retain some of the positive ground we created this morning? "For the past fifteen years, you have had this illusion of me in your mind. The truth is, Bas, we don't really know each other. I know you as a young and promiscuous young man. You may have had some type of epiphany fifteen years ago, but I didn't.

"You want the fantasy of me you've built up in your head. That's not me. There's no way I can compete with years and years of whatever you've imagined in your mind. You know me as a teenager, Bastian. Maybe you've heard stuff about me from Janey over the last dozen years or so, but her stories still wouldn't give you any real idea of what type of person I am today."

Bas was quiet. He still held me close to his body, which like him not slamming the car door earlier was unexpected. Experience suggested he would push me away and storm off. Maybe there had been a few changes in him over the years.

"I propose a compromise," he broke the uneasy silence. "A truce, if you will. I don't think I'm the only one with illusions in my head. I think you may be carrying a few preconceived ideas of your own. You're right. We both have changed. I'm not the stupid kid I was back then. You don't know me anymore than I know you. I find you attractive, and God knows if you'd said yes, I'd have you on your back so fast you'd be dizzy. But I understand we need to know each other better if there is any hope of our relationship lasting past our first week in bed."

First week in bed? Like one continuous feet-never-touch-the-floor-for-seven-days type of thing? Geez, I'd spend the following week in bed waiting for my legs to work again. Boy, wouldn't Ken razz me about that!

"Let's date," he suggested. "Real dates for dinner, movies, whatever. No sex, unless you beg me, of course. Let's get to know each other. Even if you still decide a sexual relationship is not what you want, some time together may help us learn to be more at ease with each other."

"You seem to be deliberately overlooking the fact I'm not interested in a man—any man—with a penis the size of my forearm."

Bas was laughing again. He tilted my face up for a playful kiss. "And you seem to discount the fact I have some experience with this. I believe, once you recognize I'm not a club-wielding Neanderthal, pun intended," he added for my benefit, "you might relax enough to realize women smaller than you have been in my bed and not only survived, but came back for more." I received another playful kiss and a nibble of my lower lip. "Let me take you out to dinner tonight."

"I think it would be nice to spend some time together, but I can't tonight, Bas. I am having dinner with David."

There are times when I need Red to explain the nuances of body language, and there are times when body language is obvious. Even to a blind woman. Resting in Bastian's arms, his response to learning I have a date with another man ranks really high up in the "obvious" column.

"Someone is moving pretty fast," he growled. Was he talking about me, or David? Deciding silence was the better choice, I waited passively for his next comment. He didn't exactly push me away, but there was definitely more room between us than there had been a few seconds prior. "You only met him this morning and you already have a date?"

"I like David. He's your friend, so surely you must think he has good qualities too; don't try to convince me he's a douche. Didn't you and I agree dating was a way to get to know someone better to see if there is potential for more? We had a nice time at breakfast and when we dropped him off at the hotel, he...ahh, asked me to have dinner with him." My brain hiccupped on the thought of that world-class kiss he laid on me at the curb.

"You're planning to sleep with him," Bas asserted. Since I was still partially in the circle of his arms, I moved forward with him as he reached for something on the coffee table. "That's why you got the lube? Hoping to get lucky?"

At the insult, I stiffened in his arms, although I was tempted to pull away and call him a bastard.

Oh snap! I simply wasn't trying hard enough over the last twelve years if I hadn't thought of Bas-turd. Damn! Now, since we are probably going to be nice to each other, I won't be able to use it. Then again, this is Bastian. I'll have to assume he'll give me an opportunity.

"Not that it is any of your damn business, but did you see a box of condoms on the counter? No, you didn't. All you see is a box of Astro-Glide, and surely a man with your breadth of experience knows I don't need to be with a man to use it." Oh crap, tell me I didn't say that out loud? I groaned and did a head tilt that took full advantage of my new haircut. "I have no idea if it was worse to say what I just did, or if I should have remained quiet and let you assume I have no standards."

"Oh woman, you have successfully diverted my attention and derailed my train of thought." I could hear his smile; he pulled me back closer against his chest... and other parts. "I am already building a whole list of images to add to my 'stuff I want to do with a naked Teresa' list." He nuzzled my hair. "It is a long list. I don't think I'll be fully satisfied until we've tried everything at least twice. We could be naked for years if you keep making comments like that."

"Or we could never be naked together at all, Bas. This whole idea of us hanging out with each other is to see if there is potential for a closer relationship. The fact is, you and I are starting out as acquaintances, not friends. We have a lot of shared memories, but those memories are from different perspectives, and as we have discussed, not entirely similar.

"You make comments about your long list, but I'm still at the point of creating list headings and drawing columns. I am not fully immune to the sex appeal and charm of you, Bastian, but I am not ready to fall into bed and see where it goes. For all my life you have been Janey's over-sexed brother. Not a potential lover." My exasperation grew, "How can we possibly date when we have such wildly different expectations of where this will go? You already have us in bed. I am trying to move to a place where I don't feel as though I need to hide from you."

Bas set me to the side and stood up. "Yeah, Teresa, I'm on a way different page. It kills me your last mental picture is of me having sex with another woman. It's even worse to know, if I'd kept my dick in my pants for ten minutes longer, I would have been standing in the kitchen with a glass of milk in my hand and looked up to see a muss-haired, sleepy-eyed girl in the doorway. That could have been the moment when you saw me as more than merely Bastian, Janey's horndog brother.

"I'm pissed you're having dinner with David," he told me frankly. "In one day, he lands a date. I've tried for twelve fucking years just to get you to stand still and look at me."

Bastian started walking around the living room, and beyond; it wasn't until I heard the tap of a glass bowl on the counter that I realized he was putting away the items he'd used in our guessing game. He returned to the couch and grabbed both of my wrists. With a seemingly effortless tug, he pulled me to my feet, bringing me to where I was almost touching the front of his body. For all the impatience I could sense in the stiffness of his posture, Bas' hands were gentle as he finger-combed my hair.

"I put everything away, and there's a fresh mug of coffee on the table in front of you. I'm sure Red can point you to it." There was a smile in his voice when he added, "The bottle of lube is on the nightstand by your bed. I threw away the box for you."

His hands bracketed my jaw. "I would like to spend the afternoon with you tomorrow. Maybe you, Red, and I can take a picnic to Riverfront; listen to the water and talk for a while. I'd like to know what you've been up to for the last decade. I want to talk about what I've been doing, and give you a chance to decide if there is something between us to build on."

I nodded. "I'd like a chance to know you better, but no expectations beyond an open mind and my promise not to avoid you. I'll ask Ken to put a lunch together for us when he comes in today."

The clock on the mantle started to announce the noon hour in deep thrums. Was it only twelve o'clock?

Bas' lips were tender as he gave me a quick, but hungry, kiss. He pulled away and looked into my face before he stroked a thumb over my right eye. I felt him lean toward me, then five soft kisses landed along the scar, from brow to cheek.

His hands on my shoulders pressed me back onto the couch, and he playfully waved my coffee mug enticingly below my nose until my hands came up, reflexively, to grab it.

"I'll pick you up at one o'clock tomorrow," he stated.

Somewhere between three sharp raps on the front door and the solid "thump" of that same door closing behind him, I fell a little bit in love with Sebastian Declan. Who woulda thunk it?
Chapter Fourteen

** Afternoon, Friday – July 12th **

"Hey Baby, wanna fool around?" Red asked, dropping a tennis ball in my lap. With those five words, my dog returned the smile to my face. He was quoting Ken—we really did need to start paying more attention to what we said around him.

"Would you like to go to the park instead? Shadle Park is close to Janey's house. We can take a bus there, and you can watch the kids on the playground."

It had only taken five minutes into our walk at Riverfront Park for me to discover children fascinated Red, and vice versa. While some kids were intimidated by the large, black German shepherd puppy, the majority of them were crawling over him within minutes. Red told me kids smelled interesting, and he liked their high little voices and grubby hands. Red enjoyed the opportunity to be a non-working dog, playing chase and barking to make the children laugh.

It only took a few minutes to get ready, and Ken walked in while I was grabbing a light jacket off the pegs by the door. I asked him if he could put together something for Bas, Red and me to take to Riverfront the next day. Also, I mentioned I was going to dinner with David (which I'm sure Janey had already told him—probably in vivid detail) and I asked if he could pick an outfit for me. He suggested black slacks and a red silk blouse, which I thought would be fine; he'd put out all the stuff to go with it. It was strange to know he'd be pawing through my bras and panties. Oh well, it's not like he hadn't been dressing me for the last few months anyway, right?

I gave myself a mental high-five for having remembered to put the lube in the proper drawer; one less thing to get razzed about. Although, upon reflection, Janey'd probably told him about that too. Sigh.

Ken guessed it would take a couple of hours to get the laundry done, so he would probably be here when we got back from our outing. Better him than me. I always hated washing and folding clothes.

Ken handed me a backpack with a thin blanket, my fold-up cane, a couple bottles of water, and a portable dish. I hadn't known Ken anticipated I would need something like this when I was on impromptu outings. Expanding upon a great idea, I suggested we add a bag of dog treats and some waste bags. Yes, Red was smart, but he was still a puppy and I would not be a good owner if I weren't prepared for his needs.

The walk to the park took less than ten minutes from where the bus dropped us off by Shadle High School. Since he was in his harness, Red was working, but we brought a long retractable leash so he could do some exploring once we arrived at the playground.

It was summertime, and I was happy there were children enjoying the swings and various climbing apparatuses so my dog could have kids to play with. Red gave me a heads-up there was another leashed dog near the street, but it was traveling along the edge of the grass, away from us.

When Red had gotten us to the first of the park pathways, I clipped on his leash and pulled out my cane. This let him wander with more freedom. He let me know what way to go since I couldn't rely on the direction of his lead, which at the moment led straight to a bush Red felt a need to mark as his. Possessive much?

Red chose a spot in an open area of grass and I spread out the blanket. My kid magnet was soon covered in squirming little bodies as the children migrated from the play area to the "cute puppy" who barked and lunged playfully to entertain them. I had to assure a few moms, and even a dad, that yes, the dog was nice and it was okay for their child to pet him. I appreciated the parents asking.

One little girl squealed in delight when Red singled her out and covered her in "doggy kisses," which really meant he was enjoying the flavor of the lunch meat juices that covered her sticky fingers. Ewww, sometimes dogs were gross. He picked out a couple of other children to lavish extra attention on, based on an interesting taste or smell. At one point, I identified up to five different kids playing with him, but it could have been more.

Red kept me amused with a running commentary of his observations. His sensitive nose could pinpoint which kids were healthy, and which ones were scared or excited. After some careful deductive questioning, I also learned he could tell which mothers were on their periods, had sex that day, or were pregnant. It was like talking to a teenager without a physical or verbal filter. Whatever he was thinking spilled over to me, and I started to understand a bit more about how a dog's thought processes worked.

Red kept a watch for other dogs. I was worried if another male came by it might posture aggressively or attack. Even though Red was completely reliable, I didn't want any kids to get injured if another dog lunged at him.

It was funny to listen to Red scoff about the little "ankle biters" (who knows where he picked up that term) with their fast-action legs trying to keep up with long-legged owners. As much as Red loved children, he was also excited when other puppies were brought over to "make friends" or socialize. Red was a very gregarious dog, and he enjoyed opportunities to simply be a dog, falling naturally into typical healthy canine behavior.

One little girl brought a kitten to visit Red. He dutifully sniffed and licked it before telling me he liked the kitten. "But why would anyone want a cat?" he asked.

After I told the little girl it would be okay, she put the kitten down on Red's back. He tormented it by swishing his tail so the little kitten could pounce on it.

Red was disappointed I couldn't let him off the leash to run, but I tried to console him with the idea of a dog door for the house so he could go outside whenever he wanted. He was excited over the prospect of going outside at night when it was cooler, and he mumbled something about stalking the cat from next door.

We had been at the park for over an hour when one of the moms started calling out for a child who had probably wandered from her view. Within a couple of minutes, she was frantic, her tone fully migrated from annoyance to concern.

"Red, do you see any children wandering away? Maybe a child hiding in the bushes, or walking alone?"

"No, all the kids look like they are close by, or with a grown-up," he told me.

"Do you understand what tracking is? If I let you smell something the child owns, like a toy, could you maybe find a place where the smell is and follow it so we can find the child?"

"I can try. It's not a game we have played before. There are a lot of scents here, but my nose is pretty good."

I smiled at his earnestness. "Lead me to the mom who lost her child, and I will ask for something you can smell, okay?"

The mom was now hysterical with worry and screaming her child's name: Maya. I calmed her as best I could and reminded her we were across the street from a community police station, a Spokane COPS Shop. My first question was if any of the adults had gone across the street to see if a police officer was available to help. Someone volunteered, and said they'd be right back.

"This is my dog, Red. He is still a puppy, but I have been doing some basic tracking with him." I didn't think it was necessary to let her know the full extent of his tracking practice usually consisted of finding a lost shoe under the bed. "If you have a toy, or item of clothing, which belongs to Maya he might be able to pick up her scent and trail her."

Maya's mother handed me a lightweight fleece her daughter had taken off shortly after arriving at the park. I held the coat low so that Red could smell the fabric.

"This belongs to one of the girls who was playing with me," Red sounded excited. "The man picked her up and was walking away with her when the mother started to yell."

This just got a whole lot more complicated.

I gave the jacket back to the mom and told her Red and I would see if we could pick up a trail. I think people started to follow us, so I called over my shoulder, "If everyone can stay back, there is a better chance someone won't walk over Maya's scent." To Red, I said, "Let's head back to my blanket, look like you're trying to find her scent."

"I've already found her scent," he told me. "She came over to the blanket to play, and after a few minutes her dad came over and picked her up."

"You mean it was a man who picked her up?" I clarified, remembering what he'd said when he first sniffed the coat.

"The little girl called him 'Daddy' and she was happy to see him. I would have said something to you if she were scared." Red told me. "When you asked me to look for a lost child, they were still in the park. I didn't know she was the child we were looking for."

"Since you knew she was with her dad, you couldn't have known she was the girl we thought was lost. Did you see him get into a car or truck?"

"No, I was looking around for a child without an adult, so I didn't watch them."

"Which direction did he take her?" I asked.

"They were by the path where you put my leash on," Red replied.

"Well, let's walk in the direction of where you saw the dad pick her up. Are you able to tell the dad's smell?"

"I'm not sure, Teresa. There are a lot of scents here. I can guess which one is the dad, but I can't tell for sure without having something to smell that belongs to him."

We must have arrived at the area where the dad had picked up his daughter, because Red had his nose to the ground and was leading us toward the library parking lot where we had entered the park. "There is a strong male scent going toward the cars," Red referred to the parking lot. "I'm pretty sure it's the man we want to follow."

I weighed telling the mom we suspected the father took her, but she was still somewhat frenzied. I decided I would wait for the police before I shared that information. A policeman would be hard enough to convince; the last thing I needed was to try to explain to a panic-stricken mother my talking dog told me her husband (ex-husband?) took her daughter.

"I'm Detective Stephens," a voice called out from behind me. "Has your dog really caught a scent, or is he still searching?"

Boy! How do I answer this question? To Red, I asked quietly, "Is the policeman alone? Can anyone overhear us?"

"Alone. No one else close," he replied, largely distracted by this new puzzle. "I have a smell I think is the dad's. There is a faint scent of the little girl in the area, but he hadn't put her down at this point." Red continued forward in his search.

I took a deep breath and a leap of faith, reaching into my back pocket I pulled out one of the business cards Ken had created for me on his computer. It has my name, my house and cell numbers, and an email address Ken monitors for me.

"Detective, I'm Teresa March; my dog's name is Red." I held out the card, confident the detective would reflexively take it, and he did. "You don't know me, so this will sound really odd. Could you ask Maya's mom if it's possible Maya's dad picked her up?"

"Do you know the family?" he asked warily. He probably caught onto the fact I was holding back something, but he wasn't ready to take me away in leg irons. Patience—I like that in a man.

"No," I sighed, "and yeah, I realize I'm blind so what input could I give you, right? If you could ask her, I promise, I will explain myself. I think Maya's dad took her from the park and carried her to this parking lot."

Red barked to catch my attention. "He put her down right here. I can't find their trail, so he probably put her down to open a door and then placed her in the car." Pretty cool! My dog has deductive reasoning skills. Smart dog!

"Red has her scent at this spot." I didn't add Red's theory. Parking lot...parking space...duh, this guy was a detective let him figure it out.

Detective Stevens must have had a phone or radio of some type because he spoke softly asking his partner (my assumption) to ask Mrs. Everett if there was a Mr. Everett.

Boy howdy! Did that get a reaction! When the partner replied I could hear her raised voice, and some very colorful language in the background. Detective Stephens listened to his partner speak for a few minutes before disconnecting the call.

"It seems Mrs. Everett called the ex-Mr. Everett at Officer Bailey's suggestion," Detective Stephens told me. "He admitted to having the girl." There was a questioning tone to the detective's voice.

"I was dropping off some stuff for the volunteers at the Shop," he continued, "so I don't normally work out of the community office. The officer on duty here will follow up with Mrs. Everett. In the meantime, I would love it if you'd accompany me across the street so we can have a chat about the accuracy of wild guesses."

"Yeah," I agreed drolly, "this should be fun."

Red led me back to our blanket. I folded everything up into the backpack, unclasping the leash so I could use the harness. The COPS Shop was directly across from the park. I remembered the building from when I had my sight. Since Janey lives close to the Shadle area, I'm familiar with the layout. I mentally grinned—we'd need to jaywalk to cross the street to the police sub-station.

Detective Stephens seated me in an area that felt pretty open. Except for the front entryway, I didn't hear any doors close to indicate we were isolated off in a room.

"Detective, is there anyone else with us?"

"Some of the volunteers are at the counter in front, but it's only us in here for now," the nice detective informed me.

"It will be easiest to show you rather than tell you. I'm going to turn around in my chair, facing away from you. Go ahead, walk around the room and point at, or pick up, random items. I'll tell you what they are, okay?"

"You're implying you're psychic?" Detective Stephen's voice was disbelieving and a touch sarcastic.

"Oh, Detective, it's even more unbelievable than that," I sighed.

"He's staring at you." Red told me.

"Detective, this will go a lot faster if you humor the crazy woman," I laughed. "Go ahead, randomly point at items in the room. For fun, you can just show it to Red."

"Pencil."

I smiled, "Pencil."

"Picture of the detective and a female."

I made a guess, "Family photo? You and a woman, or girl."

"It's a paper on the wall," Red told me, "all words, and no picture."

"I think you're pointing out a memo or poster, Detective. Red can't read, he can't count, and dogs have a limited range of color vision. Red only recognizes you are pointing to paper on the wall."

"He's staring at you again. Ah, now he's staring at me. Shall I give him my friendly doggy grin?"

I chuckled, "Only if you want to, Red."

Detective Stephens must have considered us for a little while longer because Red informed me all he was doing was looking back and forth between us. I employed my well-tested "silence is best" strategy.

Finally, the detective's curiosity won out. "If he wants to do what?"

"Red told me you were staring at us. He asked me if he should smile at you. I think he wanted to put you at ease by appearing non-threatening."

"Shit!" he exclaimed. "The damn dog grinned at me."

"He has a beautiful smile, don't you think?" I teased.

The good detective was a sport. He continued to point at items randomly for another minute before telling me he'd be interested to know how we were doing the performance. Yep, he actually called it a performance. He was taking it pretty well so I ended by saying, "Ask Red to go to the other room with you. Our communication limit is about thirty feet, go far enough you can whisper a secret in his ear and be sure I can't overhear it."

To prove all policemen are cynics, Detective Stephens mentioned I could have my dog wired. Yeah, sure. I come to the park with my dog wearing a wire in case a child might be kidnapped and we have an opportunity to perpetrate a huge hoax on the SPD.

Whatever.

"How about you tell him about the gun and the alcohol in the purse under the desk when we walked in?" Red's observation astonished me, but not so much the discovery, as the extent of his deductive reasoning skills. How in the heck would my dog know those two items should not be together?

"Together in the same purse?" I asked, shocked. This was a police station, so the idea of a gun was not surprising, but having alcohol in the purse with a gun? Didn't seem like the choice of a responsible gun owner to me. Was it a policeman's purse or a volunteer's? I didn't want to get anyone in trouble, but if it was something innocent, like alcohol as an ingredient to perfume, then the purse owner would not have anything to worry about.

"There is a woman outside, smoking a cigarette. Her purse was on the floor under the desk when we came inside."

"And she left her purse out in full-view, unattended?" Sometimes I really hated being blind. It would be nice to see things for myself instead of jumping to all types of conclusions.

To Detective Stephens I said, "Red tells me there is a woman outside smoking a cigarette. Her purse is under the desk in your entry area. Red says there is a gun in the purse, and there is also something that smells like alcohol." I paused in thought. "I should tell you, Red might not be able to distinguish between products that contain alcohol as he only has my roommate's whiskey to use as a basis of reference. You could ask Red to bring you the purse, if you'd like."

Detective Stephens hesitated before saying, "I would consider it a favor if your companion would be so kind as to search the adjoining room for the presence of firearms."

I grinned at the phrasing, noting he tried to use language that didn't contain traditional training terms. So suspicious.

Without waiting for my reaction, or any signal from me at all, Red trotted out of the room presumably to get the purse. But, with my dog's sense of humor, who knows what he'd bring back?

Red must have returned with the purse as I heard the detective thank Red with a, "Good boy."

"Hey!" a voice called out from the front room. "Your dog stole my purse!"

"It's a dog, Marleen, not a cat burglar." It appears Detective Stephens has a sense of humor; good to know. "The dog is going through some training exercises and it seems he has detected a firearm in your purse. Have you got a concealed weapon permit for this?"

"Ahhh." There was a pretty long pause here.

"Marleen needs to think quicker on her feet, but that's merely my humble opinion." Red clearly loved his role in the discovery.

"You didn't ask if you could search my purse," Marleen finally blurted out.

"The dog picked it up and brought it to me. I can feel a gun through the fabric. So, I'll ask again, do you have a permit for this?"

"Well, no. Not yet, but I was going to get one." Marleen's voice sounded young and whiny; what a joy she must be to work with.

"Ms. March," Detective Stephens addressed me, "thank you for your help today, and the demonstration of your dog's tracking abilities. I have a few matters to attend to here, but I have your business card. If it's okay with you, may I contact you at a later date to possibly discuss how you and Red might be able to provide occasional service to the department?"

I'm not sure if Detective Stephens was trying to maintain the illusion Red accidentally discovered a gun in a volunteer's purse, or if he believed Red and I had an extraordinary team dynamic, but I replied in kind, "Thank you, Detective, for allowing Red and me to demonstrate some of our skills. I look forward to your call if you believe we can offer anything of value."

Detective Stephens also earned points for not discussing the gun issue in front of us. He handled the situation very professionally. I'm not sure if there was anything we could offer to the SPD, unless it was to entertain at police office parties, but I appreciated the detective's courtesy.
Chapter Fifteen

** Evening, Friday – July 12th **

I'm one of those people who are showered and as dressed-up as I plan to be within forty minutes. My date with David was no different. I was dressed and ready fifteen minutes before I expected to be picked up.

I decided I would bring Red, and was buckling him into his harness, when the doorbell rang. With a final scratch behind his ears, I opened the front door.

"Holy crap! It's the Alpha!" Red exclaimed.

I don't know what startled me more, that Red used "crap" (Note to self: quit swearing in front of the dog, he repeats everything), or that David was the mystery man from dinner the other night. My thoughts narrowed and focused; the same man whom Red said found me worthy? I bent over, as if giving Red a command, "You sure?" I whispered for his ears alone, completely puzzled why David hadn't mentioned it. Especially after Janey brought it up in the car. Although, I did harshly squelch the conversation.

"Of course, I'm sure," Red replied. Affronted I questioned his abilities, I suppose. He had gone on and on about his crime fighting skills ever since we'd left the police sub-station, clearly becoming a legend in his own mind.

Full of surprises, Red went totally dog on me and ran right up to David to greet him and beg for attention. Shameless if you ask me. "Good gracious Red, where's your pride?" I muttered as I listened to his nails tap on the entryway linoleum. It sounded like the crazy mutt was dancing in circles.

"Hey! I'm a dog," he stated the obvious. "People love me when I'm all excited and doggy." I shook my head as I listened to David making all the proper crooning and praising noises. "He's a nice man. He's checking my side to make sure I'm not hurt."

I grinned at Red's antics, and was amused David hadn't even said hello to me yet. I stepped back from the doorway, intending to leave the two guys to bond. David managed to snag my hand before I turned away.

"Hey," I said, still smiling, "don't let me break up your bro-mance."

He laughed and tugged gently on my hand to pull me into his arms. "Guy moment is over. Now I want a Teresa moment. Hello," he said belatedly, resting his forehead against mine, "you look terrific." He bussed a quick kiss on the tip of my nose, and then said, "I'm starving."

