Must Love Hellhounds

But even up to that point, his offer meant very little. Ames-Beaumont was family, and the most powerful vampire in the world-and Blake didn’t owe anything to Maggie. If his uncle came after her, Blake would be an idiot to stand between them.

So her goals hadn’t changed, even if Blake was now coming with her; she’d keep him safe and find Katherine. And if she managed to do both-and if the vampire didn’t hold her as responsible for James’s actions as she did herself-maybe Ames-Beaumont would let her go.

It had become her mantra: maybe he’d let her go.

Her fingers clenched on the steering wheel. God, she didn’t want this mess. She wanted her job. Before that e-mail, everything had been good. Her new life was insane, full of vampires and Guardians, and her employer was an eccentric, to say the least-but she had been, for the first time she could remember, happy. The world had become strange and new, but she’d understood the people around her, what motivated them, and she’d finally felt as if she fit somewhere. And that feeling had been bone-deep.

And one decision from her past had shattered it.

Blake clicked his laptop shut and slid off the headset. When the computer disappeared, Maggie tossed the clothes onto his lap.

His palms swept over the material, as if identifying it. His brows lifted. “Is this a hint? A shower would be better.”

“You don’t have an odor, sir,” Maggie said.

Sir Pup made a doubtful noise in the back. Relieved to have a distraction from the bleak thoughts circling in her head, Maggie glanced into the rearview mirror. The hellhound had covered the end of his nose with his massive forepaw.

Maggie didn’t fight to hold her straight expression. Blake couldn’t see her reaction, so she could relax, just a little. She’d keep her responses appropriately formal, but she didn’t have to be.

“I cannot detect any odor, Sir Pup,” she said, before looking at Blake again. “It’s to ward against any bugs-tracking or listening devices-that he might have inserted into your clothing.”

Blake fingered the collar of his shirt. “You think he’d do that?”

“I would.”

That must have convinced him. As she pulled into a fast-food lot, Blake shucked his jeans and shirt. When he reached for the folded jeans, Maggie shook her head. “Your shorts, too, Mr. Blake. And quickly, or the girl at the drive-thru window is going to get a good look.”

Sir Pup rolled over onto his back, chuffing great bursts of air. The hellhound version of a laugh.

It apparently amused Blake, too. He wore a smile as he hooked his fingers under the waistband. “Is this really about bugs? Or are you planning to take a peek?”

She didn’t need to. She assumed it hadn’t been a pair of socks filling out his oh-so-happy undershorts. She averted her gaze when he lifted his ass from the seat and worked them off. “We’re on the trail of your abducted sister, Mr. Blake. What kind of woman would I be if I did that?”

“One I’d like to get to know better.”

Maggie’s fingers flew to her lips to hold in her laugh. Oh, he was dangerous. She could end up liking him. And liking led to caring, caring to carelessness. She couldn’t afford that.

And he already knew enough about her. More than he should.

She wadded up his clothes and shoved them into the trash can sitting beside the drive-thru menu. The smiley faces didn’t seem so smug crowded in with the discarded coffee cups. Poor little guys.

The menu was loaded with junk. Not a problem, except that she would be motionless for the next several hours. She’d never liked feeling weighted down when she couldn’t move enough to work it off. “How hungry are you, Mr. Blake? We won’t stop again until later tonight, so order as much as you think you’ll need.”

Blake paused with his boxer-briefs on and his jeans halfway up one leg. Though he was bent over at the waist, there wasn’t a crease or a bulge anywhere that wasn’t muscle. “I could easily eat three hamburgers.”

Of course he could. Maggie tripled that for the hellhound and ordered coffee and a fruit-and-yogurt for herself.

She paid cash. James might be trying to track their movements, and she wouldn’t make it easy for him. Hopefully, though, he’d make it easy for her.

You can stop me.

It wasn’t a question or a challenge. It wasn’t a plea. Just a statement.

But how would she stop him? And why her?

She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, pondering it. By mutual agreement, she and James had decided not to contact one another again-and, despite the circumstances, they had parted on good terms. Her gut said this wasn’t about revenge.

What, then? Was it just coincidence that his path had crossed with hers?

Maggie couldn’t make herself believe that.

Was it about Ames-Beaumont? Was James acting on his own, or had he been hired? And if someone was paying him, had James told them of his connection to her… and to Ames-Beaumont?

But why go after his family and not make any demands?