He stripped off his clothes and took a quick shower. As he eased onto the bed, he checked his phone on his nightstand. No call from Zoe. Maybe she wouldn’t even bother. Maybe she’d just toss his card in the nearest trash can. A faint whine sounded from the kitchen. Conor rolled over and pulled the pillow over his ear. Would the teen with the knife be back, or would he write off the dog and pick up another, since there was no shortage of stray pit bulls in the city?

Tonight had been a disaster. He’d had to intervene between the girl and her drunken boyfriend, but risking his life for a stray dog hadn’t been his smartest move.

He must have dozed off, because a shift in the mattress startled him awake. A hot waft of air crossed his face. Wait. Half-asleep, confusion ruled. He’d driven the brunette home, right?

He rolled over. Three inches from his nose, the skinny dog stared down at him, panting.

“You were supposed to sleep in the kitchen. Guess my barricade wasn’t high enough.”

His phone vibrated on the nightstand. He picked it up and read the unfamiliar number on the screen. Zoe? “Hello.”

“Um, I’m almost at my place. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” The line went dead. Conor set it back on the nightstand, relieved. He hadn’t thought she’d actually call.

The dog licked his face. He put a hand up and scratched behind one of her missing ears. A scab had opened up on the side of her face during the night, and blood matted the fur under her eye. “You’re not the kind of girl I usually go for, but I guess we have that rough-around-the-edges thing in common.”

The stub of her tail swept back and forth across the sheets. She moved to the other side of his king-size bed, turned around three times, and curled up with her head on his extra pillow.

“Ah, the hell with it.” Reaching across the bed, he rested a hand on the dog’s side. She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes, her protruding ribs rising and falling under his bruised fingers. He’d avoided two potentially dangerous situations tonight. Risking a few fleas seemed minor in comparison. One of these days, his hero complex was going to get him in trouble.

CHAPTER 4

4

My mother always justified my curfew by saying nothing good ever happened after midnight. A clichéd but accurate statement. Take tonight. I knew what was going to happen, but the slim brunette on the sidewalk, shoulders hunched against the October rain, didn’t know that her life was nearly over.

I pulled up to the curb, lowered the passenger window, and leaned across the seat. “Need a ride?”

Startled, she pivoted, bending at the waist to look into the car. Recognition crossed her face. “OK.”

She got into the car—and sealed her fate.