His hand slid to the back of my neck to brace my head steadily, and then his mouth took mine in a full, carnal kiss. What was it about this man's kiss that melted me into a brainless ninny? He didn't thrust a tongue in my mouth and try to pick a fight with my tonsils. Oh no, this guy had major talent.

David's tongue swept through my mouth and tasted me. It was like he was alternately licking and sucking, using teeth to nibble my lower lip before tilting his head to fit our lips together again. His lips suggested this is how he would make love; slowly, savoring each flavor, leaving nothing untouched or unexplored. Oh, man! I was in big trouble.

The kiss broke off slowly, and we were both breathing audibly.

"Starving," he repeated, suggestively. Then he straightened with a deeply in-drawn breath, "and hungry too, so let's get going before I do something that will get me in trouble."

A smug voice in my head, "Dude! He not only finds you worthy, you seem to find him pretty interesting too."

Dude? I thought, where did Red hear someone say Dude?

The whirlwind who is David slipped an arm through mine, leaving my left hand available to sling my purse over my shoulder and grab the dog by his harness. If you're caught-up in a tornado, I have to assume it's best to relax and go where the wind takes you.

David took me to a new restaurant in town called Blind Seduction. It was billed as a "meal for the senses." The diners wore blindfolds and there was no silverware; we would feed each other.

The irony is I was their "first blind girl" and the servers were gushing at the opportunity to serve us. The restaurant was divided into cozy alcoves, featuring a small round table and very comfortable chairs, which sat side by side—perfect for two people. David was given a blindfold when we were seated so he could have the option of eating all, or part, of his meal without sight.

The restaurant had no menu. Although they checked with us beforehand to make sure we had no allergies, we would be served a meal of their choice. Each course had a common theme, such as cold or hot, spicy or mild. The hostess made a point to let us know nothing was too hot to touch, or too spicy or messy, as they wanted us to relax and savor the evening.

Our two servers, Megan and Lydia, began the meal by washing our hands. We were treated to a combination of a massage and cleanse with fragrant, handmade lemongrass soap. Our hands and wrists were wiped with soft and warm lemon-scented towels before they were rinsed over, what I assumed was, a deep bowl. It was very relaxing. Practical too; a nice, polite way of making sure everyone had clean hands since we were feeding our partner.

While we were being pampered, the girls told us many of the couples who come to dinner take turns with the blindfolds, switching back and forth between courses. "We have a lot of couples who only do the blindfold for the dessert course. Most of the fun was had in feeding each other, not necessarily in enjoying the sensory aspects of the textures and the flavors of the food," Megan added.

We were given long apron-like bibs, and our serving team told us the restaurant provided covering for clothes so we wouldn't get stained. The girls left us alone after letting us know there were glasses of water and jasmine tea poured and available on our table. They mentioned practice had taught them it was best for us to handle our own liquids, as there had been more than one accident with spilled drinks.

David informed me he'd put his own blindfold on when we were seated, as he wanted to experience the meal on a sensory level the same as me.

Red had curled up at our feet—I'm pretty sure he was snoring. He'd likely wake up when food arrived.

The service was great. Dinner was amazing. Eating a meal with David was indescribable.

Our first course featured vegetable appetizers; the theme appeared to be cool and crisp. Crispy baby carrots with blue cheese dressing, snap peas with a dill sauce, and bite-size celery stalks with a mix of caviar and cream cheese spread into the groove. Megan described the dishes, and where all the accompanying sauces were located, when she dropped off the food. I helped David learn how food placement worked, and the best way of finding food on the plate without getting it all over your fingers, "Although, for this meal, that seems to be the point," I laughed.

Together, we discovered the best way to ensure accuracy was to use our hands to hold or touch the others' face to make sure the food didn't hit an eye or something.

His fingertips stroked down my cheek, adding a deeper level of intimacy to the meal. He brushed my mouth with his thumb to part my lips then he'd fed me a bite of crisp celery. The cool snap of the stalk, the salty pop of the roe, and sweet cream cheese filled my mouth with a rich burst of flavor.

"I saw you at the restaurant the other night," David admitted. "I didn't see a polite way to broach the subject, so I stayed silent when I saw you again in Janey's car. When that drunken jerk approached your table, I couldn't remain a bystander. My heart broke when I saw you'd cut off all your beautiful hair to shield your facial scars. I still want to hunt down the asshole and punch him."

"My kinda guy," a voice said in my mind. "The whole 'rip your balls out through your throat' thing? I would have totally been there for that."

As I suspected, the snoring was a ruse, I also contentedly accepted he wouldn't be able to pass a quiet evening without butting into the conversation. I ran a foot lazily across Red's flank to acknowledge his comment.

"I knew who you were," he admitted. "Every time Bas got a batch of pictures emailed, he would show them to all the guys. There wasn't one picture of Janey that didn't include you right beside her."

David was silent for a few seconds, and then said, "You know Bas has a thing for you, right? I was surprised he'd picked a fight in the car because I know he was excited and nervous you'd be joining us for breakfast. I got the impression there was a history between you two, but he's never spoken about you except as Janey's friend."

He didn't ask, but I could hear the question in David's voice. I cupped his face in my palm, leaned forward for a soft kiss, and then placed a dill-covered snap pea between his lips. "Bas came over this morning, after Janey dropped me off at my house. We had a nice long talk and I think we resolved some issues. It was refreshing to hold a conversation with him that didn't involve yelling or gritting my teeth. He and I have agreed to spend some time together to get to know each other." I stopped, hesitant to discuss the weird revelations Bas and I shared earlier.

"To me, Bas has always been Janey's brother, and I've never had a high opinion of his moral character. But I'll admit my teenage perspective colored my judgment, as I haven't spent any time around Bas since I was a kid. I don't know what kind of man he's become. Mostly, for Janey's sake, I'd like to see if we could become friends. From my own perspective, I think I could like him; we made progress in that direction today. And Bas' view? That gets complicated. I think he wants a relationship." I made sure to add lots of innuendo to the word. "But, in my opinion, he wants a relationship with who he thinks I am. My avoiding him for all these years seems to have sparked his prey drive."

David stroked my bangs back from my forehead and slipped a cream cheese-coated finger between my lips. I heard a crunch as he ate the piece of celery he had snagged the filling from. Cheater! I sucked the fingertip deeper into my mouth, and he groaned when I released his finger with a long lick. Served him right for stealing my celery.

"Do you plan to let him catch you?" he asked quietly.

"David, I have no romantic interest in Bas. I want to learn to be his friend, and I'm fully aware he hopes it will become more than that. He's a sexy guy and I'm sure he'll make some woman a nice..." old habits die hard, I almost said pet, "...boyfriend one day, but what he feels for me borders on obsession. It's not healthy, nor is it the basis of a lasting relationship. I'll warn you now; I'm looking for something with some staying power. I want a guy who will be around for a while. If your plans are to hang out for a couple of weeks then leave town, please don't string me along."

Curses on attentive wait staff! Megan chose that second to remove the chilled appetizer plate, while Lydia treated us to the warmed, damp hand towels again. This time I detected the scent of oranges and cloves. When I asked about it, Lydia let us know we would have a differently scented, heated towel between each course.

Megan arrived with the second course, which was a warm platter. I could detect the scent of steamed asparagus tips with herb mayonnaise before the girls started to describe the dishes. Also included on the tray were bite-size pieces of parmesan-crusted chicken, steak bites, and a selection of cubed breads. The bread, we were told, could go under each bite of meat to absorb some of the juices so we wouldn't end up coated in chicken or steak juice. Somehow, the idea of licking a rivulet of chicken grease off David's wrist didn't alarm me. In fact, I was pretty sure the salt from his skin would greatly enhance the flavor of each bite.

After our staff left, a furry head rose up and bumped the bottom of the table. "Hey, you're gonna pass a few bites down to me, right?"

"Get back down, bonehead. No bites tonight, we are eating with fingers. I don't want dog cooties."

"Red, I've got your back, I can accidentally drop a few pieces over the side. Wait for the toe tap." Puzzling. Unless Janey told him, David wasn't aware of our mind-speak ability.

"Oh Teresa, we've gotta keep this one." Red's vote was easily won. All it took was the promise of food.

David held my chin steady with a single finger against my jaw. He was laughing as he painted a mayonnaise-tipped finger over my lower lip, and leaned forward to lick it with his tongue before sweeping into my mouth for a short exploration. When he drew away from me he said, "I noticed the whole tap-the-toe-on-a-table-leg signal you two had going at the restaurant the other evening. You would toe tap, Red would look around, and you would, with impeccable timing, lower the food so he could sneak a bite. Very smooth. Do you plan to share the secret, or am I supposed to watch until I figure it out for myself?"

For the second time today I will have to try to convince someone Red talks to me. "I can hear Red's thoughts if he directs them at me. Although, I have to speak out loud for him to understand me." I was silent after that little bombshell. Next move was his.

"So, you're saying Red understands what we are saying, not only basic commands?" His finger still held my face, and his breath was warm as he trailed nibbling kisses over my lips.

"Yes." Again, silence. I was curious to see where he'd go with this, the kisses and the line of questioning.

"So while I'm talking to you like this, I could ask your dog to put his head on my knee and he would do it?"

I nodded. "The dog has a mind of his own. He understands what you said, but he would do it because he wants to, not because you told him to."

Red must have placed his head on David's knee. I could sense David had ruffled Red's fur. Did he slip Red a piece of food? "I hope you're not feeding me with the hand that's been in the dog's mouth and petting his fur!" I said.

David laughed. "Left hand only," he promised, "but I did show him something. Do you know what it was?"

"Will only speak for steak," Red stated from under the table.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Red." To David, I explained, "He wants me to bribe him with steak before he'll tell me."

David must have dropped an appropriate bribe over the edge of the table because Red said, "Well, chicken is close enough. He showed me a key, and money."

"Was it paper money or metal coins?"

"It wasn't metal," Red replied.

I held David's face steady and plopped a piece of steak in his mouth. "You are a sneaky man," I said admiringly. "Red says you gave him chicken instead of steak, and you showed him a key and paper money. He can't read, so I can't tell you the denomination."

David laughed. "Since I'm blindfolded, I don't know the denomination either."

Dinner progressed slowly as we took our time playing guessing games with Red between bites of food. We worked out a system so when a server was close enough to catch us interacting with the dog, Red would warn me and I would signal with a pat to David's arm. Of course, this meant I had to touch him throughout the evening, but neither of us was complaining.

I have no idea how many pieces of food "fell" off the side of the table, but it was enough to keep Red happy while we ate and talked. David got very good at painting various sauces across my lips before stealing kisses. And the kisses got better and better.

I was full by the time dessert was served, but David insisted on feeding me a few bites of the fruit compote. He had taken his blindfold off and was taking pleasure in watching me eat from his fingers, scented faintly with cucumber and ginger from the last hand wash. I placed a slice of mango between his lips, and when he bit down taking half, I felt the cool juice slide down the inside of my palm. David was quick to grip my arm and hold it steady while he ran the hot flat of his tongue over every inch of my wrist. He suctioned the other half of the fruit from between my pinched fingers, before sucking each digit, individually, to remove any remaining juices. You have to admire a man who is thorough.

It was still early when we left Blind Seduction, and it was David's idea to visit one of the local tasting rooms for a glass of wine. When it comes to wine, I can go either way, red or white. Not in the mood for one of my usual dry Chardonnays, I opted to try a full-bodied blend of Merlot, Cabernet, and Shiraz. After I swirled the wine in the bowl of the glass to release oxygen, intensifying the aroma, I took a deep breath to inhale the scent then held it to enjoy the complexity of the grapes. My appreciation for wine had grown over the last few months as my sense of smell sharpened.

I had taken my first sip of wine when David said, "Just for the record, it's my intention to stay in Spokane. It is also my intention to pursue this attraction I feel for you. I wasn't looking for a serious relationship, but I think we have the potential for one. I like you, Teresa. You're witty, kind, beautiful, sexy as hell, and you kiss like a fallen angel. I may not have been looking for you, but now that I've found you, I want to see where this goes."

*****

"Where this goes" was nowhere, for tonight. When David took me home, it was to find an impromptu poker game in progress. While it would be suspicious of me to assume my friends were sabotaging a possible horizontal ending to my date, Bas' presence pretty much convinced me my friends were conspiring to make sure I didn't lose my head, or my virtue.

David and I had a laugh in the car when he noticed the lights in the living room, and Ken and Janey's cars parked in the driveway. We shared a few kisses in the car and agreed on a date, next week, for a concert at the local casino. We were both joking about movie trailers as David escorted me into the den of iniquity that used to be my dining room.

I have to give them all credit, it sounded like the game had been going on for hours. Janey, no doubt, had the largest pile of chips in front of her. David confirmed Ken's pile had dwindled down to two short stacks of blue chips. Bas wasn't doing much better. Surely Bastian knew Janey always cheats at cards?

"I hope you guys aren't playing for real money," I teased.

"Are you kidding?" Ken snorted. "We all know Janey plays a crooked game."

"Yeah," Bas added. "We haven't figured out how she does it yet."

"I'm sure it can't be reflections in the glass tabletop, right?" I shook my head at their gullibility. "Didn't you guys wonder why she took the placemats off when they could have stopped the cards from sliding off the table as she deals? Without mats she can toss cards higher to keep them from sliding, and she has a better chance to see the faces."

"Dude!" said Ken in disgust. "I knew she had eyes like a friggin' eagle, but who knew she could count cards that fast, too?"

Dude? Well the mystery of where Red had learned that word was solved.

David laughingly asked how I knew the placemats were missing. "Who do you think taught her to count cards and watch reflections? She was my best protégé," I told them proudly.

Ken had bought a couple six-packs of beer for the game, so David grabbed a bottle for each of us, and we settled into the couch to chat and listen to the losers whine. Red was let out into the backyard for his pre-bed rounds. "To make sure the grounds are secure."

"Thanks again for a wonderful dinner," I said quietly to David, or so I thought, until Bas interrupted our conversation.

"Where did you two go anyway?"

Ah, it was so tempting to make a snide comment about getting a room at the Davenport Hotel downtown.

My thoughts must have been apparent on my face because David tapped my arm and replied, "I took her to Blind Seduction."

"Oh my gosh, how romantic," Janey gushed. "Ken, Blind Seduction's the place I was telling you about where you feed each other. One, or both of you, can wear a blindfold.

"How did you hear about that place, David?" Janey asked. "It just opened, and I don't think I've even seen ads for it yet."

"One of the bellmen at the hotel recommended we try it. He took his wife there last week for their one-year anniversary and said he had fun feeding her dinner and desserts. His wife loved it, too. It sounded like a unique experience Teresa might enjoy, so I booked us a room."

"A room?" Bas' tone was wary, as if he suspected something illicit.

"More like curtained alcoves. We were chaperoned by serving staff the entire time, Bas," David explained with a dry tone.

"Well, except for the hour when they locked the doors, turned out the lights, and piped in Barry White music," I couldn't help adding.

"Troublemaker." David laughed and tapped a finger under my chin. He bent for a quick kiss. "No Barry White," he corrected, "more like some new age flute and drums stuff."

"Maybe, but Barry White makes for a better story," I insisted.

The poker game took on a new life when Ken and Bas insisted on placemats. Janey's pile was so large by then that the guys really had no hope of winning much back. Things wrapped up around eleven p.m.

Bas, subtle as ever, asked David if he could hitch a ride back to the hotel with him so Janey wouldn't have to go out of her way.

So ended my evening. My date went home, metaphorically speaking, with the guy who thinks he has a "thing" for me. How weird is that?
Chapter Sixteen

** Morning, Saturday – July 13th **

I stretched and rolled over in bed only to feel the brush of warm breath across my cheeks.

"Ewww, Red, don't breathe in my face! You have dog breath." I pulled the covers over my head to create a cooties barrier. "I know where a dog's mouth goes and I don't want yours anywhere near my face."

"I've been waiting for you to wake up. Can I go outside? I think the cat is in my yard again," Red told me from his place beside my bed, muzzle determinedly resting on the mattress.

"Fine!" I said with feigned exasperation, flinging off the covers to swing my legs to the floor. "I'll have to talk to Ken about installing the dog door, like we've talked about, so you can go in and out when you want."

"That would be great!" His voice became sly and considering, "I bet the cat won't expect me to be waiting at night when she comes over the fence. There's a perfect place under the deck to wait."

My smart dog was laying out an assault plan. I suppose I should be concerned he was focused on the cat next door, but I'm thinking the cat and Red are evenly matched opponents. It was my opinion the cat was baiting him. Silly, evil cat.

I slapped my hand down on the clock and the mechanical voice informed me it was Saturday, July 12th, 5:52 a.m. "Geez, Red, can't you let a person sleep in?"

"Imagine the possibilities, Teresa," Red cajoled. "This means you can fit three more cups of coffee into your day by getting up earlier."

I grinned at his reasoning, knowing he'd made those numbers up. Dogs don't have a clear concept of how long an hour is, and I wasn't sure if he had a solid grasp of numbers either. Yes, a very crafty dog. I'm glad he's on my side—I will only use this tool for the good of mankind.

Red escorted me to the back door and I let him out. His barking started immediately as he dashed off in pursuit of an intruder. Well, since I was up, I might as well make coffee.

I had pressed the button to start brewing when I heard movement from Ken's bedroom before the door opened. I was surprised he hadn't gone to Janey's last night. "Morning Ken," I greeted, as he shuffled toward the bathroom.

"Hrmffff," Ken stated. I'm not sure what that meant, except potentially a lobbying phrase to indicate he needed the first cup more than I did.

"And a hrmffff back atcha," I called out pleasantly to his retreating back. There were three possibilities as far as I saw it. One, Ken had a hangover. Poor boy. Two, Janey's period started and she told him she wanted space. Poor girl. Three, they had a fight. Poor me.

I placed an extra cup on the counter for Ken. No matter the problem, life always improves with coffee. I heard the toilet flush and the sink spigots turn shortly before my zombified roommate shuffled his way back to his room, closing the door behind him without saying a word to me.

Mmm, the odds tipped heavily in favor of hangover.

The door to his room opened again, and another shuffle to the bathroom.

I made a wild guess, "Morning, Janey."

"Whatever," she mumbled back to me, undaunted in her quest for bladder relief, or was it a purge?

Evidently, there was an option four. Poor them. Aspirin would be needed for my two best buds. I poured two small glasses of orange juice and waited in the hall with OJ and pills in hand. As my undead friend started to shuffle by me, I said, "Halt. Take aspirin. Take juice." Once my instructions were followed, I held out the other juice and aspirin. "Take these to your partner in crime and make sure he ingests them."

I received another, "Whatever," in response (yes, I use the term "response" somewhat tongue-in-cheekily) before the walking husk of my friend disappeared into the depths of Ken's man cave. The door closed behind her with a soft 'click.'

I chuckled evilly, ha! That will teach them to take part in sabotaging my date. But, I admit, it was very well done, especially the part of the plot when Bas had David drive him home (okay, hotel—whatever) to ensure he didn't sleep over. My mouth tilted up in a grin. I do admire a well-executed plan.

My eyes narrowed dangerously as I considered this further. At what point did my friends consider my moral code wavered to allow me to sleep with a man on the first date? Okay, so I'd spouted a bit of bravado at Cat about picking up some guy at dinner. Even if Bas thought I might actually do something like that, despite our revealing conversation yesterday, I expected Ken and Janey to know better. I glared what I hoped were daggers at their closed door. Thanks for the vote of confidence, pals.

It was another hour, and coincidentally three cups of coffee later, when the door to Ken's room opened again.

I was on the couch, out of view of the bedroom doorway, so I raised my voice to call out, "Greetings, you have landed on planet Earth. There is no intelligent life here, but we do have coffee."

Janey recovered enough to snicker and I heard her footsteps pad to the kitchen where she poured herself a cup.

"Are we expecting Ken anytime soon?" I asked with a smile. "And if you say 'whatever' to me again, I will be forced to turn the TV on and play the Accordion Music Channel at top volume."

"Oh no, anything but that. I can't imagine adding squeeze-box to the percussion already going on in my brain," she protested. "You know you used to be nicer. Threatening me with accordion music is cruel."

"Yeah, speaking of cruel friends...what's with the date intervention last night? I can see Bas might think I'd be ho-ing around, but you two should know better."

"It seemed to be the lesser of two evils. Bas was determined to hang out on your front porch to make sure you got home at a decent hour. He didn't say so explicitly, but I'm sure he didn't trust you not to succumb to David's sexy good looks. I mean, come on, the man is a god!"

A god? Really? I stared in her direction with, what I hoped was, a bland expression. "Well, Janey. You know how good looks are so important to me, seeing as how I'm so superficial and not to mention blind. Yep, a pretty face and fluttering eyelashes roll me onto my back every time."

The silence was deafening. "Well, when you put it that way, it does seem pretty idiotic, doesn't it," Ken said from the hallway. "But Bas was being an ass about it, so we decided to play poker so you wouldn't come home to an angry man on the doorstep."

I couldn't help myself. "Red came up with the term Bas-hole," I shared. We all enjoyed a joke at Bastian's expense.

"So, David's a god?" I mused, hinting for a few more details. "Weird, I never thought to ask him what he looks like. His manner and attitude are attractive. I think his voice is sexy. And damn, if I scored on kissing alone he'd be a ten."

"Oh honey, when I said you were in trouble, I was scoring the complete package." At that Ken cleared his throat, causing Janey to amend, "Well, minus the kissing. He's a 12. He gets extra credit for his sexy body. He's an inch taller than Bas, maybe two. Lean like a runner, with corded muscles, not the bodybuilder physique my brother has. Dark brown hair, his eyes are hazel, maybe a touch toward the green-side. His other extra credit point goes to his smile. Generous, a little shy...well, until he looks at you, then there's a hint of the devil in there, too."

Janey sighed heavily. "I should probably give another bonus point for the way he walks. He's got this gliding roll-action that makes a woman simply wanna watch his hips move." Her voice was almost purring, as she added, "His is a lazy, sexy stride; like he has all the time in the world to get where he's going. It makes a woman wonder if that's how he approaches sex."

"Errr, boyfriend. Standing right here," Ken interjected, although his tone made it obvious he was not truly upset his main squeeze was intimately describing another man in his presence.

"Ha! Four days ago you would have totally done him," Janey teased.

"True," Ken conceded with a straight face. "Fortunately, I've had the love of a good woman to set me on the proper path, away from the dark side. You have my solemn promise: I will never look at another man."

"Whatever," Janey snorted, half-laughing. "Is Red still sleeping?" she asked, correctly deciding it was better to change the subject than listen to Ken's drivel.

"No, he's the reason I was up by six this morning," I replied. "He wanted to go outside to defend the yard from an encroaching cat problem.

"Which reminds me. Ken, can you see what needs to be done to put a dog door in? Maybe one of those glass panels that fit on the sliders? It would be nice if Red could let himself in and out, and there should be no problems with the six-foot fences we have."

"You do know there will come a point when he can clear that height if he wants to, right?" Janey asked me. "Especially since he can get such a good running start across the lawn."

"I suppose I can make up a story about an anonymous male dog who tried to clear a tall fence and lost his nuts when they got caught in the links. He seems to prize his boy bits, so that might make him think twice."

"Oh man, that's wrong." I could hear the cringe in Ken's voice.

"It's the off-the-cuff stories you can make up that cause me to worship at the shrine of your devious nature," Janey said in awe. "I find it truly scary you can keep a straight face when you say stuff like that."

"It's a gift," I replied humbly. "Although, Red can probably tell if I'm lying. I'll have to say it casually, when the air is already fragrant with bullshit. More than likely, I will tell him straight up if he jumps the fence, I'll have to kennel him. He is a dog and has a dog's instincts, but he has a level of awareness that seems to be above normal."

"Well, be sure to mention no chasing deer either," Ken warned. "The deer can easily clear your fences, and you don't want him chasing game."

"Speaking of Red, Ken, would you mind checking to see if he's ready to come in yet? All his plotting has probably made him hungry," I predicted.

Red dashed through the back door, heading straight for the water dish. He must have slurped up water for a good twenty seconds before he came in to the living room to lie down at my feet.

"Hey buddy, how's the cat eradication going?"

"The cat was there, as I suspected," he grumbled. "I also caught some other scents by the water, but I don't know what they are called."

"Although a screen covers the shallow end, this time of year we have a lot of animals coming down to drink at the pond. It could have been raccoon, duck, deer, opossum, squirrel, or skunk. Oh, gosh, please tell me you know what a skunk is and you know to stay away from them!"

"Not bird smells. I know deer, and they weren't what I smelled. Squirrels are the small animals that run across the top of the wooden fence, right?" Red referred to a section of the fence at the side yard, between the house and the garage, consisting of wood panels.

Ken confirmed the squirrels used the fence tops, adding, "They're the little animals who like to climb the bird feeders and steal seeds." We then explained the difference between raccoons and skunks.

"Both raccoons and skunks can be mean and aggressive, especially if they have babies." After a moment's thought I added, "If you smell a skunk, please don't get close enough for it to spray you. The smell is horrible and it would take weeks to get rid of the odor from your coat. I wouldn't be able to take you anywhere. You would be forced to stay outside until it faded."

