Oh, for Pete’s sake. “Fine. But end of the bed. Period.” Angus was not going to wake up with a dog in his face.

“Move, Roscoe.”

The dog whined.

“Oh,” Nari crooned, reaching out to pet his head.

If dogs could smile, this one did. He also stretched out all four legs toward Angus, pushing him away.

That was it. “Roscoe? You want to go outside and scout the entire night?” Angus snapped.

The dog sighed and stood, walking on Angus’s pillow before settling at the bottom of the bed on Nari’s side. He cuddled up, putting his butt toward Angus.

“Were you this nuts before you got blown up?” Angus muttered, flipping the pillow over to the side without paw prints. He honestly couldn’t remember. Or maybe his team of misfits had just brought out this side of the canine.

Roscoe farted in response.

Nari giggled, sounding young and light.

Angus smiled, and some of the pressure eased in his chest. “Because the two of you have bonded so well, he’s your constant companion until we find this guy. Period.”

“I’d love that,” she whispered. “’Night, Angus.”

“Good night,” he said, listening to the world outside. Nothing seemed out of place, and even though the dog was a lunatic, his instincts were excellent and his training second to none. If a threat was near, Roscoe would hear it long before Angus did.

So he let himself drift off with the fire warming his cabin and the woman and dog sleeping peacefully. The first nightmare landed hard and with no warning: He was back in the morgue with his sister’s dead body after Lassiter had kidnapped and killed her, taking her heart. But this time her face had changed to Nari Zhang’s.

He woke up, gasping for air and sucking in fur. Instead of being angry that the dog had maneuvered himself between them again, he set a hand on the dog’s neck and shared the pillow.

He’d lost to a serial killer before, and he wasn’t even sure who was after him this time. How was he going to protect everyone?

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

“You can’t cook.” Angus stared at the fried mess over Nari’s shoulder, his voice thoughtful.

She looked at what used to be eggs in the fry pan. “Nope.” This time she’d really given it her all.

“Huh.” Angus turned and opened the window above the sink to let out some of the smoke. He leaned against the counter, looking broad and dangerous in the morning light. “You really can’t cook. Even Roscoe is hiding over by the fireplace instead of begging for a bite.”