Janey emphasized solemnly, "People find it really offensive so we'd avoid you for a while, and I doubt dogs like it much better. It is so strong an odor, you might have problems smelling other stuff."

"Maybe a skunk will spray the cat next door. That will keep it out of my yard," Red said. "We need to make a cat trap."

"Absolutely not! No cat traps. You can chase it and you can bark at it, but I will not help you trap it. What would you do if you caught it anyway? You'd have nothing to complain about and your life would be boring," I reasoned.

Red was silent, possibly pouting about the inequality of dogs not having prehensile toes to enable the making of cat traps? I can only wonder.

I sipped my coffee and enjoyed the morning with my friends.
Chapter Seventeen

Ken and Janey had left for the day, so I was home alone with Red when Bas arrived for our afternoon picnic. Still balking at the idea of calling it a date, in my mind I was spending time with him so we could develop a friendship, not to check each other out as potential bed mates. I was aware of Bastian's intentions, and his hopes of changing my mind, but I felt I had made my position clear.

When I opened the door to his knock, three sharp raps, Red was beside me. He stepped forward to get his head scratched, and his ears ruffled, but didn't get all excited like he had when David came to visit. Perhaps an expression of preference? Or possibly his way of presenting a united front, in light of my earlier explanation of what had happened in Janey's vehicle the prior day? Regardless, it was nice to have him at my side.

"You look nice," he complimented me, stepping closer to brush my hair off my cheek. He cupped my jaw in a warm palm, leaning in for a soft kiss hello, before respectfully retreating out of my personal space.

"Hi, Bastian. Red and I have been in the backyard playing fetch and enjoying the sun. It's a beautiful day for a picnic; I think this was a great suggestion." I stepped forward to give him a quick hug. "Ken left our lunch on the counter. Would you mind grabbing it while I get Red harnessed up?"

"No problem," he answered, hand caressing my face as he stepped past me toward the kitchen. I could hear him unzip the insulated bag containing our food, probably checking for drinks, silverware, or something along those lines.

"There's enough food in here to feed half a dozen people," he told me.

"You're the size of a small country, Bas; maybe Ken thinks you have a large appetite. He probably added a portion of unseasoned chicken for Red, and enough for a snack if we stay at the park for longer than planned." One of Ken's best qualities is he's pretty good at anticipating what might be needed.

Bas made a non-committal grunt and presumably hefted the bag off the counter. Red was strapped up and ready to go. I grabbed my backpack, which I had repacked with additional water for Red. Bas offered to carry the pack as I shrugged into one of the shoulder straps for the short walk to his rented SUV.

"It's not heavy. Most of the stuff is Red's, though I should look into getting saddlebags so he can carry his own weight."

Red was quick to point out, "I am a noble companion dog, not a pack mule." Then his laughter filled my head, "Besides, I'm not the ass of the group anyway."

The drive to the park took about fifteen minutes. Red kept up a lively chatter, which I relayed to Bastian in short unrelated clips as he drove. Most of it was observation about BBQ smells or people we passed. Occasionally, he'd crack us up with one of his droll remarks.

When another car with a dog pulled up alongside us at a stop light, its canine passenger started yapping frantically. High sharp barks suggested it was a smaller dog.

"Napoleon complex, much?" Red snorted disdainfully, sticking his head back out the window to bark once in response.

I laughed, and wondered again how my dog picked up some of these references and used them so accurately. His ability to make the association between a tiny, aggressive dog and a Napoleon complex suggested an unbelievably multifaceted thought process.

While Red was occupied with passing scenery, Bas and I talked casually about a few of the potential rental houses he had looked at. "I eventually want to buy something," he told me, "but, for now a house and a six-month lease will do while I check out the area. David will halve expenses with me, so we can get something nice while I look around."

"Hey! Bug in my ear," Red complained behind me. I could practically hear his ears flopping as he shook his head. A doggy chin rested on my shoulder, "How about a scratch? My ear tickles," he whined.

"Poor baby," I crooned in sympathy, reaching across my shoulder to help relieve the itching. "Better?" I asked. "You know, if you kept your head in the car you wouldn't have this problem."

The air pressure shifted behind me as Red ignored my sage advice and stuck his head out the window again. Dogs!

"We're close," Red told me when he ducked his head into the car for a quick report, "I can smell the park and the water now." He danced with excitement, looking forward to playing with kids as much as going for a walk and investigating new smells.

Only ten seconds later he reported, "It's the wagon slide! Can we go there?"

The slide is a large twelve-foot tall Radio Flyer® wagon located in the south-central area of the park. The handle acts as the slide down from a wagon, which can support a few hundred people. There are always kids crowding the area for a chance to climb up the huge interactive sculpture.

"I don't see why not," I answered, then relayed Red's request to Bastian.

Bas laughed. "I think it's incredible you can talk with your dog. Sure, we'll stop on our way to the river." He parked in one of the many hourly public lots, rather than cruise the street to find a curbside spot. Since I could take Bas' arm while we walked, I clipped the leash on Red so he could explore freely and compete in the endless game of one-upmanship male dogs played as they marked territory.

We entered the park near the wagon, and Red practically quivered with excitement, going so far as to tug on the leash, which was unusual for him.

"Hey, calm down," I ordered. "No pulling. You know better."

"But there are kids! Hundreds of them," he exaggerated. Geez, I hope he was exaggerating. "Oh, oh! There's another dog like me!"

"A German shepherd?" I asked.

"Yeah," Bas answered, "over by the bench. It's older than Red, with a young woman and a boy, maybe ten years old."

"Most of the excitement is for the kids, but Red mentioned another shepherd within sight," I explained. "When we are within talking distance of them, would you ask if Red can approach their dog to say hello?"

I asked Red, "Does the other dog look receptive to a greeting?" I retracted the leash and grasped the harness, as I didn't want him tripping other walkers in his single-minded focus on checking out his surroundings. He's smart, but he's still a dog. He also knew to conduct himself professionally when I was holding the handle.

"Yes, she's curious too. She's protective of her family, but she isn't aggressive, only alert."

We must have been close enough because Bas halted us and spoke to the other dog's owner.

"Mandy is very friendly and gets along great with other dogs," the woman said. "We are getting ready to leave, but I'm sure she'd love to meet your shepherd. He's such a handsome boy."

"Hear that, Teresa? Handsome boy, that's me."

Ignoring Red, I asked the owner, who identified herself as Emily, "How old is Mandy?"

"Six, although she's been acting like an old lady the past few days. Benny and I decided to bring her to the park with us today so she could enjoy some fresh air."

I released the latch on the retractable leash so Red could have freedom to approach and greet the other dog.

"She's sick," Red told me with a soft, sympathetic whine.

"What's Red doing?" I asked Bas, hoping to get a clue of what he meant by "sick."

"He's licking her face," Bas answered. "Now he's cleaning her ear."

"Can you greet Mandy and check her ears?" I whispered. "Red says she's sick. Maybe it's an ear infection, or mites."

Bas released my elbow and stepped forward to greet the female shepherd. "Has Mandy been shaking her head or rubbing her face against things?" he asked Emily. "Her ear canals are red and they feel hot."

"I've noticed her shake her head a few times today, but I didn't think anything of it. I'll have to get her to the vet to have this checked out." Emily's voice dropped to a sympathetic croon. "My poor girl, no wonder you've been so quiet lately."

With final goodbyes, the small family wandered away. Bastian and I sat on the bench Emily had vacated and Red directed his attention to the kids on the slide. As usual, my kid magnet was soon covered in sticky fingers and loving every minute of the attention.
Chapter Eighteen

Half an hour later, we managed to tear Red away from the playground with promises we'd stop by the slide again before we left the park. Bas led us to a quiet spot where we spread out our blanket and he started pulling food from the picnic bag. While Bas arranged our lunch, I rifled through the backpack for Red's dish and a bottle of water, setting it on the grass a couple of feet away from the blanket so Red wouldn't splash us with his enthusiastic slurping. I left the half-filled bottle by his dish, anticipating I'd probably have to refill the bowl before we were done eating.

We enjoyed baked chicken, crunchy veggies with a ranch dip, and an assortment of meats and cheeses. Most of the weight had been in the bottles of flavored water Ken had included for us. We topped off our meal with homemade peanut butter cookies from a batch I remember he'd made a few days ago. Ken must have had them hidden somewhere secret because they would have disappeared had I known there were any in the house. I'd have to utilize Red's tracking skills to go on a cookie quest when we got home.

Bas cleared the blanket and stretched out on his side, pulling me backward to sit back against the cradle of his hips. There was clearly no sexual intent; it was simply a comfortable position so we could talk. His hand idly stroked the fabric of my shirt at the curve of my waist.

"Did you know it was weeks before I got Janey's messages about your accident? I was overseas again, and I think it was the week of Christmas when I was finally able to check email. I was in some remote areas on and off for over a month; we didn't have computers available for personal stuff. I had over a dozen emails from Janey waiting. The morning you were injured, she sent me pictures of the tree struck by lightning. Damn, Teresa, there was almost nothing left of it. Janey ended up cutting the rest of it down for firewood.

"A day later, she emailed me pictures of the injuries to your face. I was horrified at what you'd gone through. Janey explained, at that time, it was expected you would probably lose the right eye, although you had already lost sight in both. I was so relieved when she emailed her update letting me know the doctors were able to save it; although, it's a miracle—the damage had been so extensive."

He ran his hand up and down my back, more, I think, to comfort himself than me. "Janey let me know about every step of your recovery. I was tempted to get leave from...err, where I was, and come home, but she told me I would be more detrimental than helpful. So, I followed your progress through the pictures and letters she emailed to me."

I relaxed more into Bastian's body, and sighed. "She's right. I think it would have been too stressful on top of everything else. I appreciate you were concerned, but you did the best thing for me by not being around when I was so disoriented and defenseless."

Red crawled onto the blanket and dropped his head into my lap. "I'm glad you're okay."

I smiled and stroked his coat. There was something comforting about thick fur, and the warmth of the dog's weight on my legs.

Bas rested his hand against the curve of my hip. He acknowledged quietly, "I agree it was for the best. I've had too much frustrated anger in me. I probably would have said something stupid the first minute I saw you."

"You think?" I teased, looking toward him with a grin. "You mean something stupid like what you said yesterday in Janey's vehicle?"

He groaned dramatically and admitted, "Yeah. Probably."

"You wouldn't have wanted to be there. I was a wreck, Bas. It took me a long time to get over being angry at the loss of my sight." I sighed as I thought back to those first few weeks. "It was such a stupid accident. I mean, who gets hit by an exploding tree? I was the victim of a freak mishap; it was so unfair."

My hand must have stopped stroking because Red head-butted my arm gently to restart the petting. I ruffled his ear and scratched between his eyes.

"Oh, yeah," he uttered, blissfully.

"I have replayed those ten seconds a thousand times in my head, trying to imagine what I could have done differently. What would have happened if I hadn't looked back? That's what I think of most often, Bastian. Would it have been worse if I hadn't been looking over my shoulder—like damage to my spine? Is blindness the lesser of two bad results?"

Bas tightened his arm around my waist, pulling me into a half-hug. "It's like you said, an accident. There is no logic, no avoidance, and no second-guessing." He pressed a soft kiss to my arm, the only piece of skin he could reach from his lounging position. "I wish we had been at a point where you would have welcomed me at your side when you were hurt."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Bastian, but I wasn't really welcoming anybody. I took a two-month pity party vacation and I didn't want anyone around me." My laugh sounded forced, even to me. "Janey wasn't having any of it, of course, but she's the only one I wanted to talk to when I was in the hospital."

I hugged myself as if warding off a chill. "If nothing else, I'm so thankful my body blocked Janey. She was probably far enough away, but the thought of her hurt has given me a few nightmares. Another of my 'what if' scenarios."

"I had a few nightmares myself," Bas confessed.

I paused to consider my words. "Yesterday, I think we reached a point where we are no longer enemies. I do not have an irrational fear of you, and trust me I know it was irrational. I kinda like you, actually. You're smart, attractive, humorous, and you have more empathy than the young man I remember. I think we are on the way to being friends, rather than acquaintances."

"Where do you get the 'attractive' from? You have no idea what I look like anymore," Bas teased, with a friendly bump of his hip bone.

"Attractive isn't necessarily about good looks, Bastian. Attraction is a quality that draws one person to another. It could be visual, mental, physical, even emotional, but probably a combination of different things. We both know attraction is a relative emotion. Your voice, your confidence, and yeah, your cockiness, as well as your loving attitude toward Janey, and your ability to make and maintain friendships, all combine into making you an attractive person. The more I talk with you, the more I like the man you've become."

"Thank you," he replied softly. "Not to make excuses, but I've behaved badly because I have been frustrated at every turn when I've tried to make you stop and see me. I've waited fifteen years for you, and it kills me you can never look into my face and see the potential of me. I've wanted you to experience the same epiphany I had. To look up and see a man deserving of time and effort."

"I do see you as a person worthy of my time. Truthfully, though, I can't imagine I will ever get to a place where I see you as more than a friend." This was so hard, mainly because I really did like this older and wiser Bas. "On one level, I recognize how sexy you are, and I feel a pull toward you. On another, I believe you're wasting time if you hope I will have the revelation you're waiting for. I want to spend time with you and hang out, but I think you need to look elsewhere for a more romantic or physical relationship. I don't want to lead you on if you want more than I'm willing to give."

"You're all I've really ever wanted, Teresa. For fifteen years, it's been only you."

"No Bas, if it had been only me you wanted, you would not have screwed Sherry on the counter. If I was the woman you really wanted, if you truly did 'see me' like you claim, you should not have been interested in scratching an itch with someone else." My voice gentled, "If you really wanted me, you would have waited for me."

"I admitted I was stupid," he grumbled.

"I think when I was fifteen, you saw the possibility of a 'you and me,' and over time, you built it up into more than it is. If there had been a possibility for the two of us, I think we missed the window."

Bastian's tone was frustrated, but controlled, "And I don't think you're keeping an open mind. I think your attention is being split between two men."

Red lifted his head off my leg and barked, "Alpha is here!"

"Speak of the devil," Bas said under his breath.

I laughed. "David is here? Ah, Bas, you have no one to blame but yourself. You hijacked our date. You should have known he'd return the favor."

"It's a picnic," David called out with a laugh in his tone, "is there any food left? I'm starving." Red stood up to greet David. "Hey Red, how's my partner in crime? Bas, imagine seeing you here."

"Subtle, David," Bas chuckled despite his annoyance.

"Well, you'd certainly know subtle when you see it, wouldn't you Bas?" David returned with a laugh of his own.

Bas amiably rolled to a sitting position, making room for David to sit on an edge of the blanket. Soon we were all picking through leftovers in the food bag. Fifteen minutes later, I was stuffed and too lazy to move. Bas had talked me into eating two more cookies. I admit it, I succumbed to peer pressure, but they were really good.

"Teresa, can I dig through your backpack to see if Ken has any toys in there for Red? Maybe there's a ball," David asked, after he had tossed our trash in a nearby garbage can.

"Ball?" Red's head lifted off my ankle. "I bet he throws better than you, Teresa."

"Everyone throws better than me, Red," I said with a grin.

"Go ahead and look, David. There may be a ball in the pack, but we can't let Red off-leash in this park. It's a twenty-five-foot lead, so he has some room to move, but not enough for a long chase."

"We'll manage, won't we Red?" David said. The boys took off together, bro-mance in full bloom, leaving Bas and me alone again.

"Do you have another date with David this week?"

"Yes, on Tuesday. I'm not saying where. This rivalry between you two is getting no help from me. The last thing I want is to have you showing up. Although, I will admit I got a kick out of David appearing today. You were so obvious last night, hanging out at my house and waiting for us to get home." I laughed at the memory.

Bas pulled me in for a hug and kissed my cheek, then my lips. I had expected possessive, but it was a sweet kiss. This guy had more layers than an onion.

"Do you miss working?" Bas inquired, still holding me in a loose circle of his arms, leaning me back against his chest. "Janey told me you'd been bookkeeping for the last few years, then you two went in together to do some web design business. Any plans on what you want to try next?"

I shook my head. "I don't miss bookkeeping at all, it was a steady paycheck, but I was never really excited by the job. Janey took over the web designing. I get a commission on the templates I created, but she is doing all the work now. I consider myself lucky I have supplemental medical insurance, or I would have lost everything in medical bills. As it is, I don't have to go back to work for a couple years; I can live off the money from the policies."

"I'm glad that's not a worry for you," Bas said. "Although, if you have any problems you know Janey and I are here to help, right?"

I hugged his arms to me. "Thank you. I don't think I'll need any help, but it's nice to know I have friends I can call on."

"Friends for what?" David asked, coming up from behind us. The sound of energetic lapping was my first clue Red, the wonder dog, had arrived and needed a refill.

"Bas was asking about my work, and if I had plans to re-train or anything," I answered.

"You should do something with Red," David suggested, "like you did with the police department yesterday. He could open up some opportunities for both of you to stay busy. Red could even be a comfort dog at a nursing facility if you want to do some community service."

"That's a great idea," Bas concurred. "A few hours ago, Red was able to diagnose a probable ear infection in another dog we met coming into the park."

"I'll have to talk with Red about what kinds of things he can do," I answered. "Detective Stephens knows about Red; maybe he could give us some guidance. I don't want too many people, outside of family and close friends, to know about him. His safety is most important."

"Teresa," David redirected gently, "as the only person who can communicate with Red, you are at risk too. Be careful who you tell, and make sure Red knows to alert you if you're at risk of being overheard. Most importantly, if anyone acts strangely, be sure to call Bas or me, no matter how stupid. Red has the potential to be a powerful tool, but the tool only works in your hands." As serious as the discussion was, I will admit my mind wandered, briefly, at how well other "tools" might respond in my hands.

I think it would be wonderful to share Red's skills, but I could see the importance of discretion and caution. The four of us sat in the park for another hour, and had a serious discussion regarding minimizing risk of exposure, people who needed to know about our ability, behaviors for Red to watch for, and what to do in case of an emergency.

We agreed if Red and I worked for the police, one of them would accompany us at all times. Red would be too distracted by scent, and solving a puzzle, not to mention his view was somewhat limited to knees and thighs. Bas and David were better equipped to make sure we didn't inadvertently give ourselves away if someone caught us communicating, or saw Red do something out of the norm.

Sitting between two ex-military guys plotting, and planning, gave me new respect for their training and skillsets. Feeling very safe amid all my men, I gave Red an affectionate scratch.
Chapter Nineteen

** Saturday – August 31st **

If planning in the park had given me a taste of Bas and David's risk management capabilities, the next two months gave me an appreciation of their tactical skills. Without exception, Bas showed up in the middle of every date with David, and David was usually already seated at events I attended with Bas. It was a combination of exasperating and hilarious to watch the two of them sabotage each other.

At some point, I began to wonder if they were even interested in dating me, or if they merely enjoyed the game of one-upmanship. I was able to test this theory during week six of "The Siege of Teresa March," during intermission at a symphony concert, in which Bas sat behind us and talked during the breaks between numbers. Under the pretense of going to the restroom, Red and I grabbed a cab home and left them both there.

It was a shame to miss the rest of the concert, but I thought it was interesting it took forty-one minutes before they thought to call my cell phone. "You guys enjoy the rest of your date," I'd told them. "Red and I are at home, eating popcorn, and listening to Rachmaninoff without a running commentary."

Week seven of the Siege was actually kinda fun. They did get the hint and must have come to an agreement. Dare I say cease-fire? They were reduced to stalking and guerrilla warfare tactics. Dates were no longer disrupted in the middle, but the men had perfected the art of showing up right about the time for the goodnight kiss. I have to assume one or the other would trail us all night before, metaphorically, jumping out from behind a bush to hijack the end of the date. One night, Bas and I arrived at my home to find David waiting on my couch. Ken had let him in.

Bas and I developed a comfortable friendship. It was so at odds with the conflict and animosity I'd felt for him half my life. If it hadn't been for my blossoming relationship with David, I might have come to a point where I could look at Bastian as a possible lover or partner, but there was David. Where Bas was intense, aggressive, and cocky, David was laid-back, confident, and encouraging. Bastian overwhelmed me with raw, graphic words and passionate kisses. David enticed me with teasing whispers and soft melting touches. Bas willed me to want him. David seduced me to need him.

Week eight was the week I canceled a date for the first time. Detective Stephens called me as David and I pulled away from my house on our way to dinner and dancing. He asked if Red and I could come to the police department for a "consultation." Since David accompanied me, maybe it wasn't technically a canceled date, but it wasn't the night we had planned. He took the detour in stride and half an hour later I was passing through the security screening in my fancy formal wear.

A policeman met us in the lobby and escorted us to Detective Stephens, who waited in a large, open space that echoed when we spoke. To my ear, that indicated the room was uncarpeted, and probably sparsely furnished.

"There are other people in the room," Red told me.

"Good evening, Detective," I said, offering my hand in greeting. "The gentleman with me is my friend, David Preston. We were on our way to dinner when I received your call."

"David, this is Detective Stephens, the officer I met at the park when the child went missing." The men spoke quietly to each other so I took the opportunity to pretend to adjust Red's harness and whisper to him, "Describe the room and the people to me?"

"There is a table with paper bags on it. Two of the people, a man and a woman, are in uniforms. A man in uniform is sitting in a chair, doing something on a computer. There is a man and a woman standing next to the table, they are wearing jeans and shirts."

David asked in a projected voice, "Can you introduce us to your associates, Detective?" His voice was very professional and clipped. I think he realized, as I did, we were going to be asked to take a test of some kind.

"The people are moving to our side of the table, except the guy at the computer. He's still typing," Red told me.

"Certainly," Detective Stephens replied. "This is Lieutenant Faber, Detective Jackson, Officers Marks and Willman."

Red identified each as I shook their hands, "Faber is the woman in the jeans, and Jackson is the man. The uniformed woman is Marks, the man is Willman."

When handshakes were completed, I asked, "And the officer on the computer, who is he?"

David slipped an arm around my waist. Casual, yet a show of unity, I think.

After a momentary pause, Detective Stephens answered, "Officer Blair is at the computer. He is transcribing our meeting as I preferred no cameras."

I could hear the tapping of computer keys, so I was able to look toward the corner of the room where the policeman was seated, "Nice to meet you, too, Officer Blair."

"Likewise, ma'am," he replied, without stopping his work.

"What can we do for you, Detective?" I addressed Detective Stephens.

"We have a task force forming for an issue I can't divulge until the Lieutenant approves of adding you as a resource, and we've secured your agreement to assist us. Lt. Faber's approval hinges on me proving to the group you and Red bring unique abilities. Once she gives the go-ahead, I can disclose enough information to see if you're interested, or able, to help. Anything we talk about in this room must be kept confidential, regardless of the choice you make."

Since the police were broaching the subject of exposure that we'd talked about in the park a couple months ago, I didn't feel David was overstepping when he spoke up for me.

"We can certainly appreciate your caution regarding talking about an open investigation. But we will have to insist, if Red and Teresa provide sufficient confirmation they have the needed skills, the details of their contribution will be kept confidential also. Red, Teresa, and I have discussed this in detail; both of them risk exploitation, or kidnapping, if too many people realize they share a special partnership."

Lieutenant Faber then spoke for the first time, "I admit we are skeptical of the abilities it is suggested you two have, but Detective Stephens convinced us to at least see you and keep an open mind."

"What do you say, Red? Wanna play with the nice officers?"

"Sure. Games are fun," he replied. I could hear the excitement in his tone.

I decided to add my own twist to the proceedings. "Only follow the directions of Officer Marks, no matter what the others tell you. Since it's a game, you can have fun with it, but be nice."

"Are we playing Simon Says?" Again, my dog astounded me with his ability to make leaps of logic.

"Exactly," I told him, "except in this case we're playing Marks Says."

David pressed a kiss to my temple. "Red made a connection to Simon Says? Damn, smart since we've only played the game once with him."

"I was thinking the same thing. Can you give me a running commentary on what happens?"

David squeezed my hand in reply.

"What's the test?" I addressed Lieutenant Faber.

"We were hoping Red could check out the bags on the table and identify the pistol."

Red sat at my side, waiting.

Detective Jackson tried, "Do you know what bag the gun is in?"

"Well, duh," Red said in my head.

David must have caught my grin. He leaned over and asked in my ear, "Someone being a smart ass again?"

I simply nodded.

The woman I assumed to be Officer Marks asked, "Please."

Red trotted over to the table. David informed me he went straight to the third bag and nudged it with his nose. Red returned to my side.

Officer Marks explained the next test. "One of these bags contains an item of Officer Willman's. Could you get his bag and give it to Lt. Faber?"

"Amateurs," Red snorted.

Red left my side again. Seconds later, I heard him drop a bag at the lieutenant's feet. There was a rustling of paper while the bag was opened.

"Yep, that's mine," Officer Willman identified from his place near the door.

"Can you get my bag for me?" Lt. Faber asked.

"Well, of course I could," Red snarked, "if your name was Simon or Marks. Really, Teresa, this is the best the police could come up with?"

I'm not a giggler, but I came close as I choked back a laugh.

David bent to my ear again, "More smart-assery?"

I nodded.

Once again, Officer Marks spoke up, "One of these bags contain an item of mine. My desk is in the next room. Could you put my bag on my desk chair?"

Red must have picked the appropriate bag and I listened to his nails click across the floor as he went into the next room. David, his arm still about my waist, led me into the larger room we had come through originally.

"Red has put the bag on the floor and is circling the desks. He's sitting there with his head cocked, like he's thinking of something," David explained. "Ah, now I'm seeing his evil doggy grin."

"I hadn't realized he has a repertoire of smiling doggy facial expressions," I commented, pleased at the new insight to his personality.

"Oops, he put the bag on a seat at Officer Willman's desk," David said. "But wait, now he's pushing the chair, with the bag, across the room to Officer Marks' desk. Good thing it's on rollers."

"Holy shit," Detective Jackson said from somewhere to my right. "He knew to switch the chairs back."

"He had me convinced when he waited for me to tell him what to do," Officer Marks said. "There was no logical reason for him to only follow my instructions. I mean, how did the dog know I was Officer Marks?"

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I am convinced Red has an above average understanding of what people are saying to him. For that reason alone, I would be willing to approve his addition to the task force team. What is still unresolved is whether he talks to you, and that skill is also a reason you were recommended by Detective Stephens," the lieutenant revealed in a tone very close to a challenge.

"Whisper a secret to him. It can be a name, location, quote... whatever. Say it low enough I can't hear. Red and I can communicate as far as thirty feet away. I can hear if he projects his thoughts from the next room."

"Are we done with the Marks Says game?" Red asked.

"Yes. Would you go with the lieutenant so we can prove the mind-speak ability? Then we can find out how we might be able to help."

"Then are we going to dinner? David promised me steak."

I turned to David. "What's this about steak? You are completely ruining his diet. I'll have a fat dog if you keep promising snacks in between meals."

"Tattle-tale," David spoke toward the floor, "I told you that was our secret. Back to kibble for you."

Red threw himself on the floor at my feet and made a production of rolling over such that he half-lay across my foot so I'd know he was on his back, abasing himself. "I'll waste away," he whined dramatically, "I'm shwwwinking to nothing."

"Oh cut it out, knucklehead," I addressed the con artist on my shoe. "You weigh almost eighty pounds. You're hardly wasting away. And you are not shrinking."

His head rubbed my shin, and he even licked at my kneecap, "Pweeeeeze."

I started laughing. "Pweeeze? Shwinking? Who in the heck taught you all this baby-talk?"

David started laughing, "Sounds like something Ken would say."

"Yeah, it figures." I snorted. "After teaching him dude and wicked, it shouldn't surprise me in the least.

"Fine, Red can have steak. But if you insist on slipping him food, then I fully expect you to come over at least once a week to run his ass off in the backyard playing catch."

Red snapped to his feet. "Yes!"

"Well," Lt. Faber said, "after witnessing that display of drama, asking Red to follow me to the next room seems redundant. Come on, Red, let's make this quick."

From the other room, Red said, "It doesn't make sense."

"So what? Just tell me what she's saying," I replied.

"Como say yamma?" Red repeated phonetically.

I chuckled, then answered loudly enough the lieutenant would be able to hear me, "She is speaking in Spanish. It means 'what's my name?'"

"She wants to know my birthday."

"Halloween, that's why your AKC papers name you Druid, we were using Halloween themes for the puppies in your litter."

I was done with the tests. "Come on back, Red, and let's finish up here."

"I am most impressed, Ms. March. Thank you for humoring us. This has been absolutely fascinating. I've never seen anything like Red and his reasoning ability. We would welcome your help with the task force. Detective Stephens can give you an outline, hopefully enough for you to make a decision as to whether you think your skills can work for us. Unfortunately, we don't know Mr. Preston and he's not cleared for this discussion."

"Lt. Faber, I certainly understand and sympathize with your position, but the facts are Ms. March will probably discuss anything you talk about with me, and likely Sebastian Declan as well. Bas and I served together; we are both ex-Navy intelligence with clearances high enough to get us in any top security job we qualify for. Teresa's safety, and the safety of her dog, are of the utmost importance to us. We have the training required to ensure their security.

"At least one of us will come along whenever you need Red and Ms. March. If I'm not available, Bas will be with her. She's a capable woman, but she can't tell if someone outside the task force notices their abilities. Therefore, she will be at risk of being overheard or seen doing something uncommon. Bas and I can minimize the risk; the four of us have a familiarity, and communication system in place, to help prevent others from understanding what is going on between the two of them. We are also focused on her, rather than your investigation, leaving your officers free to do their work instead of watching out for them."

The lieutenant seemed to come to a decision and said, "The task force is being put together to catch a rapist who has hit houses around the Whitworth University district. So far, four young women have been attacked, and the last one is still in the hospital. We have gotten no DNA evidence at any of the scenes and we are hoping the dog, Red, can pick up something. We have K-9 units in Spokane, but we think Red's ability to communicate may give us more information than following a trail. Maybe the rapist's scent is all over the clothing we recovered and Red can confirm the same assailant for each rape, or tell us if there is more than one. Frankly, we are stuck and we hope you might come up with something that can point us in the right direction."

Lt. Faber's frustration was evident in her tone. "Please take the weekend and consider if you can help us. In the meantime, if I can get your personal info, Mr. Preston, and info for Mr. Declan, I'll see about getting you approved as consultants, unpaid most likely, so you can accompany Ms. March if she is needed at a scene."

David stepped away from me to exchange email addresses and phone numbers. I heard him mention a list of references.

Detective Stephens cleared his throat to gain my attention. "The concept of asking a team of civilians to work on a task force is unusual, but it's my hope we can get you on board, in the next few days, as a consultant. I think Red's insight would be invaluable to the team."

"I certainly hope we can help, Detective. Bastian, David, and I had discussed offering our service to the police as a way to maximize Red's gift. We are excited about the potential to help. However, I also recognize I can't keep us safe and I will need one of the guys with me so I can concentrate on working with Red. I very much hope you get the approvals on your end, so we can work together as a team."
Chapter Twenty

Since we'd already missed our dinner reservation at Anthony's, we decided to call Bastian and invite him to join us at a local tavern where we could grab a burger and a beer. We wanted a chance to review the task force conversation with Bas to get his opinion; only fair since we were volunteering him to help when David wasn't available. I wasn't familiar with bars downtown, so we stopped at the first decent-looking one and phoned Bas.

The two men were renting a house close by and we anticipated Bastian would get there within ten minutes, so we went ahead and ordered three burgers and a pitcher of beer.

He arrived before the food did, leaning over to give me a quick kiss on the hair as he slid into his seat. "Wow, you guys didn't tell me this was a fancy dress-up meeting or I would have worn boots instead of sneakers," he joked.

"If you can't dress up for pool and darts, why bother buying the formal clothes," I quipped right back.

"Oh man, I would love to see you shoot pool in that dress," Bas said with heavy innuendo.

I grinned and shook my head because Bas is a letch and can't help himself. My black lace dress was an inch or so above my knee, and the V-neck was modest, showing only a hint of cleavage. I was pretty sure he couldn't see the black stockings or dainty black velvet stilettos tucked under the table. "Jerk," I said. "You simply want to see the blind girl try to hit a cue ball, and you don't trust me with sharp darts."

The burgers arrived and we enjoyed our food while it was hot and the beer while it was cold. I heard the sounds of eating from under the table and asked, "All right, who is feeding Red and what are you feeding him?"

Both men were silent.

"Seriously? Both of you?" I shook my head.

"There is no steak. They are substituting fries and bites of hamburger," Red said, not sounding terribly put out at the swap.

I wasn't going to win this. "Fine," I sighed, accepting defeat. "Don't overdo it or he'll be up all night moaning about a bellyache."

"So," Bas said, burger consumed as he settled back in his chair with a topped off beer, "what happened at the police station?"

David recapped our evening, with me adding occasional input from my perspective. It was interesting to hear David's observations regarding the officers and detectives. The lieutenant was clearly the most skeptical when we'd entered the room. The fact she allowed us to prove our abilities said a lot about her level of desperation to try anything that could help them get a break in the case.

In David's opinion, Officer Willman was stubbornly holding on to his disbelief, whereas Officer Marks probably walked into the room wanting Red to succeed. Detective Jackson was the most surprised by Red's moving the chair, and that was his tipping point.

Bas asked a few questions about Officer Blair, which no doubt prompted Red to mention, "He took pictures of us on his cell phone."

"What?" I was completely surprised. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't notice him taking the pictures. I saw his phone hooked up to the computer. All the pictures flashed up before he made the computer screen black."

I repeated Red's information to the men.

"If Blair was there to record what was said because they didn't want our session on camera, it's hard to believe they'd want secret photos. I mean, they could have asked for some still shots." David voiced out loud.

"I wonder if he took video also," Bas hypothesized.

Taking our speculation a bit farther, I added, "I wonder who else in the room knew what Blair was doing. Was he taking pictures for himself? If so, why upload them instantly when he chanced getting caught? Red, did Lt. Faber see the computer screen? Did you notice any body language between Officer Blair and any others in the room?"

"I think he was trying to hide the pictures from the lieutenant."

"Red doesn't think the lieutenant was aware of Blair's actions," I relayed. "David, did you get one of Detective Stephens' business cards? Maybe you can give the good detective a call about what was going on. He'll either be able to give us answers, or he'll look into it."

"I say we decline offering any assistance to the task force unless we get a good explanation for the secretive picture-taking," Bas suggested. "I'm especially concerned if he took any video; it opens us up to exposure we wanted to avoid. We need to know where those pictures are."

We were all in agreement, so David pulled out his cell phone and called Detective Stephens. The conversation was short and David's voice turned harsh when it appeared the detective was unaware of the pictures. David ended the dialog abruptly with the expectation of a return call providing more information.

"Damn it! I can't believe I dropped my guard and let someone take pictures," David growled, angry with himself.

"Don't beat yourself up. Red didn't notice either. It was a fluke he saw what was on the computer screen." I squeezed the hand he had fisted on the tabletop. "Be thankful Red caught him. Let's be patient and wait for news from Stephens."

"Yeah, you're right. Not much I can do but wait." He loosened his fist and flipped his hand over to interlock our fingers. "But I worry." He lifted our hands toward his mouth and kissed my knuckles before laying his cheek against my fingers.

I leaned forward and rested my forehead against his. "This will work out. I hope we get an opportunity to work with the police, but if it falls through, then maybe we can do something else. Red would love to work with kids."

"I'll be right back," he said, leaving a quick kiss on the tip of my nose, and scooting his chair away from the table.

I smiled. What's up with this man and his nose kisses?

"There will never be an us with David in the picture, will there?" Bas asked softly from his chair.

"David is not the reason I don't think there will be an us, Bastian. We are the reason I don't think there will be an us. I don't believe I can fall in love with you, Bas. I like you, and feel affection for you, but I don't think it will ever be more than friendship. The pressure of dating you, knowing you want more, is stressful." I reached a hand out to touch him, and ended up wrapping my fingers around his bicep. "Give yourself a chance to see what else is out there for you, Bastian. Let's be friends, hang out together, and focus on enjoying this new camaraderie we've built. As for David, well, I do think there might be something with him."

Bas leaned forward and wrapped me in a tight hug. "I'm going to get out of here to let you have the rest of your date in peace. Put the man out of his misery and take him to bed, will you?" I felt a feather light kiss against my cheek.

"I'm outta here, David. Let me know what Detective Stephens says. Enjoy the rest of your evening, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you later, Bas," David replied, a definite surprised tone in his voice.

David sat down and asked carefully, "Does that mean he's not planning to hijack us tonight?"

I ate a cold French fry and considered my answer choices. "Bas told me I should put you out of your misery and take you to bed."

Insert lengthy pause. "I see." I could hear him draw in a deep breath. "And how do you feel about that?"

"Nervous," I admitted. "Scared." My turn to sigh. "Excited."

David brushed my hair back from my cheek. Oops, I hadn't even realized I was hiding. His hand stroked around to cup my jaw and lift my face toward his. He whispered, "Me too," against my lips before his mouth claimed mine in a tender kiss. Our lips broke apart, and I was tempted to pull them back to mine, but he added with a husky groan, "Please. Come to bed with me."

My hand came up to stroke his face. "I thought you'd never ask," I whispered back.
Chapter Twenty-One

Red disappeared as soon as I let him into the house. With the addition of a glass panel dog egress through the sliding doors, he had the freedom to go in or out when he wanted. A lot of his time was invested in keeping the yard cat free, although he didn't seem to mind the raccoons who visited the shallow end of the pond.

We were still in the entryway when David pulled me into his arms, sliding fingers through my hair, canting his jaw to the side to seal his lips over mine. His mouth was hungry, demanding a response.

My body flared to life at the uncommon show of aggression. David was usually so calm, and relaxed; this tiny loss of composure turned my muscles to butter. It was heady to think he wanted me so much.

He drew his lips away from mine, inhaling a sharp, fast breath before exhaling it slowly in a warm draft against my cheek. His tongue made a soft, leisurely stroke across my lower lip. Savoring me. "I hate to change the mood here," he said, his voice gravelly with unspent passion, "but we should discuss birth control and condoms."

I chuckled. "Not a mood breaker at all, David. One of the advantages of not being eighteen is we can be more practical about sexual things." I gave him a soft kiss, and hugged him, enjoying the firmness of his chest against mine. Thanks to the few inches of additional height from my heels, I was able to press his erection to the juncture of my thighs. Reveling in the undeniable proof of his desire, I ground my hips deeper into the hard ridge of his cock. "I'm on the pill; have been since my mid-twenties to regulate my periods. I haven't had a partner in years, and I know I'm disease free."

"I had no doubts about you. I wanted to assure you I'm clean too. I have never had sex without a condom and the military tested us regularly for STDs. Since it's possible to get HIV from oral sex, I wanted to assure you, you won't get anything from me."

I laughed at him. "So sure I'll go down on you, are you?"

"Woman, I have absolutely no doubt you'll want to touch and taste everything. You are a very tactile, and sensual person. You're always running your mouth and tongue over me when we snuggle. I'm a smart guy. I can make the leap in logic you'd run your tongue over every piece of skin you can get to. I'm looking forward to it," he added, burying his face in my neck and licking a spot below my ear.

"Since we don't need condoms to prevent a sexually transmitted disease between us, let's address birth control," I said. "I've been on the pill for years, and although the chance of pregnancy is very low, it's still there. But I don't want to use a condom with you David, I want you inside me."

David groaned into my throat, and then pulled me into a ravenous kiss. His breathing was ragged when he said, "I so did not expect to hear you say that when I brought up this subject." This next kiss was consuming, David's passion meeting mine with open mouths and thrusting tongues. He gasped when we came up for air. "I would love to be inside you, skin to skin."

*****

I don't know why I felt so anxious. Maybe because David had become incredibly special over the last few months, I didn't want to mess up a good thing. I worried he would find me lacking in experience and confidence; then my brain re-engaged. This man would not be so superficial. If he was, I wouldn't be in a bedroom with him now.

The passion from the hallway hadn't died, but we managed to bank it long enough to get upstairs to my room. As he held me in the loose circle of his arms, forehead resting against mine, I laughed nervously. "I'll have to admit, I'm not sure what to do, David. I would like to be elegant and sophisticated, but all I want to do is get you naked so I can feel your skin against mine."

A chuckle shook his body. "All I can think about is how much I want you. I want my hands and mouth on every inch of your skin, and then I want you to learn every inch of mine." After another thorough kiss, he rasped, "I want to be buried in you so deep we can't tell where my body ends and yours begins."

Oh my, I think my heart skipped a beat. I traced delicate fingertips over the shape of his jaw, trailing them softly over the line of his neck, to rest against the pulse beating rapidly in his throat. My smile kicked up one side of my mouth as I reveled in his response to my touch.

"I've never undressed a man," I admitted, in a husky whisper, "but I would very much like to undress you. I want to run my hands over your skin, as I peel away each layer of cloth that covers you."

"I would like that," he agreed earnestly. "Let me pull the covers back on the bed, then I'm all yours." I listened to him move about the bed before he approached me. He slid his fingers softly down my arm until he wrapped them around my wrist, lifting my hand to the top button of his shirt. "I took care of the cuffs already. The rest is up to you," he teased.

I deftly popped the top two buttons at his collar, then I brought my free hand up to wrap around the nape of his neck. Leaning in to inhale the scent of his skin, I loved the clean crisp lime undertones of the soap he used. I licked the base of his throat and was rewarded with a little shiver. His involuntary reaction did wonders for my confidence.

As I released each button on his shirt, I pressed a line of open-mouthed, sucking kisses down his exposed chest toward his stomach. There was a light dusting of hair over his pecs, so I rubbed my face against his breastbone to enjoy the coarse texture against my cheek. When I reached his belt buckle, I tugged the tails out of his pants and undid the last two buttons quickly so I could slip the shirt over his wide shoulders and down his beautifully corded arms. Before the shirt hit the floor, I caught it and held it out for him. "I could try to be cool and toss this at the chair behind me, but I'll probably miss," I told him, wryly.

Wordlessly, he took the shirt from my extended finger.

I placed both hands on his chest. His skin was hot to the touch, but soft over hard, defined muscle. I splayed my fingers to cover as much of him as possible, then playfully brushed his nipples with my fingertips. His sharply indrawn breath, and the way his pecs pulled tight under my palms, indicated they were sensitive. With that happy discovery, I bent forward to flick my tongue over each nipple, taking pleasure in the increasing heartbeat under my hands. I tested his responsiveness by gently nibbling a hard peak and was rewarded with a deep moan, and his fingers threading into my hair, holding my face close. Using my mouth, I alternately sucked and licked until he fisted his hands and push me away, just far enough to swoop down and kiss me with sharp-edged passion.

His kiss was demanding, and I felt another slight loss of his control in the wild press of his tongue through my lips and the groan that seemed to reverberate from the back of his throat. He ended the kiss in a gasp, leaning back from me with obvious effort. "I like the way you undress a man, Teresa. Remember, what goes around comes around. This slow teasing of yours will come back to haunt you."

It was my turn to shiver at the erotic promise in his tone. My palms slid lower to the metal of his belt buckle, slowly working the fastening before I pulled the belt open. My knuckles rubbed gently against the fine hairs covering his abs as I threaded a couple of fingers into the top of his jeans to undo the button. Encouraged by how still he held his body in anticipation of my touch, I pushed my hand farther down into his jeans to cover the erection pressed insistently against the zipper.

Oh my. Two questions answered, and the second one was briefs! My fingers curled to shape around the firm column of flesh through the thin cotton. David pressed his hips harder into my hand, and his fingers flexed in my hair. The closed zipper held my hand tightly against the hot swelling of him and he seemed to grow more as I squeezed gently before withdrawing my hand so I could lower the zipper. He groaned again, a deep rumble in his chest as the placket separated and he swelled out through the opening of his jeans.

I stepped into the heat of his body, pressing myself along his chest and groin as I glided my hands over his hips to his rear, diving my fingers under the waistband of his briefs. My nails dug into his ass and held him against me for a moment before dragging the underwear and jeans down his thighs. I curved my hands to the sides and drew the pants down long hard thighs to his feet.

My voice was hoarse when I directed, "Step out of the pants." Kneeling in front of him, I inhaled his musky, male scent, and rubbed my face lightly over the hot, velvet length of his erection like a scent-marking cat. My lips parted and I breathed a gust of hot breath over his cock. Letting my open mouth brush against him, but making no effort to otherwise acknowledge his swollen state. I tossed his jeans behind me, not caring if they hit the chair, then removed his socks with the same impatient efficiency.

I curled my hands around his ankles then slowly drew my nails up over the backs of his calves, into the hollow behind his knees, and finally over the firm swell of his thighs and ass. The freedom to touch him, and run my hands and blunt nails over his flesh, was intoxicating. He was magnificent.

I loved the shiver of the goose bumps and tremors that rolled over his body as I breathed, once again, gently against his groin before standing and trailing my hands over the muscles in his back.

As I stood, David nuzzled his nose into my hair. "My turn," he whispered with devilish glee.

David's right fist was still balled into my hair, but his other hand came up to my back and pressed me firmly to his naked body. He held me in his arms for a minute, enjoying the press of his erection into my mound. I slid my hands over his hips to dig nails into his ass as I rubbed my pelvic bone against all that swollen goodness.

In a move that surprised me, he released my hair and turned me so I was facing away from him. David slowly lowered the tab of my dress' zipper to just below my waist, the air in the room felt cool to my skin as the fabric parted away from my spine. He splayed his hands low on my back then drew his hands upward, slow and teasingly, to my shoulders where he used his fingers to delicately flick the garment's straps over my arms. The fabric fell heavily to a puddle at my feet and I stood before him, still facing away, in a thong and thigh-high stockings.

"God, you're killing me," he groaned. "I can't believe this is all you were wearing under that dress all night." His fingers curled into the thin strings of the thong and lowered it down my legs. The rough need in his voice when he instructed me to step out of the dress and undies, spiked in my groin, and I moaned with the exquisite pleasure of wanting him.

As I had done with him, David ran his hands up the backs of my legs before pausing to trace the curve of my ass. His first kisses pressed into the two dimples at the base of my spine, and then he continued, by licking a slow trail up to the nape of my neck. I shuddered as he pulled my body backward, flush with his own. His right arm created a cage across my stomach to settle me firmly against his erection. His left hand slid over my ribs and came to a rest, fingers splayed between my breasts. His hold tightened. "The shoes and stockings stay," he said, "they make your legs look so hot."

David set his teeth into the meat of my shoulder, not biting, but holding flesh firmly while he gently ground himself into me.

He released his mouthful and nuzzled the hair near my ear. "I was there that morning," he whispered, his voice so quiet I had to strain to hear him. "When you were at Janey's," he clarified. "I was sitting in the recliner when you came into the room and started talking to Cat."

I stiffened in his arms. "What? Bastian told me he was there at Janey's. He told me he had overheard me, and never mentioned you were there."

"Bas was asleep in the spare room until your phone woke him up. He only caught the tail-end of the conversation," David explained. "I asked him not to say anything about my presence because I didn't want you to be embarrassed."

"Well, the Bas-hole led me to believe he heard more of the conversation than he had," I said wryly. I didn't struggle, but I stiffened in his arms; a not-so-subtle distancing of myself while I considered what this meant. It was confusing that David had been in a room with me and I hadn't felt him there.

His grip tightened more and his right hand slid lower over the curve of my belly so his fingers brushed the soft down of hair between my pubic bones. His left hand curved over the mound of my right breast. David buried his face in my neck and started to rain a series of biting kisses across my jawline and down my throat. His lips began a dance over my shoulders by alternating sharp little nips with soothing swipes of his tongue. Pinching my nipple between forefinger and thumb, at the same time he bit harder into the meat of my shoulder. My breasts arched up into the sting of his fingers as I gasped at the nip of his teeth. God that felt good. Intense.

David released the pressure of the bite, to say, "I had been attracted to you for years, through the pictures Janey sent to Bas. I was fascinated by your smile, and the laughter in your eyes. I would listen for hours as Bas told me stories about his sister, Janey, and her know-it-all best friend. I went drinking with him the night Janey sent pictures from the accident, and I was ready to fly back with him when he mentioned taking leave. After three years of pictures and Bas' commentary, I felt I knew you. I wanted to meet you, and sit across a table from you, so I could try and coax that gorgeous smile out.

"But, when you sat in that room talking to Cat? That's when I started to fall in love with you," he confessed.

By way of demonstration, he placed a soft kiss to the nape of my neck, the sensitive spot I have always loved to have touched. He tilted his head, opened his mouth wide over the kiss, and sucked firmly before raking his teeth gently down each vertebrae of my neck. I trembled, and my knees threatened to buckle from the strain of standing acquiescent under the weight of his seduction.

"I wanted to be the man who breathed against the little hairs on your nape." He matched actions to words, spilling a shiver down my spine and causing my nipples to pebble. "I wanted to be the man who felt your tongue glide over my flesh, lapping the salt and sweat from my skin. I wanted to be the lover who tempted your hands to discover bone and muscle." His right hand slid down into the folds of my sex, finding me wet. His fingers lay passively on me, unmoving, but he thrust his groin against my back as if imagining himself moving inside me, slow and languorous.

David groaned into my neck, "I want you to come so hard in my arms you are mindless from it. I want the bite of your nails in my back when an orgasm bows your body. And damn, I'm dying to know what's in your nightstand that you couldn't tell Cat about, for fear of corrupting her." His laughter held a rawness and heat, which balanced the embarrassment I felt at him knowing most of the contents of my toy drawer before our first date. "Because, let me assure you, I am ready and willing to be corrupted."

I relaxed at his teasing, reaching over my shoulder to caress his face. Tenderness warred with desire as his sex-laden chuckle shivered its way from my breasts to my core. How can one man make me feel so weak and empowered at the same time? My nipples tightened, almost painfully, as my anticipation grew.

David nudged me forward so I fell partially over the bed, braced on my hands. "Don't move," he ordered me, and proceeded to lavish open mouth kisses over my shoulders and back. His body held me in place while his left hand pinched my nipples, and rolled the tips into stiff peaks. His right hand slid deeper into my swollen folds, coating his fingertips with moisture. He lifted his right hand to his face and inhaled the fragrance of my sex; I heard him suck the juices from his fingers. He moaned, and tunneled his hand down between my thighs again, this time his fingers were agile and coaxing as he slid them back and forth over the damp flesh. Two fingers speared deeply inside me, judging my readiness by the flex of my hips and the dampness spilling over his hand.

"Please," I pleaded.

"Oh, make no mistake," he growled his promise in my ear. "I'll please you." He added a third finger to his exploration, and his left hand ventured south to find and excite the button of my clitoris. I ground my pelvis against the bed, trapping his hand against me. My arms collapsed and I caught myself on my elbows.

David's chuckle was very male and self-satisfied as he slipped his right hand free and fisted his erection. Holding me bent forward, by curling his body over mine, he ran the tip of his penis over my aching juncture to coat it in wetness. Slipping between my thighs, he began a tortuously slow, measured thrust, stealing my breath and knotting my body into a single sensitized nerve.

My breath caught and held. The pleasure-pain of his thick cock stretching me open to accept the fullness of him arched my spine with the intensity of the waiting. Waiting for him to be completely buried inside me. Waiting for him to begin deep pumping thrusts. Waiting for him to help ease the ache that made my pussy muscles clench. And waiting for him to fulfill his promise, I'll please you.

"Breathe, Lover," he whispered.

"David," I whimper-begged, pushing back against him to hurry his penetration. I had never known need until this very second. My body pulsed with lust for him.

"Shhh," he groaned. "Patience."

With a final surge, he was fully seated inside me. "Oh, Lover," he sighed into my neck, "you're a snug fit. Absolutely perfect." My vaginal walls clamped around him as I teetered on the edge of orgasm. I tried again to move against him, needing to feel the push and pull of him driving deeply. David continued to use his body weight to prevent me moving more than an inch or two, never enough room to force him to increase the pace.

David pulled away in a deliberate, lazy withdrawal. Finally, I thought, bracing myself for a deep, hard thrust. Instead, he filled me slowly with a rocking swivel of his hips.

His body moved in mine with a sensual undulating roll that teased me into a state of intense tremors. I was reminded of Janey's comment about whether his hip-gliding stride hinted at his technique in the bedroom. Gawd, did she ever call this one correctly! He built the tension in my body slowly; rigidly controlling my movements as he held me still under his measured strokes.

His thrusting action, and body weight, ground my clit against the flat of his fingers, still trapped against the edge of the bed by my hips. The shaking in my muscles increased and my body tottered on the very edge of coming. It was the strongest build-up to an orgasm I had ever experienced. So close, yet out of reach.

"Can you feel it?" David's voice was like gravel in my ear.

I could sense the strain on his control. Control that sent a spear of pleasure through me, compressing my pussy around his shaft.

"Please, David," I begged. Agonizingly measured press in.

"You're so close," he promised, his voice a hoarse whisper. Torturously long pull out.

In. My breath released in a moan.

"Any second now, you're going to shatter." Out.

His voice dropped lower to almost a purr, as he slowly, deeply thrust forward. "I'll get to feel your muscles clamp down on me harder than they already are."

Slow slide out. "And after you come?"

Smooth glide in. "While your body is still trembling with release?"

Long draw out—only the thick, mushroomed tip of him held inside me. "I'm going to pull my cock out of you, and bury my face between your thighs, to lick and suck every drop of cream spilling from your body."

Hard, deep push in.

I screamed with release as his words pushed me over a gush of pleasure more intense than anything I could have imagined. The whole time I spasmed, David stopped his thrusts to simply hold himself hard and tight against me, reveling in the clench of muscle and the ripple of sensitized nerve endings. My whole body flexed and shivered as I alternately rode, and ground myself against, the cock buried deeply inside me.

Weakly, I protested as he slipped, still hard and firm, from my body. He picked me up and lifted me onto the bed, then turned me onto my back with my legs hanging over the side while he knelt between them. The shock of his tongue thrusting deep, mouth sucking hard, brought me to a second climax within minutes.

Apparently, even David had a breaking point; as soon as the last of my tremors calmed, he stood and grabbed my legs to hold me steady for a fast, hard drive of his hips that plunged him balls deep. Repeatedly. This was no lazy tease, he was almost frantic in his pace as he braced on elbows over my body, his face buried in my neck.

I raked my hands into his hair. "Come for me, David," I coaxed, scoring nails lightly down his back and biting into the bicep against my cheek.

With a throaty groan, he stiffened and held himself still while he climaxed deeply inside me.

*****

His breath was spiced with my arousal as he leaned forward to fuse his mouth to mine in a fiery kiss. "I told you those stockings were hot," he joked, lifting more of his weight off my chest.

The satisfaction in his voice changed to wonder when he shuddered and his cock flexed. "Oh man," he said, with a lazy roll of his hips. "I think I can totally do this again." Without ever slipping from my body, David was fully erect again a few minutes later. His voice held amazement when he told me he hadn't done that since he was a teenager. "Youth and hormones are wasted on the young," he said with sincerity.

David showered me with kisses, nibbles, and hot flicks of his tongue: face, neck, shoulders, breasts – whatever he could reach, as he started moving in me in a steady, pounding rhythm, which built my arousal to a painful intensity.

My clawed hands dug into the sheets, fisting them into little balls as I tried to anchor myself in the storm of physical sensation. I cried out in surprise when he dipped his head low and tugged at my nipples with sharp teeth. On its own volition, my back arched toward his mouth. He pulled almost completely out of me in a lazy gliding motion of his hips, and slid back smoothly, filling me completely.

Changing the tempo again, making me strain my whole body upward to meet his push, he slid his large right hand down to splay over my ass, the tip of his middle finger brushing my anus with every undulation of his hips. I imagined he was above me balanced on one arm. His strength was impressive, for I'm no featherweight. His hand held us groin to groin, his hips shifting only enough in his tight grasp to rub my clit in small circles against his pelvic bone while he was seated in me so deeply. It was all I needed being still over-sensitive from two earth-shattering orgasms.

"Fall with me," he moaned.

I felt the first spasms jerk him, before I gladly followed him over the edge.

Chapter Twenty-Two

** Morning, Sunday – September 1st **

I woke him with kisses, thousands of them, starting at the nape of his neck and teasing over the bulk of his shoulders. His back was massive, not over developed, but large-boned, covered in thick ropes of muscle, tapering to a narrow waist, and the tempting rise of a finely crafted ass. I spread my fingers wide over his shoulders to touch as much surface as possible, bending over him to taste the ridge of his spine. When I reached the rise of his butt, I dragged my tongue firmly back up his spine, stopping in my upward travels to nip with light, teasing bites, until I bit deeper into his shoulder, holding meaty muscle firmly in my teeth. He moaned and flexed his hips into the mattress.

Releasing my grip, I traced the little indentations I'd left on his skin with the tip of my tongue. They were not deep and would probably fade within the hour. I murmured in his ear, "Flip over."

I seduced him with touches, another thousand of them, starting at his forehead, feathering his eyelids, and trailing slowly across his cheeks to his lips. I fused my mouth to his, drinking up the passion of him as he opened to me and swept his tongue against my own. His arms reached up to pull my kneeling body down to his, but I grasped his wrists and pinned them against the bed at his sides.

"My turn," I breathed into his mouth. "I want to take my pleasure in yours now. Lay back and enjoy the ride."

Leaning forward, I placed a string of kisses along his neck, then retraced the path with my tongue—he tasted of salt and clean sweat. I inhaled deeply to savor the scent of his skin, still holding the trace of soap from our shared shower a few hours ago. When I reached the crook of his neck, where it curved into his shoulder, I gathered the skin into my teeth and pulled softly. The position brushed my nipples over his chest and he arched into me, crushing my breasts more firmly into him.

"Cheater," I scolded, pressing him flat to the bed again, licking my way across the taut muscles of his pecs, alternating hands, lips, and teeth as I explored the width between his shoulders. His muscles were hard under the warmth of his skin, and I loved tangling my fingers in the hint of hair dusted over his chest. It was difficult to resist the immediate urge to follow the soft hedge to where it grew denser at the groin.

I teased my fingertips around his nipples, smiling at the way they drew tight and stiff as I scored them with feather light nails. Since his wrists were free again, David cupped my breasts in his hands and started to mirror my actions. He plucked at the tips of my nipples, still so sensitive from his attentions last night. I pressed the curve of one more fully into his palm.

"Cheater," he echoed, with a smile in his tone.

Smiling in pleasure, I traced my nails down toward his abdomen, bathing the taut, defined muscles with firm licks of my tongue. I shifted my attention to the rise of a hip, into the hollow at his groin, smelling the musk of a healthy male mixed with the faint scent of my sex, probably a result of him nestled, half-hard between my thighs all night.

I patted the inside of a leg to indicate I wanted him to spread wide. Ever accommodating, David shifted to make room for me to kneel between his knees.

It was easy to imagine his body stretched out in front of me, muscled arms lying inertly at his sides. His strong, heavily corded legs bracketing me while his erection long and thick, curved up toward his belly. The mental picture inspired me to stroke my hands from his face to knees, learning the details of his features, the textures of his skin, the sensitivity of his flesh, and the pulse of his heart.

I stroked fingers up the length of his inner thighs to cup his balls and the base of his impressive erection. My exhalation of hot breath across the head of his cock caused him to jerk in my hand. Lifting his balls, I rasped my tongue over one, and then the other. I could feel them pull tight in the curl of my fingers. As I licked my way toward the head of him, I found weeping drops of pre-come. Slick. Salty.

"Did I ever tell you I started to fall in love with you when you pressed me against the door of Janey's car and kissed me senseless?" I opened my mouth over the crest and sucked him as deeply into my throat as I could. Thankfully, with a hand grasped firmly at his base, I was saved from gagging when he groaned raggedly and thrust upward.

"Oh damn, sorry," he apologized immediately. "I just..." his voice trailed off as I rose up and plunged my mouth down on him again.

He held the next reflexive thrust in check, but barely, his whole body shuddered with the effort of lying passive beneath me. Knowing the focus required to maintain his control was intoxicating. I started to move my mouth and fist together, gripping tightly while trying to maintain a consistent suction. My hand slid up between his widespread thighs to cup his balls, and rub the perfect, soft skin of his scrotum between my fingertips.

"Oh geez, Teresa," David gasped, body rigid and trembling. "Careful, I..." he thrust up and spurted warm jets of cum down my throat. "Oh, god!" he groaned unevenly, as I swallowed and milked the length of him until he started to soften in my mouth.

David's breathing was labored as he dragged lungsful of air into his chest. His hands reached down to drag me up the length of his body until my face hovered over his. "You missed some," he teased, licking the corner of my lips. Drawing me closer, sucking my tongue into his mouth, he fused us together in a kiss of such intensity and heat my body melted into the contours of his.

"You have no idea how erotic it is to feel you suck me down your throat. I love knowing my cum coats your mouth, salty with a bitter edge to it." His next kiss was no less passionate, but more languid. Unhurried.

"I'm surprised you were interested in tasting yourself on me," I confessed. "Don't get me wrong, I think it's hot. I love the idea of a man who doesn't have boundaries in his bed."

"Our bed, Lover," he corrected. "I will confess, I don't have any real limitations between us in the bedroom. It's a short list: no blood, no body wastes, and no means no. You have no hang-ups about me kissing you with the flavor of your cream on my lips, why would I not be willing to taste myself on yours?"

"Damn, you're sexy." I grinned. "We are in agreement about boundaries, although I admit I'm a little embarrassed to have you state it so nonchalantly. I like that you're forthright in what you want, and you're blunt. I understand blunt. What are your views on teeth and nails? I know you overheard me at Janey's, but I'd like to be sure where you draw the line."

"I almost came when you sunk your teeth in my back. What you did earlier was incredible; not too hard, and not deep enough to hurt. I don't want to be scratched so deeply it creates welts that last for days, but I still want them scrape over my skin. Digging into muscle like my ass or shoulder should be okay, as I doubt your nails could dig in more than I'd enjoy." He lifted his face to kiss me lightly. "If we get too intense with each other and you accidentally scratch too deep, that's okay. Sometimes you may lose control, and I'll consider it a compliment."

"Fair enough," I replied, "and you need to remember if you get lost in the moment and thrust too deep in my mouth, or bruise me with your fingers, I'll consider it a compliment as well. Don't sweat the accidents, okay?"

"Agreed," he said.

David's head turned toward the edge of the bed. "Hey, Red. What's up pal?"

"Are you guys ever planning to get out of bed?"

I repeated Red's question out loud.

David lifted his head, presumably to check the clock on the nightstand. "It's only six a.m. Red," he complained.

"But you've been awake for hours and hours," he exaggerated.

I repeated this to David, explaining a dog's inaccurate concept of time.

Before either of us could frame a reply, Red chimed in with, "It's not like all this mating will do you any good, Teresa. You're not in heat right now."

I was laughing hysterically as I translated Red's latest comment. Amused, I said, "People are not like dogs when it comes to mating. We like to have sex because it feels good and it's a way for us to show affection to each other." I refused to get into a long discussion with my dog regarding the nuances of sex and relationships.

Heavy mental dog sigh. "Well are you done yet so we can play ball?" I felt the weight of his head plop down on the edge of the bed.

To David I asked, "Is he giving us his pitiful puppy eyes? He wants to play ball."

"Yeah," David confirmed, "he's looking pretty pathetic. Your dog is so abused, Teresa."

"Don't you start," I mock-warned. I leaned forward to press a quick kiss somewhere in the vicinity of David's nose. Ha, that was kinda fun; maybe that's why he's always doing it to me. "I'll make coffee," I said and rolled out of bed. "Get your lazy butt moving, you slacker. You promised to play ball and wear out my dog this weekend. Hop to it!"

I grabbed my robe off the hook behind my bedroom door and wrapped it around my body. Coffee sounded like an excellent idea.

*****

We had a wonderful Sunday. Unbeknownst to me, David had kept an overnight bag in his new truck for the past week, just in case, he told me; so fresh clothes and oral hygiene were not an issue.

We had a picnic in the backyard where David played numerous games of fetch with Red. That evening, we threw a salad together and broiled a couple of steaks for our dinner. Yes, Red finally got his steak bites.

For the first time, we touched upon the work David and Bas were doing for the military. David developed a computer program for satellite topographical mapping, which he sold to Uncle Sam. The project involved mini-drones, infra-red, sonar, streaming video, and a myriad of other bits of information that combined to create holographic imaging. There were many possible applications, but the guys were focused on military security—offensive and defensive. They partnered to develop PreClan Video, and were scouting properties to set up their servers and workstations. Apparently, upgrades were ongoing, which included a good amount of testing, and additional programming.

"I'm the code developer," David explained between bites of salad and steak. "It requires a lot of focus to create the platform for the programs we plan, sell, and upgrade periodically. Compared to me, Bas is somewhat scatter-brained."

David must have caught my smile at the accusation Bastian was absent-minded.

"No, no, that came out wrong," he corrected. "I meant that his abilities are more toward multi-tasking. He needs a lot of different things to keep his brain stimulated. He works on the program's GUI as well as building drones, and fine-tuning the cameras and other electronics. The guy is a genius with his hands."

More than satisfied sexually, it only flitted briefly through my mind to consider how Bas might be a genius with his hands. GUI, pronounced gooey, I knew from my days of computer nerdism, stood for graphic user interface. "So, you're saying you write the program, and Bastian translates it to the menus, and video output, which is how the end user maneuvers through the software?"

"Yeah. Exactly right. He makes it pretty," David laughed. "Most of the graphics for the video games can be credited to him."

"You guys are developing video games too?" I was puzzled. When would they have the time if they were working on all this top secret military stuff?

"We started out calling ourselves Preston-Declan Video, but we later shortened it to PreClan. We wanted a front business that provided some legitimacy for our more secretive work. Bas came up with the idea of throwing out a video game every year or two, and he is the one who does most of the work on those while I'm buried in code. He sketched out a few video games when he took some college computer graphics classes a few years back, and we only had to fine-tune them for sale through our company. A few of his video games are actually doing pretty well and showing a respectable profit."

"Geez, you guys are a couple of over-achievers. You've been doing this while working as soldiers?"

"We had a lot of downtime when we were stationed overseas," David explained. "In between testing the drones, which worked very well on a couple of the real missions we were involved in, and interpreting satellite data, we did a lot of development on our personal PreClan projects."

"Wouldn't Uncle Sam automatically own the software you developed while working on their payroll? You mentioned you sold the program to them, so I'm a bit confused."

"The program the Navy already had in place when I started working for naval intelligence is completely different from the one I developed. I did a few things in my capacity as a warrant officer that helped to streamline what was already in place; but on my down time, I started developing a program that was so dissimilar to what the Navy was using, with a different platform and algorithm, it couldn't have been integrated with the military's systems." David paused and topped off our wine.

"When I had enough of my program developed, I tapped Bas to help me with the interface. He wasn't working with me yet, we'd never even met, but I'd heard about him and knew he had the skills. We arranged everything thru emails and Skype. It took him over a year, as he was actively on the ground in some of the globe's sandier climates, so he worked on the program in his off-time.

"He and I arranged to meet for the first time to do a complete system run, and it went flawlessly. As much as our brains work differently, they meshed perfectly. We hired an outside attorney, we didn't want to go through the military JAG office, to write up our incorporation paperwork, and we made an appointment with my boss to try and sell the program."

"So you two worked together, without having met each other?" I asked.

"Almost two years, by the time we could arrange to be in the same place at the same time. It took a few meetings with progressively more people, and higher up the food chain, but Uncle Sam eventually bought the program and exclusive rights to first choice of anything else we developed as PreClan, outside of the video games, of course. When it was time to integrate our software, Bas was given an assignment to my unit, and he stayed there the last four years of our tours.

"The Navy put more pressure on him to test for his E-7, which would take him out of the field. He finally conceded, although he regularly snuck off with ground troops, under the pretense of needing to be there for drone field testing. He hated being behind a desk, but still tested later for his E-8, and left the service as a senior chief."

"You're telling me, then, Bas would have been content as an E-6 for the full twenty years he was in the service?"

"Yeah. Bas' heart was on the ground, with his unit, getting his hands dirty. He loved when we needed to do drone tests. We had a pre-selected unit that did the simulations as well as the real time tests with us. Bastian was in his element. I will admit, his soldiering skills combined with his knowledge of the program, helped us make some huge leaps in the way the software was developed and utilized."

Our conversation covered more about the challenges they faced, without getting into any real detail. I suppose it was a matter of "if I tell you, I'll have to kill you," or something along those lines. David also touched on a few of the more promising locations they'd looked at, but none were quite right for the clandestine work they would be doing.

We finished dinner and worked side-by-side to clean and dry the dishes, saving Ken from having to clean up after us tomorrow. I wasn't much of a cook, but I did okay with clean-up, as long as I was methodical about where I placed things.

When we snuggled up together on the couch, I caught a faint hint of sandalwood and lime clinging to his t-shirt. "Mmm," I sniffed appreciatively. "You tried on the scent Janey gave me for spritzing my pillows and window seat cushions."

"I saw it on the dresser and recognized the scent from Janey's house. It has a nice cologne spiciness to it. I'll have to get her to order some for me, too."

I inhaled a deep breath, loving the scent of the sandalwood mixed with David. On impulse, I mock-pounced and started raining kisses, alternated with exaggerated sniffing noises, over his neck and shoulders. "You smell like my bed. That is so friggin' hot!"

Laughing, he let me roll him under me as I slowed the kisses to soft and drugging.

Much later, we were in bed, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin, with our bodies still linked. David stroked his knuckles over my cheek and told me, "I love you, Teresa."

I smiled. "I love you, too, David."
Chapter Twenty-Three

** Morning, Monday – September 2nd **

I wasn't surprised to get a call from Detective Stephens last night, asking me to drop by the police department. While I was on my cell with the detective, David called Bas. We were able to coordinate a ten o'clock meeting time for all of us, in Lieutenant Faber's office, on Monday morning.

Bas agreed to meet us at my house, and we would travel together to the station. He arrived at eight so we could sit together over coffee and decide what we would, and would not, agree to do in our efforts to assist the police. While I was concerned about Officer Blair's actions, I wasn't convinced it would prevent us from trying to help if Red and I could make a difference with the task force.

When David got up to call Red in from outside, Bas asked me, "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Bas, more than fine," I assured him. "Thanks for giving us some space."

I received a gentle kiss on the forehead. "Be happy. If you can't be with me, then I'm glad you found David. He's a good man." David must have returned to the room because Bas said over my head, "Don't screw this up. She's probably the best thing that will ever happen to you."

"Yeah," David agreed. He stood behind my chair and raked his fingers through my hair from temple to ends; it was longer now, already tickling my shoulders. He placed a soft kiss on the crown of my head (I guess he couldn't reach my nose from that angle). "I am well aware of how lucky I am."

"Is it time to go yet?" Red asked.

"Almost," I told him. "David is going to get you harnessed up this morning. We're taking Bastian's SUV, so you'll have some room in the back to move around."

To the room in general, I inquired, "How are we doing for time, guys?"

"It's 9:15," Bas replied. "If we leave now, we'll have plenty of time to find parking."

"All right, pal! Quit spinning in circles or I'll never get this harness buckled. You'd be in the car already, with your head out the window, if you'd simmer down," David joked.

"But we get to go for a drive!" Red whined dramatically. What a ham. I relayed his passion-filled enthusiasm to Bas and David who laughed at the dog's excitement.

*****

Fifteen minutes into the drive, drama dog had changed his tune. "Are we almost there? How much farther? We have been driving forever!"

"Oh, for goodness sakes, Red! Twenty minutes ago you couldn't wait to go for a car ride, now you can't wait to get out?"

"Well, now I have to pee! And we're passing all these places that would be perfect."

"You peed before we left the house. We are not going to stop at every tree so you can mark territory. I know, for a fact, you can hold your bladder for hours, so don't try to con me you scoundrel." I'm not sure how much of the conversation the guys were following in the front seat, but I'm sure they were catching the gist of Red's complaints from my end of the discussion. "You can wait another ten minutes for us to get there, then we'll let you sniff around before we go inside."

"Ten minutes?" I heard him drop dramatically to the folded down seatback beside me. Who knew he had such a tendency toward theatrics? "But...hey, what's that smell?" Our Oscar contender soon had his head back out the window again as he absorbed new scents with joyful glee.

"Who knew Red was such an actor?" I asked anyone who was listening.

Bas laughed. "It was a great tantrum until he smelled us driving past half-a-dozen fast food restaurants."

"Oooh, shiny," David mocked. "Our boy is easily distracted."

"So true," I agreed, secretly happy he had referred to Red as "our boy." I was glad my place in his thoughts included Red.

"Hey, are we close yet? It's been hours." Red sighed mournfully.

David must have noticed Red had his head back inside. "We're passing close by the park. I think I smell hotdogs," he lied—or at least I'm sure he was stretching the truth.

"Hotdogs? Oh, I loooooove hotdogs! Can we get one?" I felt the air pressure change again, as Red thrust his head out the window once more.

"Almost there," Bas said, for my benefit.

"Thank goodness! He's driving me nuts back here."

Bas slowed the vehicle and made a series of turns until he found a parking spot. He volunteered to take Red on his leash to a nearby weeded area so my boy could mark all the dead bushes, and dried grass, to his heart's content.

David helped me out of the car, a courtesy rather than a necessity. He'd told me a few weeks back he realized I could do things for myself, but he liked making life easier for me. It seemed churlish to refuse his small kindnesses in an unnecessary bid for independence. He wasn't trying to make me dependent on him. He simply enjoyed holding my hand when he helped me out of the car. Truth be known, I liked it too.

"Do you need anything from Red's backpack?" he asked.

"No, he should be fine for a couple of hours without his water bowl. I'd rather have less stuff going through the security screening."

"Are we ready?" Bas asked, joining us. "I can hang onto the leash for you, Teresa. Time check is one minute to ten."

"Thanks Bas."

Red nudged my left thigh to let me know he was in position. Right then, a nearby clock started to chime out the first of ten bells.

"It appears my watch is a minute slow," Bas joked. "Let's get a move on."

We had barely made it through security when David called out from beside me, "Hello, Detective Stephens. Hope you haven't been waiting too long?"

"No, no. I only arrived as you were approaching the front doors. We are ready for you upstairs. You must be Sebastian Declan, nice to meet you, sir. I'm Detective Stephens."

I'm sure there were appropriate handshakes and measuring stares all around, testosterone was thick in the air; or maybe it was purely my imagination. The five of us had an elevator to ourselves as we rode up to the lieutenant's office.

"Boy, everyone wants to be top dog," Red said. "The detective is very aggressive toward Bas."

Okay then, maybe it wasn't all in my head. "It's common when you get three alpha males in close quarters, Red. Growl a warning if it looks like one of them is going to lift a leg and pee on something. I don't want to get splashed."

Red snickered, and gave me a status report: "The detective is embarrassed, David is really amused, and Bas is combative. I think he would happily bitch slap the detective."

"And who do I have to thank for adding that little gem to your vocabulary?" I snipped. "Janey, right?"

"Actually, I think it was Ken," he answered.

"I'm going to have to have a long talk with Ken," I promised.

"Will it involve taking away cookies and no more doggie bags?" Red clearly was feeling frisky with all the tension.

"Ignore them," David suggested to the detective. "After a while the noise doesn't even register. It's like listening to an old married couple when these two get started."

The doors swished open, effectively cutting off any comment I might have come up with. In truth, we probably did sound that way. I thought I hid my contented grin, but David leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I saw that."

Red was back to work as we entered the lieutenant's office. "Marks, Faber, Jackson, Willman, and Blair are here. There are also two men, not in uniforms, next to Blair, and a different man at a computer in the corner."

As we had agreed this morning, Bas and David stood at my back, one on each side of me. I was to be the spokesperson unless Blair's actions represented a threat to us. Red's job was to position me so I was facing Lt. Faber.

"Gentlemen, Officer Marks, Lt. Faber, good morning," I said to the room in greeting. "Since Officer Blair is no longer at the computer, I will assume he acted without your authority, Lt. Faber?"

"Please, have a seat," Lt. Faber offered, avoiding the question.

"Forward, two steps, on your right," David instructed and Red led me to the indicated chair. I grinned internally as Bas and David drew their chairs back, simultaneously, so they were both a half-pace behind me in the same pattern as if we were standing.

When we were seated, the lieutenant began, "I would like to apologize. Photos and video were taken without your knowledge or consent a couple of days ago. Officer Blair acted on his own interests. It is not our policy to discuss internal employee issues, or discipline, with people outside the department. However, since the incident affects you directly, I felt in this case, I needed to divulge some of the details."

Grateful for a direct answer, I still needed to clarify our priorities. "Regardless of your wanting to further explore our involvement with the task force, Bas, David and I will need to know what was going on and if I'm at risk. We appreciate your updating us with as much information as you are able to disclose."

Lt. Faber paused before saying, "Detectives Garner and Westfield have joined us; they are with the cybercrimes and narcotics divisions, respectively. Detective Garner is the man we have reviewing Officer Blair's laptop. Detective Westfield was hoping to talk to you regarding applications for his department which also uses K-9s."

Red took the opportunity to say, "Blair is very angry, and has aggressive body language."

"Excuse me a moment, Lieutenant." I leaned back in my chair. "David?" He leaned in close so I could speak quietly into his ear. "I don't know how close Blair is, but Red says he's angry. Just a heads up."

David moved away.

Red surprised me by telling me David and Bas were talking with their hands. Sign language? I wonder if it was ASL or some type of military thing. I'd have to ask later. "One of the new men, Detective Westfield, stepped behind Blair. I think he knows what David and Bas were saying with their hands."

Bas leaned forward this time to give me the commentary, "Garner on left, cyber. Westfield on right, drugs, knows sign language."

"Sorry for the interruption, Lt. Faber," I said. "Please continue."

"After you called Detective Stephens, he contacted me and we were able to secure the laptop Officer Blair used. It's department issued so we were able to commandeer it without incident. He had sent the pictures, and video, through his private email account, which he didn't log out of, so it was easy to access his mail program."

"Pretty sloppy for a technophile to leave his email account logged in," David interjected. "Were you able to identify the person or people who received the files?"

"He sent the files to two email addresses. We identified one as his own account, but couldn't trace the second. That second account had been created the day before the email was sent, and deleted the same afternoon Officer Blair sent the file."

"Were there picture and video files remaining on his phone?" Bas asked, his voice silky with the warning of violence. I sensed a shift in the air as the policemen in the room processed Bas' threat level.

"One of the search warrants we secured was against his personal cell phone." The lieutenant was subtly letting us know other warrants had been secured, but she couldn't, or wouldn't, discuss them with us at this point. "Detective Garner is in the process of reviewing the phone for clues that might lead to identification of the second email recipient. We will also secure any photos or videos of Ms. March and Red that remain on his cell."

"And Officer Blair?" David prompted, "Did he have anything to say?"

"Officer Blair refuses to offer an explanation," she replied blandly.

"Red?" I asked. "Anything about Officer Blair you'd care to tell me?"

"He's sniffing Blair and circling him," Bas told me. "I think the new detectives are freaked the dog went straight to Blair." There was an evil pleasure in Bas' tone.

"He's scared now," Red told me. I relayed the info to Bas who I assumed would sign to David if needed. "He has a gun in his boot."

"Red, come," I ordered gently. I quickly told Bas about the gun.

Bas and David shifted to stand in front of me, the backs of their legs brushed my knees. Red's line of sight to Officer Blair remained unimpeded so Red explained what was happening. "The man who understands hand talking is taking the gun away from Officer Blair. Someone said something about a back-up gun from his desk. Ohhh, Lt. Faber is really mad."

I could hear some soft scuffling and swearing, but David and Bas finally relaxed their stances as Officer Blair was escorted from the room.

David explained, "Blair left with Garner and Jackson."

"Damn, I wish I could start this day all over," Lt. Faber said with a heavy sigh.

I laughed. "Some days, Lieutenant, you're the bug, and some days you're the windshield."

Her chuckle mirrored mine. "We really could use your perspective on the case. I spoke with the task force team, and the police chief, regarding access for you and your team to articles in evidence. It is our intention to minimize any risk to you and Red, current events notwithstanding," she growled. "So, we are in agreement we don't want you at any crime scenes, or anywhere that risks exposing you to the public.

"What we are hoping is you and Red can examine the victims' clothing to learn if we may be looking for more than one perpetrator, or verify the cases are linked. We may possibly get a piece of new information Red could verbalize, which a regular K-9 wouldn't know was important. We didn't find any DNA evidence, so we're hoping Red can smell something. Smell wouldn't be admissible if we go to court, but you may be able to help us find the right path."

"Red has a great nose and he has been excited to come and help," I replied. "I appreciate you keeping us behind the scenes, especially until we know why Officer Blair was so interested in telling someone about us."

"Detective Westfield uses K-9s and was a handler before his last promotion to our narcotics division," the lieutenant explained. "He is very interested in a dog's perspective of tracking scents. He has asked to observe, and I hoped you would be open to his presence at the evidence review."

Considering Westfield's background, and reviewing the events of the last few minutes, not the least of which was Westfield being the first to move protectively when he interpreted Bas and David's hand signals, I decided to trust my intuition. "We'd welcome Detective Westfield's presence and guidance as we all learn how to best leverage, and maybe enhance, our abilities. If you have the clothing available, I can have Red take a look at it for you now," I offered.

"Thank you. I was worried the issues with the photos would cause you to withdraw your offer of help. The fact they were taken and sent at the police department, right under our noses, is a sore spot."

Bas interjected, "We take our team's security very seriously." That's my Bas; he latched right on to the team reference Lt. Faber made. "It takes some pressure off us, as we won't have to worry about them being out in the public's eye. We also wanted to let you know we have additional expertise as a unit, we're happy to offer, if you wish to utilize our full skill set."

"When we did a background check for you both, they emphasized your security clearances, but the work you did was somewhat unclear. Purposely, I think."

"Our short resume," David clarified, "for Bas would be security, infiltration, and tactical planning. I'm more of a cyber-geek. Your IT people would probably find me helpful if they hit a wall they can't get through."

"You're no slouch in the infiltration department yourself, David." Bas chuckled. "You saved my ass more than once, you sneaky bastard."

"That's because Uncle gave me some mini-drones and a laptop to play with. All I did was cut a path."

"Path? Crap, David, you could have landed a 747 on your 'path' by the time you were finished," Bas recalled with pride.

"For now," I said, trying to get us back on task, "if you want to point us to the clothing, we will see if there's anything Red can tell you."
Chapter Twenty-Four

** Late Morning, Monday – September 2nd **

Clothing from the four women was in four separate bins, lined up on a table in the adjoining room. As a precaution, DNA samples were taken from Bas, Red, David, and myself in case there was ever an accidental contact or stray hair.

Detective Stephens explained they would open one container at a time and place each set of clothing on a clean tarp. The three objectives were: a) is it the same rapist in each case? b) is there more than one rapists involved? and c) is there any unique scent that might provide a clue as to where to start looking for the rapist?

Red was not happy when Officer Marks insisted he wear paper booties to cover his feet as he walked near the evidence.

After unsuccessful attempts to wrap his hind feet David said, "Give me a second or two with my pal while we negotiate." Whatever David promised was effective, and with only a few grumbles, Red let Officer Marks do his hind paws.

Bas told me the first set of clothes were being spread out on the tarp, the woman's underwear was kept in a baggie to the side and would be brought out for Red's inspection after he was finished with the outer garments.

Red worked well with Detective Stephens and, surprisingly to me, Detective Westfield, whom I assumed would only observe. There were a few accidents when Red trod on a piece of clothing, but it was expected this might happen and the detectives got used to Red's preferred way to examine the clothing. We had already discussed Red would be looking for male scents.

While Red was sniffing, he didn't bother to give me a play-by-play of what he was doing, although I'd get the occasional, "Oh man, that's neat," or, "Could Stephens lift this so I can smell the other side?" I would relay instructions as needed, but I kept silent for most of the examination.

When Red had worked for about fifteen minutes, I addressed Lt. Faber who sat next to me, making sure everyone could hear my voice. "I want to warn you Red has unusually evolved reasoning skills. His assessment may contain some of his conclusions, which I have found to be uncannily accurate. I will try to be clear about what is factual and what is conjectured, and why he reached a certain conclusion."

A few minutes later, Red was finished. I repeated what he said and then answered his questions or asked questions of my own.

"There are two men," he began.

"Let's call them John and Bob," I told him.

"John's scent is all over. Her coat, outer clothes, bra, and panties, but it's a deep scent, I think he's a boyfriend."

"What about Bob?"

"Bob's smell is probably the bad man. He has his scent over the front of the shirt and the front of her jeans. There is a trace on the coat and front of the bra, but not too strong. His smell is strong on the panties."

"Is there anything about any of the smells you like, or don't like?"

"Don't like the cigarette smell, it's too strong. There is another smell here, but I don't know what it is."

"Does it smell like anything in our house?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Okay, are you ready to try the next clothes? If you detect the strange smell again, let me know, okay? Let me know if you smell the cigarettes too."

While Detective Stephens boxed and laid out the next set of clothes on a new tarp, Officer Marks rewrapped Red's paws in new booties. As she worked, she explained to him how important it was to have fresh booties after each box, and praised his intelligence.

Needless to say, he was eating it up and didn't complain once about his feet getting taped up again.

Detective Westfield approached. "Red is an amazing dog," he said.

"I am, aren't I?" he concurred immodestly from across the room.

"He's agreeing with you," I told the detective with an eye roll.

"If Red smells something, how long does the scent stay in memory?" It seemed like an odd question coming from a former dog handler—wouldn't he know the answer to that?

With a mental shrug, I decided to humor him with what little I had gleaned in living with Red the past few months. "He looks large because he weighs over eighty pounds now, but he's still a puppy. He'll be a year old in about seven or eight weeks. Of the things he's smelled and learned, I haven't come across one we've tested him on that he's forgotten. We play tracking and trailing games, all the time, to keep him occupied."

"If you're in agreement, Ms. March, before you leave today, could I introduce Red to some of the common drugs we train our dogs to detect? Marijuana is legal in Washington State now, but he can learn that smell, as well as meth ingredients, cocaine, and a few others we may have in the evidence and training lockers."

"What is your objective for him learning those scents?" Bas asked warily, from behind me.

"I'd be worried he might be injured if he's sniffing coke or stuff like that," I added.

"Some of the evidence you two examine may contain trace amounts of narcotics. If Red is able to identify what a narcotic is, and even which specific drug he smells, it adds a new weapon to your team arsenal." He reached past me to scratch Red's ears (I could tell by the moan of joy), and said, "I'm in agreement with the task force, our priority should be to reduce your risk by limiting the times you and Red could be exposed to the public. Kidnapping seems to be an overly dramatic worry, but you have a very unique and valuable resource in your partnership. There is a huge potential for exploitation."

"If time allows, and Bas and David agree the drugs look safe for him to learn, it should be fine."

Detective Stephens let us know the next set of clothes were ready for inspection. This time he was finished in under fifteen minutes.

"It's all Bob's smell this time. Just like on the other clothes, he has his scent over the front of the shirt and sleeves. The front and sides of her jeans. Only one side of the bra, and on the underwear."

"That makes sense," Detective Stephens said. "In this case, the bra was torn off by grasping and pulling one cup until it broke. The slacks are elastic waist, so there was no reason to have the scent focused at the zipper, like the last pants."

"Is there anything about any smell you like or don't like?"

"I smell the cigarette again. It's very strong and smells funny."

"Marijuana?" Officer Marks guessed.

"Possibly," I said. "If it's a strong odor, it could be a cigar. Red, did you smell the weird scent you didn't know from the first set of clothes?"

"No, not this time."

The third box was pretty much the same, with Bob being the only scent trace Red was able to pick up on.

By the time Red was outfitted with new booties, the last tarp was ready. "This last box," Detective Stephens explained, "is from the fourth victim. It's less than a week old and a lot more violent than the previous three assaults. She is still in the hospital."

David came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. "This one is really bad," he whispered. "Clothes are torn up, and there is a lot of blood. I hope Red can help."

Red worked on the clothes for almost forty minutes before he said, "No. No, not the back, I want to smell the inside."

I repeated Red's request. David added, "I think Red means he wants you to turn it inside out, not flip it over."

It was maybe five more minutes before Red said, "There is some of Bob's blood on this."

"What?" I said, startled into standing up. "Be careful not to touch it, Red." I cautioned.

"Detective, Red says there is some of Bob's blood on the piece of clothing he is indicating."

"Holy shit!" someone said.

"Watch the language," I cautioned automatically, "the dog repeats everything."

"Sorry," the voice murmured.

"Are you able to work something out so Red can show you the exact spot without him touching anything?"

"Yes," Detective Westfield replied. "There is so much of the victim's blood in this area, I'm not surprised a few isolated drops of the assailant's blood were missed. Inside lining, front of the skirt, at the hem. Skirt, back side of the right-hand pocket," he added. It took me a few seconds to guess he was probably identifying the blood locations for the person who was typing the transcript of Red's findings.

"It's definitely Bob. There is a light odor on the shoulders of the shirt, but I don't know what it is."

"Can you show me where, Red?" Detective Westfield asked after I relayed Red's observation. "Slight oil-like stains on shoulders near collarbones, between top button and sleeve seams."

David told me they were re-bagging each of the items separately for further testing. "They seem pretty excited," he said.

"You have no idea," Lt. Faber sighed from close by. "It's so frustrating to look at bags of evidence and not be able to locate a clue. The skirt is literally soaked through with blood. It's an amazing find, on Red's part, to single out a sample of Bob's DNA from the victim's. I can't thank you enough for helping us kick-start this investigation again."

"How's our super dog holding up?" Detective Westfield asked. "Can Team Red hold out for another thirty minutes of crime fighting?"

Officer Marks must have gotten the last set of booties off, because Red sat in front of me and lifted a paw onto my lap. "I'm thirsty, but I'll smell more stuff. Detective Westfield is nice. He likes dogs and has three at home. He has a cat, too," he added with disdain.

I had to laugh at my crazy dog. I told the detective Red was happy to smell narcotics. "Red likes you because you're a dog owner, although he's not too impressed about your cat. Can we get him a drink of water from somewhere while we are en route?"

*****

We excused ourselves from the task force team and followed Detective Westfield to another area of the building. There were plenty of dog bowls in the narcotics room where it appeared K-9s were the norm. After Red drank his fill, and greeted a couple of the other working dogs, we were escorted to a secured area with a large safe bolted to the floor.

According to Red, meth, and heroin stank; he hated the smell of both. Cocaine made him sneeze, but he told me he had the scent of it. Marijuana was not the lingering smell he detected on the clothing.

"This stuff isn't bad. It smells a lot like hay or grass," he concluded.

The connection wasn't lost on any of us, and we had a good laugh. We weren't able to explain to Red why his marijuana-grass association was funny, and maybe it wasn't. Maybe we were happy from a productive morning and any reason to laugh was a good reason.

By the time we left the police station, it was after 2:30 p.m. and we decided to go to Dick's Hamburgers to pick up a few large orders of fish and chips to take back to my place.

We were still concerned about the email Officer Blair'd sent out, and David said he would see if he could get an appointment to chat with Detective Garner. But all in all, it has been a fruitful day. We'd go back to the house, talk about the last four hours, and exchange our thoughts and ideas about improving our team. Team Red. I kinda liked that.
Chapter Twenty-Five

** Morning, Saturday – September 7th **

"...and the rapist was apprehended Friday afternoon without incident. Detective Stephens, speaking on behalf of the Spokane Police Department was quoted, saying: 'The warrant for Jeremy Thomas Lang was issued due to forensic evidence recovered from the fourth victim's clothing.'"

Janey folded the newspaper she had been reading aloud to us and slapped it down on the tabletop. "Go Red! Awesome job, finding Lang's blood enabled the cops to match him to the DNA in their database and arrest his ass."

Red had been excited ever since the announcement on the news last night regarding the capture of the north-end rapist. When Janey phoned me after the broadcast, we decided to get everyone together for a celebration breakfast.

The phone rang in the kitchen and Ken called out, "I've got it!"

"I have high hopes Red and I will be able to assist with more police consulting. He had fun; I think it was really rewarding to be able to make a difference." I leaned back into the couch cushion, snuggling a shoulder against David's chest.

He dropped an arm around me to pull me into a hug. "I'm glad to see they managed to keep you and Red out of the investigation. The low profile—"

"Excuse me," Ken interrupted. "Detective Westfield is on the phone."

"Great," I smiled, reaching out a hand for the receiver. "Good morning, Detective. Congratulations to the task force for catching the rapist so quickly."

"I'll let them know. We had quite the celebration yesterday when the warrants were issued. I'm actually calling on a semi-personal issue I was hoping you and Red might help me with."

"Sure, if we can," I replied.

"I know you live somewhere out here on the north side. I have a place out in the Wandermere area. Molly is a golden retriever, new to me—I adopted her from the shelter two weeks ago. I'm wondering if I could introduce her to Red to see if he can get her to open up a bit." He laughed. "I know this sounds cheesy, but I was hoping we could set up a play date for our fur-kids."

"What are you doing now? Bas, David, a couple of friends, and I are having a huge breakfast this morning. Come on over and bring Molly. We have plenty of food," I added as an afterthought, "so if you're married, or have a significant other you live with, feel free to bring her or him along too."

There was a pause at the end of the line. "I'm not sure how to take it that you think I might be gay."

"Don't read anything into it, Mr. Macho-cop guy. I have no idea what your preferences are; I haven't even considered them. I'm covering the options so you know you, and whomever you might bring, would be welcome in my home."

"It's only me and the dogs, although I've been running errands with just Molly this morning. I'd love to stop by, if you don't consider it's an inconvenience."

"Not at all. We'd love to have you both over." I recited the address, which he told me he could input to his car's navigation program.

"It looks like I'm about five minutes away. Can I bring anything?"

"Hold on a sec." I covered the receiver. "Ken, we have one more for breakfast, do we need anything from the store he can pick up en route?"

"Nope," Ken said. "We're covered."

"Looks like we have everything we need, Detective. Thanks for offering," I told him.

"Please, I'm off the clock. My friends call me Gil."

"We'll see you shortly then, Gil." I disconnected the receiver and placed it on the coffee table in front of me, then gave everyone a brief explanation about what was going on and asked where Red was.

"In the kitchen, begging for scraps," Janey said.

"Red, you have company coming to visit you. Detective Westfield is coming to breakfast and bringing one of his dogs with him. Her name is Molly."

"Does he have stuff for me to smell?" Red laid his head in my lap, so I could scratch his ears.

"I think the detective likes you and wants a chance to talk to you," I said. "Since you're not on a leash, could you stay by me when Molly comes in? Maybe lie down and let her come to you?"

Red was quiet. "This is one of those times where you aren't thinking like a dog. This is my territory. I can't lie down when she's standing in my house. I will try not to scare her, or start a fight, but she needs to respect this is my place."

"Let's see how it goes? No fighting. Let me know if she will be a problem and I can ask the detective to put her in the car, okay? If Bas or David asks you to go outside, please listen to them."

There was a firm knock on the door and I felt Red stand attentively facing the entryway, his ribcage pressing against my knees.

"I've got it," Bas said, from the chair across the coffee table.

David brushed a kiss to my temple. I liked that he stayed seated with me curled up in his warm embrace.

"Good Morning, Detective Westfield. Hey Molly." Bas greeted.

"Just Gil is fine," the detective replied.

Bas made introductions to Janey and Ken. Gil must have approached closer to the couch because David told me, "Molly seems well-behaved and curious about our boy. Red is approaching her now. She dropped to a play posture."

"Red?" I asked. "How's she acting?"

"She's not alpha. She is friendly. Can I show her my backyard?"

"Gil, if you want to unleash Molly, Red will take her outside to play. The yard's enclosed so she will be safe here."

"It's the strangest thing. She doesn't seem to get along with my two dogs at all."

"His other dogs are males." Red asked me, "Are they neutered?"

After I translated, Gil replied, "Not both of them, but since she was spayed at the shelter, I didn't think it would matter."

"What is spayed?" Red asked.

"Spayed is like neutered, except the doctor makes it so the female can't have puppies," I explained.

"Molly smells really nice, she's in heat. She is probably acting aggressive because the male dogs are bothering her. I'm still young, so she doesn't care if I'm around her."

"The shelter spays and neuters all the dogs before they get adopted," Gil said in response to my translation. "She must have fallen through the cracks. I'll call them later to see when they can fit her in for the surgery. I already paid for it when I paid her adoption fee."

"If you don't have a place to keep her isolated, I don't mind taking her home with me," Janey volunteered. "I have two open cages at the kennel. She looks like a sweet girl," she crooned. "I can fit her in between two females so she'll get some peace."

"Are you sure? I'll pay a kenneling fee, of course. It's a better option than putting her in the garage for the next few days until they can spay her."

"The reputable vets don't recommend spaying when the bitch is in heat. Something about the blood vessels being fragile, I'm not sure exactly. I don't have any studs coming in for a month, so I have room until her estrus is over. It would be safer for her that way."

Gil and Janey worked out the details of fees and visiting hours until Molly could go back to a vet. Red persuaded his new friend out the dog door when Ken called us to the table.

*****

"So, let me get this straight," Gil said. "Ken is Teresa's un-gay personal assistant, who is now going out with Teresa's best friend Janey, whose brother is Bas. Bas and David are best friends, and for a while they both were dating you. Damn! I really wish I'd known you then. I bet it was hilarious when they were hijacking each other's dates."

"It got a lot more difficult after Bas found the GPS I stuck on his rental vehicle," David joked.

I choked on my bite of egg. "You didn't!" I turned a shocked face to David. "You are a devious and underhanded man," I pronounced in awe.

David swooped in for a quick kiss. "It wasn't as intrusive as the bug I found in the cab of my 4x4. Thank goodness I swept for devices the morning after he found us at the Manito Park gardens."

"I won't even ask where you guys are getting these electronics." I shook my head.

"I won't ask either," Gil added with a chuckle. "But we'll have to talk if I need advice on surveillance equipment."

"What was funny was Bas trying to wheedle date information from Ken or me," Janey told us smugly. "I made a hundred dollars for disclosing the schedule when David took you to dinner and dancing in Spokane Valley a month ago."

"I got my laptop reconfigured with some really cool upgrades when David wanted to find out about the canoe trip down the Little Spokane River," Ken revealed.

Red popped in through the dog door. "I got a whole steak when David wanted to know which casino show you were going to."

Molly followed him in. I could hear her excited panting from where we sat in the dining room.

"How did that work when you can't talk to him?" I wondered aloud.

"David knew you were going to a casino. He named each one and I barked when he said the right one."

I faced David. "You even bribed my dog?" I was speechless. Really? Even the dog had been in on it?

"Good job," Bas praised. "I never thought to ask Red. I won't underestimate you next time pal."

It wasn't clear if his admiration was for David, or Red. I shook my head in disbelief at how far they went during 'The Siege.'

Red nosed at my knee and dropped something in my lap.

"What's this for?" I asked, picking up what felt like a dish towel.

"Your mouth was gaping. I thought I'd give you something to mop up with in case you start to drool," he said cheekily.

"Oh stop it, you crazy dog." I shoved the towel in his direction. "Here, take this back to the kitchen then go play outside with Molly."

The towel was tugged from my light grip and I felt his tail smack me as he wandered away.

We were all drinking coffee on the back deck when David asked about an update on Officer Blair.

Gil sounded apologetic, "All I can officially say is he is on administrative leave pending an investigation. We have no clear motive, and Mike—that's Detective Stephens—and I have racked our brains trying to think of any past cases he's worked on that put him in contact with someone who might have a particular interest in your skills."

Gil huffed out a frustrated breath. "Mike brought your name to Lt. Faber about two days before we contacted you to ask if you could come to the station and talk. That afternoon was the first time your involvement was mentioned to task force members. The email account, that received the picture and video files, was activated within twenty-four hours of my mention to the task force."

"Someone acted quickly in response to what must have seemed like an implausible story from Detective Stephens," Bas said. "And furthermore, Blair took a huge career risk secretly filming footage of, what was in essence, a task force meeting. There had to have been major motivation from his outside party."

"What types of cases has he worked on previously?" I asked.

"I can't give specifics, but generally speaking: drugs, drugs, and vice. He had only been with the department for ten months or so. Former military, Army Ranger for eight years prior to joining SPD."

"Do you know his specialty?" David linked his fingers with mine on the tabletop before he continued, "Was it computer-based?"

"No, not computers." Gil gave a thoughtful pause. "I think it may have been something to do with explosives actually. I'm trying to think of what..." He gave a deep groan. "Shit, I think he handled dogs doing work with demolitions."

"Not just no, but hell no," Bas exploded from his seat.

David's arm tightened around me. "It appears you and Red may have been scouted as potential assets for possible military applications," David explained. "If the files were emailed to a representative of a military branch, it is possible you'll be approached to do some work for Uncle Sam."

"I have no problem with helping where we can, but Team Red is a unit. If you and Bas don't agree, we don't do it. I know you both have your own work and career goals, and I respect that, but I will not blindly go—pun intended—off to help anyone if you or Bas aren't there to oversee the risks. If safety means sticking with small jobs to help SPD, then I'm okay with that limitation."

There was an extended period of silence, and I could imagine meaningful eye-contact between Bas and David.

David spoke first, "We have actually talked about this in relation to your possible work with the police. My contributions to PreClan can be done anywhere I have access to a computer. I'm working on a few programming projects right now, but my schedule leaves me free to accompany you when and where you're needed. Bas and I find the idea of volunteering for police work very rewarding, and we are in a financial position that allows us to indulge ourselves."

"My salary from PreClan is very lucrative, I don't need to go back to work for another year, or more, unless I want to, so I'm also flexible to accompany you," Bas continued. "If you are approached by a representative of the military or government, we can formalize the four of us as a team available to hire out for select projects. I can think of dozens of applications for Team Red that would expose you to only low risk. Team Red can charge a consultation fee, and require expenses be covered up front, if someone wants us bad enough."

"I am so jealous," Gil whined. "Working with Red would be fascinating as well as amazing. The more I observe him in action, the more impressed I am by his comprehension and ability to compartmentalize the data he smells. I was wondering if his nose is sensitive enough to differentiate between, for example, grades of cocaine or base ingredient concentrations in meth. We have no way of knowing, from a regular dog, if that's even possible. Little nuances can help us trace the spread of some drugs without waiting on lab results.

"I also wonder if the ability to talk with Red lies in Teresa's ability as a receiver. If that were the case, would she be able to communicate with more than one dog. Shoot!" He further theorized, "Is it even limited to only dogs?"

Gil's idea startled me. I'd never considered I might be able to communicate with animals besides Red. How would I even attempt to test the idea? What prompted Red to say those first couple of words to me? Since I didn't hear his thoughts all day long, I assumed I filtered him out, but maybe he had to concentrate to send?

Gil had given me a few new ideas to consider. "We'll have to come up with some strategies to explore those questions," I said. "I'm suffering from information overload right now though."

David's hand rubbed soothing circles on my back. "We'll all get together and talk in more depth. It's purely conjecture, at this point, if the military will contact you. I may be able to dig up some intel, now that we have a guess as to what Blair possibly did with the files.

"Gil, you brought up some interesting points regarding the communication bond, as well as questioning how specific Red's nose can be. Assuming his nose is equivalent to other canines, Red's edge is our ability to ask him questions, and gather additional insight a regular dog wouldn't know was important." David then stressed, "Whatever we decide, we will have to maintain better secrecy than we've done so far. The fewer outsiders present while Red is working, the better. And if we decide to test Red's nose, the tests will have to be with individuals who already know about Red. No new people should be added to our circle of confidants, without us approving it first."

"Understandable," Gil agreed. "There's no reason for anyone, other than a second observer, to be with me when I access the drug locker for testing Red. I can pick someone who has already seen him in action. Call me when you're planning a trip downtown and I'll set something up so we can see how specific he can get with that nose of his."

"How fluent is your ASL, Gil?" Bas asked, referring to his American Sign Language skills. "It's obvious you caught on to David and me at the station. We learned because our squad volunteered to take classes with the hope it would help our team's efficiency. It's not a common military practice."

"I didn't learn in the military. My dad is deaf; my whole family is fluent," Gil said.

I chimed in here, "We will have to consider if there is some sign language I can learn too. While I can't see others, it may be a way to relay what Red is telling me if we are in a position where I don't want other people to know he's talking. There's a slim chance someone, like Gil, may pick up on it, but it might give me a new tool." I tried to visualize how much easier it would be to sign as Red talked instead of verbal translation. "I already know the ASL alphabet, although it would probably take me an hour to sign 'Watch out he has a gun in his boot!' because I've had no reason to practice."

"I can rent some ASL videos from the library," Ken interrupted. "I think it would be great to learn how to sign. I'd be happy to go thru the lessons with you and we can learn together."

"I'll do it, too," Janey chimed in. "I don't have any litters being weaned right now. The website we set up is still raking in a steady income for both of us, so I'll be able to practice with you and Ken."

We were going to be one big ASL family. It would be slow going for them to teach me, but we would find a way to make it fun. "So," Ken asked, "will this be like every foreign language—we learn the swear words first?"

"No," Bas replied seriously. "Not in front of the dog..." we all chimed in together with him, "... he repeats everything."

We ended up setting a time to meet with Gil at the police station on Tuesday morning so Red could try identifying specifics about the drugs the detective had on hand. Red was excited to try the new test although he wasn't too excited about the cocaine because it made him sneeze. Gil suggested, if he had problems with the coke, he could try putting more emphasis on the meth ingredients. Arrangements finalized, and after a few quality moments with Molly, Gil left and the rest of us settled in for a lazy afternoon.

It was movie night, but instead of picking a movie, Janey pulled out four copies of a popular erotic BDSM novel to distribute to the group. She had us skip to the "good parts" as she called them and each person was assigned a character. Janey directed the men to select a cartoon character voice to use when reading their portion of the book. We were all in hysterics by the time Christian, read by Bas as Foghorn Leghorn, finished an intimate encounter with Ana, read by Ken as Tweety Bird. I think reading erotica might have become our favorite group activity, how sick is that?
Chapter Twenty-Six

Saturday night found David and me cuddled up in my window seat. I was resting my head on his chest, enjoying the steady beat of his heart and the rhythmic cadence of his breathing. When he spoke to me, the words rumbled and echoed in the ear I had pressed to his warm skin. "The security light came on. There goes Red, chasing the cat who jumped down off the fence."

I processed the slight shift in the body beneath me as David looked toward the nightstand clock. He laughed. "It's almost midnight. He must have been waiting under the deck for the cat to cross over to his yard. We are talking about a serious obsession here."

"Well, what else does a dog have to do?" I joined him in laughing about the dog's antics. "He sleeps most of the afternoon away, it makes sense he'd be stalking at night."

I shifted my legs to drape one over his thigh. His body was so hot against the length of mine. It was like being laid out against a heated brick. Toasty.

"I was hoping to talk to you tonight, but I'm not sure if it's the right time to discuss this, or not." I kept my head flat against his pectoral, and waited for his reaction.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" I felt a kiss pressed to the top of my head.

"Yeah, but fear of screwing up a good thing is a huge motivator to shut up, and coast along as we have been," I replied, kissing the nipple pressed against my nose.

Maybe I'll forget bringing it up for now, which means a distraction is called for. Darting a quick tongue out, I licked the nipple, which instantly pebbled. As I opened my lips intent on engulfing the sensitive little disk, I was manhandled up the length of David's body so we were now face to face. Wow! I always forget how strong he is until he does something like that.

"Err, hi?" I squeaked like a damned mouse.

"Don't think I won't recognize a distraction technique when I feel one," he chuckled, brushing a warm kiss over my lips. I fell into his mouth and enjoyed the lush fullness of his taste, sweeping my tongue over his in a playful dance. It was especially nice to be lying over the full length of his body.

"I love your mouth," I confessed, "and I love you. I want to ask if you'd move into the house with me. I know it's only been a couple of months, but I can't think of anything I'd like more than to go to bed with you wrapped around me every night. If you think it's too soon, or if you like living separate, be blunt, okay?"

David reached up and pulled me down for a deep, carnal melding of lips, tongues, and teeth. He welded my mouth to his with lust and hunger, the thickening ridge of his arousal pressed into my belly leaving no doubt he wanted me. "Two and a half months doesn't seem like a long time to me either, but you already feel like a necessary part of me. I hate living separate from you, which is probably why I'm usually here most nights.

"Damn, woman, one minute I look at you and you make me breathless, then in the next you smile and you breathe new life into me," he whispered, his breath gentle drafts of air against my skin. "I love you, too. I would love to move in. I would love for you to make a place for me in your life, because you have already made a place for yourself in my heart."

"You say the nicest and most adoring things." I grinned like an idiot, I'm sure. "I've never considered myself a romantic woman, but my heart jumps when you say sweet stuff like that."

I split my legs apart and drew my knees up toward his hips so I could straddle his lap. When I sat up, I was splayed wide over his groin, and I brushed myself against his erection, which strained upward from his body. Grasping him in my hand, I held his thick, ridged warmth steady as I rubbed my clit against him in tight, firm circles. I sensed the gathering wetness between my thighs as my sensitivity heightened with each brush across the head of his cock.

His fingers delved through my folds to test my dampness. "Not quite yet, Lover," he whispered, anticipating I was getting ready to lower myself down on the hard length of him. "Patience."

I ran my free hand over my breasts and trailed downward, over my stomach, into the nest of hair covering my mound. With a practiced hand, I speared two fingers into my cleft and began a rhythmic undulation of my hips, which had David breathing as hard as I was. His hand wrapped around my other fist, still clutching his erection, and he guided it in a pumping motion mirroring the stroking of my fingers against my clit.

"David," my voice carried an urgent plea. Still overlapped, together our hands guided him to my entrance and I slowly lowered myself on the head of him. "Oh, yes," I moaned and pushed down against the upward thrust that fully buried him.

"Damn. You're incredible," he groaned in a sexy, gravelly voice.

I began to rise up and thrust my pelvis down at a strong, increasingly fast pace. His hips rose to follow my retreats, my fingers still stroking my clit. Our breath labored, catching on each inhale.

"Can feel you," David gasped, his body almost painfully taut. "Close." His hands clutched desperately at my butt, pulling me down hard as his hips strained upward. I relished the bite of his fingers digging into my ass as he hovered on the edge of peak pleasure.

"Can't wait," he moaned, as I felt the first spasm hit him. David's need pulsed through me with his release, and I toppled off the edge, helpless against the climax that wrenched a cry from my throat.

My hands slid up his chest as my body went boneless. I molded my fingers to his face, tilting it up for an open-mouthed kiss that drank up his moan and need, and shared my trembling, silent scream of relief. We were both shaking from the intensity of our orgasms; my body held him inside as ripples shuddered through me. I was still quivering as I sank into sleep, wrapped in his arms.

*****

Later, the next morning on the couch, while he was holding me against his shoulder, David said, "There are some modifications I would like to make to the house for security reasons. Cameras, specialized electronics, expanded electrical boxes, and a few other things to handle my programming work. The computer stuff I do is pretty complex and kinda top-secret so I need to take steps to keep my files and prototypes secure. I don't want to take over your home, but these are necessary things to keep my work, and you, safe. I would have talked to you about security whether I moved in or not, but I was trying to time a discussion so you wouldn't feel I was encroaching on your space."

"My offer for you to move in is unconditional, David. I suspected your work was of a confidential nature, and you can do anything you deem necessary to secure the house. I've not used my office since the accident, and I'd love for you to use it for yourself. If Bas is working with you, then we'll make space for him to set up an area to work also. The third room on this floor doesn't even have furniture so expand into whatever areas you want. Add what you need to make it secure and functional. Being in a rental house, as you two are now, probably leaves you both at some risk since you guys can't make permanent alterations."

David nuzzled his face into my neck and bussed a kiss right below my ear. "The security is going to make you crazy," he warned.

"If you move in, this becomes our space, our home. I'm dedicated to making this relationship work, David. I'm making a place for you in my life, and I'm prepared to make concessions and compromises while we get it all figured out," I told him. "If the added security makes you safer, then I'll deal with it."

David leaned his head back on the couch, drawing me tighter to his side. "You are displaying an awful lot of trust. Your capacity to believe in us making this relationship work is truly mind-boggling."

"David, do you realize we have seen each other almost every day of the last few months? Unlike most couples who date while putting in forty-hour work weeks, we have spent as much quality time together as anyone dating for six months or more.

"We have talked about anything and everything, and we have never played coy games. Damn David, you only knew me one day and you asked about the accident and resulting scars. You asked to touch them. I've had people I know take up to a month simply to broach the subject."

I caressed his face with my free hand and cupped his jaw so I could feel the sandpaper roughness against my palm. "I trust you. I have faith in us. And if you hurt me, Bas will pound you into a puddle of mush, then try to steal your girl," I teased.

"Well, yes," David conceded. "There is that incentive to make it work." He kissed me softly. "I'll start moving my things in this afternoon. Bas and I can do a lot of the security electronics, but I'll hire an electrician to do some rewiring and upgrades to handle the equipment I'll be bringing in. I'm designing a prototype, which Bas is helping me field test and refine, based on his experience as an end-user. It would be convenient to set up a workspace for him too."

"There is a basement. It doesn't have an outside egress, and the space is unfinished. But you can check it out to see if it's a space you want to use."

"I had no idea the house had a basement, there are no windows visible on the outside. Where is the door?"

I grinned, it wasn't often I caught him off-guard. "There is a door inside the kitchen pantry. I think the guy who built the house thought it was cool or something. The key hangs on a hook right next to the door. Feel free to check it out whenever you want to, you can have your very own secret Man Cave."

One thing I could say about David, the man had awesome control. He managed to sit on the couch and make small talk for another ten minutes before he kissed me on the head and scooted me to the side. "I've gotta go check out the basement."
Epilogue

** Thursday – October 31st **

Halloween was a day of celebration. For the one-year anniversary of the accident, and Red's first birthday, we decided to have friends together to enjoy an evening of food, laughter, and jokes about secret lairs. It was a joyous day, and I can honestly say I barely thought about the day as anything other than Red's birthday. He'd gotten into the spirit of the celebration with all the enthusiasm of a toddler. Red even insisted on wearing a party hat. Really. We have pictures.

Shortly after David moved in, and the house was turned into a fortress, Janey invited Ken to move in with her. I was amazed she'd so easily accepted my gay assistant somehow becoming straight in a mere blink of an eye. Too weird for me, but hey, I'm not the one sleeping with him. Smirk.

Ken's moving worked out well for all of us, as I didn't really need an assistant anymore. Ken's job has morphed into a housekeeper-househusband role, where he comes in for six hours a day, Monday through Friday, to prepare meals and do chores such as laundry and shopping for both David and me.

Janey, Ken, and I are learning ASL, and David practices with me on the weekends. Red can understand some of the signs, but his mind doesn't retain much of it. We are teaching the basic "dog" commands such as sit, stay, and down. Red's been a good sport about it. "What's with all the hand gestures? All you have to do is ask me to sit and I will."

Bas spends more time at the house than Ken does now-a-days. Since the security system went in, and the computer room was set up (it ended up in the basement, big surprise there), the guys are frequently testing new gadgets and programs. Ken's room was converted to a guest room, and Bas crashes here often when he and David have been up late working on a project.

I am so glad Bastian and I found a comfortable relationship after so many years of conflict. He started dating other women, although he has never brought a woman to the house for one of our friendly get-togethers. Suppose I don't blame him considering our book night debauchery. I have high hopes he will find a woman to rock his world. He's a good man and deserves to be happy.

Speaking of book night, our little group is on the second book of the erotic BDSM series. I don't think anyone will be able to top Gil's characterization of Christian using the voice of Speedy Gonzales matched with David speaking the Ana parts as Natasha, the Russian spy from the Bullwinkle cartoons.

Asking David to move in has been the best decision I ever made. The man is incredible and has enhanced every aspect of my life. The house was in chaos for a couple of weeks, and yes, it drove me crazy as he'd promised, but waking up to the sound of his heartbeat under my ear every morning made all the pandemonium worth it. There wasn't any conflict with blending our lifestyles together. He'd been infinitely patient and understanding.

We have explored the nightstand drawer, thoroughly, and even added a few new items. When I explained the reason for the loopy bow around Oh-Henry, David helped me enlist the aid of a gay friend he made when he was staying at the Doubletree. We all went dancing at a club downtown and his friend, Jason, "bumped into us." Jason proceeded to "recognize" and flirt with Ken all evening, going so far as to lay a big smooch on him as we were leaving for the night. Oh, I wish I could have seen it, but hearing everyone laughingly relay the story was almost as good.

Detectives Gil Westfield and Mike Stephens have set up numerous tests to define the limits of Red's tracking and sniffing abilities. Both of the detectives have become regulars at the house; Gil especially. Red enjoys when they spend the occasional afternoon hiding items in the yard for Red to find and identify. Red's nose wasn't able to distinguish the ingredient mix for meth samples, possibly having something to do with the strong chemical scents messing up his nose? But the detectives are creative about experiments to test his ability in distinguishing people scents, which Red seems to have a talent for.

As for Officer Blair, he was let go from his position at the police department. We never did find out where the files were emailed to. Bas and David both think we will eventually hear from a military or government agency. But first, they have to get through David and Bas' security system. If they are smart, they will give us a call and ask for a meeting; if they're not so smart, they may find out how accurate David's mini-drone prototype is. I hear the little drones flying all around the property while they are being tested. It sounds like a colony of little demented dragonflies.

Boys and their toys!
Color Blind Team Red book 2 – Sneak Peek

** Morning, Friday – Nov 1st **

"Banzai!" The scratch of dog claws scrambled across the deck and straight off the edge.

"What the..."

Ken's laughter started indoors and got louder as he rolled the screen door open so he could step outside to stand by me on the back deck. "Teresa, your dog is totally wicked. He must have launched himself eight feet out to catch that."

"Catch what?" I needed a clue here. Maybe I could buy a vowel? "All I heard was him yelling 'Banzai' as he dashed past me."

"Damn it! Red!" David's voice shouted from the kitchen area as he stormed through the house and joined us outside. "Where did he go?"

Oh, oh, someone's in trouble. In my mind, I heard what sounded like "Mwah ha ha." A very satisfied, doggy version of maniacal laughter.

"I hear evil chuckles emanating from under the deck," I tattled.

"Red!" David yelled again, stomping down the six steps leading to the back lawn. "You promised you'd leave them alone."

"What?" I asked. Sometimes being blind is so frustrating. "What did he promise to leave alone? What's happening?"

"Red just took out one of the mini-drones," Ken explained. "He leapt right off the deck and caught one in mid-air. It was totally awesome!"

"Not so awesome, Ken," I replied with the Voice of Reason. "Do you have any idea how much those things cost?"

A voice interrupted from under the deck: "According to the Rules of Engagement, it was flying over the DMZ. Per our contract, I'm allowed to take out anything in the red zone."

"What contract? You're a one-year-old, you're too young to contract with anyone." I sighed, shaking my head. "Geez, what am I saying? You're a dog. Who would be crazy enough to make a contract with you in the first place? And, what are you talking about? Rules of Engagement and demilitarized zones?"

Ken puzzled out the conversation based on my replies to the dog. "David and Bas are testing the mini-drone maneuverability portion of the program they're developing," Ken explained. "Red promised to stop snatching them out of the air as long as David kept them away from the deck area, henceforth to be known as the demilitarized zone."

Henceforth, huh? I think that's the first time I've heard a real person say that word in a conversation. I kept my snide thoughts to myself.

"Dammit Red," I heard David's muffled grumble from under the deck below my feet. "How many of these do you have down here?" There was a short pause. "Eight? You caught eight drones?"

This time I joined Ken in a peal of laughter. "What do you expect, David? He's a dog, he's going to chase them," I reasoned. "Isn't that why you started having them made of hard rubber, instead of metal?" Personally, I thought he was fortunate Red only collected drones and didn't feel an urge to bury them too.

"I caught most of them before we set up the Rules of Engagement," Red rebutted. "The other two were within jumping distance of the deck, so I'm allowed to catch them."

I repeated Red's words for David's benefit.

"We were flying a pattern ten feet away from the deck rail," David protested.

"Ah, I underestimated his jump by two feet," Ken confided in me, sounding like a proud parent. In a louder voice, "That was a ten-foot leap, Red. Most excellent!"

I jabbed a playful elbow in Ken's side. "Stop encouraging him. What if he accidentally swallows one?"

In Love with Teresa March

A Team Red Novella

1.5

T. Hammond

David's PoV

Yeah, I'm a dope. Who falls for a woman in a photograph? Granted, she's crush-worthy, but if someone had told me they were instantly infatuated by a woman's picture, I'd be sending them to the medical tent to talk to one of the psychiatrists. I know guys who have movie star photos pinned to the inside of their lockers, or folded up in little squares so the picture can be tucked away in a uniform pocket. Soldiers fantasize about their pin-up girl in stolen moments, when they need to remember all the things they're fighting for. What I felt was more than a fleeting crush. When I looked at the images of Teresa March, I wasn't thinking about sex; I was thinking about forever.

First time I saw her picture was after Bas, Senior Chief Sebastian Declan, read me a letter from his sister Janey. It was a light-hearted narration of everyday events, told by a sweet woman who obviously loved and missed her big brother. Bas motioned me toward his computer so I could look at the photos she had attached.

Janey looked like her brother. As he had described, she was a Barbie doll personified with long, fluffy blond hair, clear blue eyes, and a pretty bow-shaped mouth in a heart-shaped face. She was a lovely girl, well, a woman really, since Bas told me she had just turned twenty-seven. Her figure was voluptuous, with full breasts and wide hips, emphasized by a tiny, nipped-in waist. Janey's sex symbol body was startling when matched with her wholesome features.

I liked blonds, they always drew my eye when we visited the bars off-base. In each of the sixteen photos attached to the letter, Janey was laughing and vamping for the camera. She was adorable. But it was the woman next to her in every picture that had caught my eye.

Bas had told me her name was Teresa March, and he planned to marry her one day.

I think her eyes were the first thing that caught my attention. Deep, dark brown, with touches of green like spokes of a wagon wheel flaring out from her irises. Long, thick, black lashes curved away in soft arcs from her laughing eyes. In every picture I've seen of her, her face has been bare of artifice—no makeup.

Maybe it was her smile I first noticed. She has a great smile, wide and welcoming. I pulled out the folded picture I'd printed off my computer and felt a grin tug at my mouth. I can't help wanting to smile right along with her, to share the joke or that moment in time that brought the sparkle to her eyes and the tilt to the corner of her lips.

Teresa is one of the few natural beauties I have ever seen. She has one of those faces that the longer you stare at her, the more striking she becomes.

There were a few full-length pictures of the two women, so I was able to contrast and compare the dainty blond Janey to the tall, dark-haired Teresa. Bas tells me she's five-foot-ten, the perfect height for my six-foot-five frame. Teresa isn't skinny like a fashion model, although she's certainly beautiful enough to be one. She has curves, but not the over-blown ones like Janey. Teresa is elegant. Statuesque.

God, I even like her name. In the privacy of my room, I sometimes lay in my bunk and whisper it aloud. Making it real. Teresa. Teresa March. Teresa... Preston. Crap! The first time I'd said that I freaked myself out. Thirty-eight years old and mooning over a girl. Damn, if I had a spiral notebook, I'd probably be penciling hearts framing her name. With fucking arrows running through them, because this was the woman Bas thought he was going to marry.

Bas, my best friend, whose goal in life was to sleep this way through every woman he met until he finally caught Teresa March. Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this? Crap, Bastian told me the last time he saw Teresa, she had caught him in his parents' kitchen sticking his dick in an ex-girlfriend. The bastard told me he was on leave and had fully intended to bed the elusive Ms. March, but had been side-tracked during his morning run. The dog! I couldn't understand how Bas could profess to love one woman, but feel it was okay to sleep with a bunch of others. His reputation was legendary, as was the size of his dick. I hadn't even met her, and I found I couldn't stir up any interest in another woman. So I definitely couldn't understand how Bas, who knew her, could even look at anyone else. I love Bas like a brother, but he's a player. Maybe one day he'll see a woman, and she'll bring him to his knees, but I don't think he loves Teresa. I think he's fixated on the one who got away. Once he nailed her, I was pretty confident he would soon be looking for the next conquest. Oh, maybe not right away, but I didn't have much confidence in his staying power.

Over the next few years, I'd learned of every scraped knee, prom date, and teenage trauma of the two girls in those sixteen pictures—as well as the dozens that followed. I'd learned about Janey's fairy princess bedroom set with the pink canopy beds, and gold-trimmed white furniture. I had heard about Teresa's off-the-chart IQ that seemed to intimidate the foster parents who adopted her when she was four years old. Bas had told me about Janey's love of German shepherds, and Teresa's essay on Germany. Janey's love of being photographed, and Teresa's preference to be behind the camera. For every story about his sister, Bas had told me one about his sister's best friend. I slowly started to build a file in my head about all things Teresa. I was friggin' smitten. What a loser.

Recently, Bas and I'd started talking about life after the Navy. I had already put in twenty years, while Bas had nineteen. We are looking at May 31st to catch a flight home. I'm a computer guy; I've gained a rep for developing a few software programs, which I've sold to the military for a healthy sum. Once the military owned the program, I had trained end-users and refined the specifications to meet current mission needs. Bas was permanently assigned to my unit a couple years ago as an end-user who took my designs out into real-life situations (aka: war zones). His feedback and ideas had helped me develop a better software design for topographical mapping.

We were a great team, and we wanted to continue working together in the private sector. Ha! Private Sector. Civilians. What a joke; we'd still be working with the military, only we'd be paid obscene amounts of money for essentially doing the same jobs. We were going to be partners. Partners probably pursuing the same woman if I couldn't get a handle on this obsession I'd developed.

Obsession. Fixation. Lust. God, it was all tied into what I felt for her. I may not have been interested in another woman this past year or two, but that didn't mean I didn't fantasize. And, damn, did I have a stellar love life with an eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-inch photo and my right fist. I felt like a sixteen-year-old the first time I jacked off to the picture I had printed out. I remember standing in the shower with my palm holding the photo pressed against the tile as I gripped my cock in the other hand and stroked myself to one of the most intense orgasms I had ever experienced. The picture was completely destroyed in the steam and the sweat of my hand, but I was able to reprint another to replace it. And another a few weeks later.

The very next morning, I had woken up with a hard cock and her name on my lips. And thus marked the beginning of the illicit affair with my palm and my best friend's prospective future wife. Each night I make love to her in my dreams, and every morning I groan her name as I ejaculate over my hand. I dream of her laughing eyes, and her generous mouth. I fantasize about tasting her skin, and smelling the fragrance of this woman and her sex on my sheets. I've fallen in love.

It had taken me two nights at the bar to realize I was ruined for other women. I'm a decent looking guy, even standing next to Bas, who attracts more than his fair share of attention. Oh, the women are still interested, and I enjoy their company over beer and burgers, but not in bed. In bed, I'm only interested in one woman. I've always been a one-woman-man, never a player.

So, I wait. I've been celibate since the first day I saw her picture because that's just the kind of guy I am. Faithful, even if the woman doesn't know me to appreciate my loyalty.

It's a couple days before Halloween, and that will mark seven months until we are stateside. Finally, out of this arid, mountainous hellhole where we have been refining the accuracy of the drones we use for the topographical mapping.

I can't wait to see her. To hear the sound of her voice and watch a smile light up her face. Bas is stiff competition, and there's a history they share already. But, I don't think it's love. I don't think what Bas feels is enduring. I'll know when I see them together. If it's obsession and not love? Well, then Bastian will have some competition in the Siege of Teresa March.

Bastian's PoV

I didn't always love her, but sometimes, times like now, I look up and see her head thrown back with laughter dancing in her eyes, and I think I've loved her forever.

Her name is Teresa March. She's my sister's best friend and I've known her since Janey brought her home one afternoon after kindergarten. They met the first day of school, and became Best Friends Forever over crayons and coloring books. It was an unlikely match-up: my sister the girly-girl who always wore pink and anything with frills or sparkles, and Teresa, who dressed like a tomboy in jeans and t-shirts. Janey was always dragging her around, like a large, life-size doll. Oh, this didn't mean that Teresa was a pushover, because I'll tell you right now, I've never met anyone as strong or as strong-willed as that dark-haired little girl with the flashing eyes and the stubborn chin. Teresa was content to let Janey be the social director of the duo. But when Teresa wanted something, it was a thing of beauty to watch that little five-year-old work her manipulation to get Janey pointed in the direction she wanted to go.

Teresa had been a constant visitor to our house for almost ten years, but one afternoon I looked up and saw her. Not Janey's best friend since kindergarten. Not the tall, gawky kid that came over every weekend 'cuz her adoptive parents had better things to do then raise their brainiac daughter. I mean, I really saw her. I saw the potential her and me. The potential of an Us.

For the first time, I noticed the long dark hair that fell in a straight, sable curtain to brush the upper curve of a gorgeous ass. High and tight, maybe more rounded than current fashion dictates, but ask any guy what a nice ass looks like, and they'll be picturing one that fits snugly into the curled grip of their hands. I have large hands.

Teresa has deep-set, chocolate-colored eyes. Dark chocolate, with long, thick lashes and black brows that curve in high arches with finely tapered ends. And then there's her mouth. A sarcastic mouth that tilts up at one corner just before it becomes a full-blown smile. And from one minute to the next, I suddenly wanted that mouth in places I'm sure that mouth had never been before.

Damn, she was only fifteen. Fif-fuckin'-teen. And I had just turned twenty-three the week before. I had been home on leave from the Navy, considering if I was going to extend my service or just get out when my remaining eight months was up. It was at my birthday party that I had the epiphany, this girl could be 'the one'. That thought, right on the heels of the words 'statutory rape,' had scared the hell out of me.

Even as a twenty-three-year-old, I was what you could consider sexually experienced. After nine years of fucking, I would go so far as to admit I had some pretty sophisticated tastes. I'm somewhat blessed in the looks department—go ahead, call it vanity, but fuck, I've looked at this face in the mirror every day and I know I meet, and in many women's opinions, exceed the standard for male good looks.

If my sister Janey is your classic Barbie doll look-alike, I'm your classic Ken... well, except for the fact I am anatomically correct. I have dirty blond hair, a set of pale greenish-gray eyes, with the high, defined cheekbones and manly jaw-thing goin' on. Women seem to think my mouth is sexy, but I think it looks a bit full and maybe too wide. I'm a tall guy, six-foot-three by the time I was sixteen. Add all the weight training I've been doing for years, and you have a fairly nice package: wide shoulders, layered muscles, and abs so well-defined and rock-hard even men stop to stare at me when I take off my shirt in the gym. That was a bit disconcerting the first few times I'd noticed it happening.

I'm pretty much The Total Package. Yeah, and speaking of package, I should probably admit to being well-hung. The face and body may catch a woman's interest, but the ten inches pressed against the zipper of my jeans is what lost me my virginity at the ripe young age of fourteen, courtesy of my friend Jon's big sister, Candi. The first time she had laid eyes on my cock she almost changed her mind. "Oh. My. God. It will never fit," she'd told me.

Luckily, she had been intrigued enough that she talked herself into it. That first time she touched me, I didn't last any longer than the first three strokes of her two fists, curled tightly around the girth of my dick, gliding from root to tip. With the energy and enthusiasm of your typical, hormonal teen, I was hard and ready to go ten minutes later.

Abso-fuckin'-lutely the best feeling in the world had been slowly pressing my cock into my first wet, hot pussy. And it was agonizingly slow; Candi insisted on being on top to control the penetration (yeah, she was only sixteen, but she knew what she was doing). I remember curling my fingers into the blankets of her bed to keep myself from grabbing her and pulling her down hard on my aching dick. I couldn't help the thrust of my hips as I'd tried to feed her more of me, faster than she wanted to take me. I'd been young, but still very goal oriented: cock buried balls-deep. It was a simple goal, but a worthy one.

I had lucked out with Candi as my first lover. In the six months we snuck around, she'd taught me to appreciate the nuances of sex. The sounds: talking dirty; asking your lover for what you want in very explicit language; letting those sex noises out so your lover can appreciate them, whether they're moans, screams, or tiny hitches of your breath. I had learned the taste and scent of sex found in sweat, lubricants and lotions, or a weeping pussy. The qualities of sex: hard or soft, fast or slow; running hands and fingertips over skin to give and receive pleasure. Most important, to me anyway, the visual stimulation of sex: the heavy, half-mast eyes that close tightly just before orgasm; the mouth that strains then slackens as she builds to, then reaches climax; watching the wet, glistening slide of my cock rocking in and out of a woman—her pussy or her mouth. Fucking. I had learned to love it all. To appreciate every little thing about it. Those lessons had carried over into every one-night stand, two-week date-a-thon, and month-long infatuation I've had since then.

Two words: Statutory rape. Damn.

So I promptly re-upped with the Navy, asked for an assignment out of the country, and got my ass shipped overseas. What in Hell's fuckin' name was I thinking, mooning after a girl eight years younger than me? I was sent to the Middle East for a tad over two years. Not much opportunity for meeting women or dating over there.

By the time I got back in the States, Teresa had turned eighteen and I planned to look her up and finally do something about the hard-on I'd been carting around for three years. I'd imagined her five-foot-ten body stretched out on my bed. Her ripe tits cupped in my palms. The taste of her juices in my mouth. Her scent in my nose. Her lips on my cock... either set of lips, I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I'd mentally taken her in every way I could think of. Once again, I had a goal; it was simple, but worthy.

I had finally made it back home at three in the morning. Too early for a reunion with the folks, so I'd just crept in the back door of my parents' house and crashed on the living room couch. Too much trouble to make up the bed in my room, and I didn't want to wake the family by moving around. As much as I had needed sleep, I was awake and restless a few hours later, so I'd dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, deciding to take a run to burn off some excess energy.

I bumped into Sherry Dangerfield while I was on my way back to the house. She and I had dated years before, so when she expressed an interest in—well let's just call it what it was—a quick fuck, I had figured it was a way to take the edge off until I could wine and dine Teresa properly.

It was five twenty-nine on a Sunday morning when we had entered the kitchen from the back door; by five thirty-four, I had Sherry stripped and spread out on the island counter, and my face buried between her thighs. God, I'd missed the smell of pussy and the salty, honeyed taste of it.

Five minutes later, she had been wet and ready from her first orgasm with three of my fingers stabbing in and out of her cunt. She was a fairly quiet lover, shy and breathy, given to little catches of her breath before exhaling in an almost silent moan when she found her pleasure. My groan had been a bit louder when she'd dragged her nails up my back, forcing my shirt higher in an attempt to remove the offending fabric.

Ever helpful, I pulled the tee off and swiftly dropped my shorts. Her hands had been eager, caressing my stone-hard erection, courtesy of six months of enforced celibacy. The tip of my dick had dripped cum, making my boxer-briefs damp. I'd barely gotten my underwear over my ass when she had grabbed my cock and growled, "Now."

Heaven. And hell. That slow, hard push of the fat crown of my dick, pressing into a hot, slick pussy. Sherry's body had bowed high off the counter as she had strained away from the intrusion while, at the same time, begged me to go deeper. Her eyes had been squeezed tightly closed and she'd held her breath as I buried in the next couple of inches.

I speared my fingers into her hair, pinning her head down to the counter and arching her throat up, as I pushed in another inch. Damn, it had been a snug fit and I hadn't even gotten half-way seated in her depths. It had been difficult to force myself to continue a slow penetration when all I'd wanted to do was plunge forward hard and deep. Her lips had parted and her mouth lifted, offering a kiss. I considered it briefly, but as much as Sherry superficially resembled Teresa, with her dark hair and eyes, she wasn't the woman I had been craving for three long years. I just didn't want to kiss her.

My fingers had curled against her scalp, pulling her hair taut, but her moan had told me it was a pleasurable pain. I'd leaned over her body and bit into the cord of her neck as two more inches had pushed inward. The walls of her pussy had clamped down on me, and little ripples signaled an orgasm. I'd held still, not willing to tip her over until I was embedded inside her. I'd been a half-dozen strokes from cumming.

"No," she'd moaned, her breath hot against my ear. "Don't stop, Bas. Fuck me." For the first time since I'd breached her, she had curved her legs over my hips and used her heels to drive me deeper as she had thrust her hips upward. My balls pressed to the crease of her ass, and she'd held me tightly to her body, absorbing the shock of having my cock completely buried inside her.

Holy. Effing. Shit!

I'd loosened my grip on her hair and slid my hand down to cup her jaw. "Are you all right?" I'd asked. It had felt great to me, sliding into that hot tightness, but I have to think that must have hurt her. We hadn't used any lubricant, only what was naturally occurring. It had been my experience that no matter how tight the woman, I would fit girth-wise. Women were real accommodating that way. But I was long as well as thick, so I was used to exercising strict control of depth and speed. Some women were so sensitive to pressure against their cervix that I'd had a handful who weren't able to take all of me. There were ways around that, usually keeping a hand fisted around my cock to control depth, but I still tried to go slow enough to gauge their comfort.

Sherry's legs had slid from my hips and fallen bonelessly to the counter, framing my body with her splayed thighs. "God, yes. I'm fine, Bas. But move, I'm so fucking close and you're dickin' around. Fuck me. Been here, done you. I can take it. All of it."

Alrighty then. So much for showing concern or consideration. I'd felt the rolling contractions as her pussy had milked me. It would be close as to which one of us came first. My cock had twitched to let me know that it would prefer some friction. I'd leaned forward as I maneuvered my other hand under her ass to angle her hips, and it was then I had realized she smelled like the same shampoo Teresa used.

One minute I had my face in her hair to breathe in something fruity and sweet, like oranges and mint; the next minute, I had heard a gasp, and looked up. Damn, I had no idea she was even in the house, but there she stood: Teresa March. She'd had on this transparent little top trimmed with tiny pink bows and thin pink ribbon straps, which had slid half-off her shoulders. Her nipples had stood stiff and prominent against the soft fabric. A matching pair of white panties had spanned high across her hips. I hadn't seen a dark shadow of pubic hair and my mind had gone ballistic, imagining her shaved bare. My cock twitched in delight at that image. Her long brown hair had been messy around her shoulders and her eyes had been heavy as if she'd just woken up.

And that mouth...All I saw were those lips, soft and parted in surprise. Shock? I'd envisioned that mouth, and those lips, sucking my dick. Staring across the kitchen into Teresa's eyes, I'd imagined the body under me was the girl who stood in the doorway. Sherry's vaginal walls clamped down, and my hips flexed. I had been too far gone in the wet heat of the woman wrapped around my cock to stop. My traitorous hips had started an involuntary push and pull, drawing my cock almost completely away from the slickness of the pussy fisting it, and thrusting deeply until my balls slapped her ass.

Teresa had turned and ran. Three thrusts later, Sherry and I had hit orgasm, simultaneously.

God, I was such an idiot.

I'd looked for her after shooing Sherry out the door with excuses that my parents would be getting up early for church. Teresa had been nowhere to be found. I accidentally woke Janey as I had checked bedrooms, and her screeches—sorry, her excited squeals of delight—in turn woke the folks. During my two weeks of leave, before reporting for my next assignment (aboard ship this time), I never even caught a glimpse of Teresa again. In fact, she managed to avoid me for the next twelve years.

Janey, unknowingly, had fed my fixation of all things Teresa by keeping me supplied with pictures of the pair of them. Those two girls did everything together, and Janey was insane with taking pictures of anything and everything. Never one to just take a picture of a waterfall, Janey'd stopped perfect strangers to snap pictures of the two of them in front of the waterfall. As much time as the two of them spent together, it was even more amazing that Teresa had always managed to become invisible when I was in town. Once, I thought I'd caught a glimpse of her. Idiot that I am, I traversed the whole damned department store looking for her. No luck.

I shared all my letters and pictures with my best friend David. He'd spend hours flipping through them, absorbing my stories about my sister and Teresa. I hoped to set him up with Janey when we retired. We decided we were going into business together and I thought he'd be a stabilizing influence on my free-spirited sister. Janey's not stupid, don't get me wrong. Shit, David has one of those genius IQs and wouldn't be able to put up with an idiot. Janey was just restless. David, with his focus and intensity, would be a good influence on her.

Then, eight months ago, on Halloween day, the pictures had changed. I'd barely recognized the woman I loved in the pictures Janey had emailed to me of Teresa in the hospital. Oh my god. Her beautiful face. Ruined. I'm not so superficial as to think she had suddenly become, I don't know, less than worthy? Sure, people see me and make the stereotypical assumption; blonde, Ken-doll looks equals empty-headed, right? Doesn't matter to me if I'm underestimated, that comes in quite handy in my line of work. Her looks don't matter to me, Teresa's perfection stems from inside her, the wrapper just means I noticed her sooner. Her outer packaging caught my eye, but the exquisiteness of her soul held my interest and captured my heart.

A fucking freak accident. Lightning had struck a tree for fuck's sake. Blew the damn thing up and it had exploded into shrapnel, embedding into anything in its path. Teresa's back had been to the tree, but at the last second, she had turned around to look over her shoulder and a branch had taken her in the face. The scars were bad, but the real tragedy is Teresa is now blind. Janey tells me she almost lost her right eye, and hell knows, from the photos, I can believe that. There's no visible damage to the left eye, but she lost sight in that one too. I almost flew back to the States from 'the undisclosed location' I was assigned to, but Janey convinced me that Teresa didn't want or need anyone around her. I had to watch her recovery via photos and videos Janey recorded on her cell phone.

There was a physical ache in my gut every time I pulled out one of the hospital pictures. The deep scars, the raw wound that bisected her eye, leaving a jagged, angry line. How many times had I pulled up one of the pics and just trace my fingers over the path of puckered skin? I couldn't tell you. I loved her. I wanted to take this burden away and carry it myself. Here I was, in and out of war zones for the last twenty years or so, without a scratch to show for all those close calls—and there have been many. Danger and threat of injury were anticipated and accepted with the execution of each mission. Yet, my girl gets shrapneled by a fuckin' tree? It was wrong on so many levels.

I hurt for her. I hurt for me. I hurt for the lost time and opportunities.

I'll get to see her today. Twelve years. How had she managed to stay out of sight that long? But it gave me a warped sense of hope; I mean, in order to avoid me she had to be aware of me, right?

Crazy-ass fate had kept me from catching up with her two days ago when we were actually in the same house together, but I had been asleep in the other room. So fucking close, and yet it may as well have been a continent again. I had been in that half-awake state, where I had been dreaming of what I would say and do the first time I saw her again. I thought I caught snatches of her voice, just speaking in a low conversational cadence. Soothing.

I remember the sound of a cell phone chirping. Then, Teresa had said something to Janey's cat about my sister expecting company that night and Cat was not going to be getting any sleep with the racket the two would be making. TMI, it's my fucking sister, for cripes sake; I was not interested in who she was screwing, let alone at what decibel levels. I had my legs over the side of the bed and I almost raced to the other room before I'd realized I was stark naked. Not a best first impression after so many years. Then again...

The front door had closed with a loud thud before I realized, duh, blind girl, she wouldn't have known I was only wearing manly body hair and sporting a stiff dick. Hell, who am I kidding? I would have grabbed her up in a hug and kiss that would have left her in no doubt.

With the heads up my sister was expecting company that night, I'd gathered up my shit and repacked my duffle. Janey would have been happy to let me have the spare room, but I got a room at the Doubletree Hotel instead. I hadn't slept in two days and needed rest. I refused to lay in the spare room listening to my sister and some bozo having wild monkey sex. I woke up late the next afternoon and let her know I was in town with my friend and business partner, David. Janey had long ago caught on to Teresa's avoidance of me, so she planned to maneuver Teresa into a family breakfast the next morning.

Today, I'll get to finally see her. I just want to wrap my arms around her and breathe in the fragrance of her hair. Would it still smell like oranges? Would she even give me a chance to make things right? I play a loop of conversations in my brain, trying out different scenarios for this first meeting. Damn, what an idiot I have been. Will she forgive me? All I can ask myself is, with the loss of her sight, will she ever really 'see' into my heart? I have to live with the idea that her last visual image of me, before she was blinded, was my body bent over another woman. I can never replace that picture in her head.

We are parked in front of Teresa's house, waiting for Janey's boyfriend to bring her outside. Janey's driving us all to breakfast, and her boyfriend, Ken (Yeah, his real name. I caught the Ken and Barbie reference too), is escorting her to the vehicle. Oh. My. God. There she is. She is casually dressed in blue jeans and a black t-shirt with an ornamental fish splashed across the front. Her height towers over the man at her side. The tall, gawky teenager has blossomed into an elegant, poised woman. On Ken's arm, she walked with a confident, easy grace.

My breath hitched in my chest and it feels as if a weight has just descended like a stone, preventing me from exhaling. My breath left me in a rush, but the heaviness is still there. Fear? Anxiety? Oh God, my mind went blank, and I lose the speech I'd mentally prepared. I've completely forgotten what I wanted to say as I drink in the sight of her moving toward the car. Toward me.

And there it is, her smile. Her head thrown back with laughter dancing in her eyes. I've loved her forever. Now I just need to find a way to get her to finally see me. To see what I have seen all along—the possibility of Us.

Opening my door, I step out of the car to greet her.

Featured Locations, Events, and Misc.

Riverfront Park Wagon

The red wagon in Riverfront Park was built in 1989 as part of the "Centennial Celebration of Children." According to the City of Spokane website:

Facts about the Red Wagon

  * Created for the Centennial Celebration of Children - 1989

  * Dimensions - 12' high x 12' wide x 27' long.

  * Weight - 26 tons.

  * Made of steel and reinforced concrete.

  * Will hold as many as 300 people supporting 100 lbs. per square foot.

  * 43" high edges with the rounded pinch points removed.

https://my.spokanecity.org/riverfrontpark/highlights/red-wagon/

Note: the cover photo was altered to remove the red wagon's brand name at the request of the company.
An Indie Author

I love being an Independent (Indie) Author; it's fun and scary at the same time. I stumble through learning how to pick the right title, how to select a cover, and how to market the book. There are other considerations, such as who to ask to edit, and finding beta readers to pre-read and critique my baby. ("Is my Baby ugly?" "Of course not, with the proper bonnet we can hide that unfortunate third eye.")

One drawback to being an Indie? The lack of a publishing house, which can provide a number of editors to review and re-review the drafts. Any writer can tell you it's almost impossible to edit your own work (kudos to the ones who CAN do it). Many writers, myself included, develop a tendency to see right over the top of our own mistakes when we've read the same chapters repeatedly during the writing and draft process.

Traditionally published authors are often edited multiple times. There are editors for storyline continuity, spelling, past/present tense usage, and editors for punctuation and grammar. Indie authors pay for their editor(s) out-of-pocket, and usually have one or two editors review their work before it gets published. Even the best editor can't stack up against four or five of them tag-teaming your novel, and if you read Indie books, you've probably noticed they may have more typos or format errors.

As an author, I realize typos can distract from the story line. I hate them myself, and every time I re-read my own work, I seem to find at least one more thing I wish I'd caught the first, second, and tenth time I reviewed the drafts. If you find an error, please feel free to contact me at RedStalks@gmail.com so I can make a correction. Your input is important and can help me build a better book.

Thank you for reading Blind Seduction, Team Red, Book 1. I appreciate you taking the bold step of picking up a book about, of all things, a "talking" dog. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

If you can take a few minutes to pop on to your favorite ebook retailer and Goodreads to leave a review, sharing what you liked, or didn't, about the book, that would be totally awesome! Your reviews help Indie Authors, like me, get our books recognized, bringing much needed traffic to our sites.

Thank you for supporting me and other Indie authors by purchasing our books. I appreciate you.

About the Author

T. Hammond, lives in eastern Washington State. A German shepherd owner for over twenty-five years, she has been excited to share her love of the breed in the Team Red novels.

T feels writing is not a calling so much as it is a compulsion. No one is more surprised than she is when characters take over the plot and dialog, (re)directing stories in directions she had not (consciously) intended. Although she starts out each novel with a basic outline, she finds one or two chapters into the novels, not only have the characters shredded her outline into tiny unidentifiable pieces, they use the resulting confetti in a nose-thumbing parade. She is fully convinced the writer is the tool a story uses to tell its tale.

Want to help spread the word about her books? Hear about new projects? Interested in opportunities to win signed swag and books? Join the T Hammond Street Team: https://www.facebook.com/groups/802979936412389/

You can write the author at:

T Hammond

PO Box 10837

Spokane, WA 99209

STALKER LINKS:

Website: www.thammondwrites.com

Blog: www.thammondwrites.blogspot.com

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/T-Hammond-Author-324413914346772/

Good Reads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6981922.T_Hammond

Twitter: www.twitter.com/thammondwrites

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/thammondwrites/
