Hannah settled back on the pillows, determined to savor every second with Brody. It was only a matter of time before she would be back at work. The thought of leaving Scarlet Falls disturbed her instead of filling her with relief. The feelings that Brody elicited from her were simultaneously terrifying and beautiful. Most of the time, she didn’t think about her personal life. Professional ambition directed her decisions. Like all things rare and precious, personal happiness was fleeting.

He sat down on the bed, and she curled against him. “I don’t have much time.”

He’d barely gotten the words out when his phone vibrated.

He picked up his phone. “Excuse me.” He got up and walked toward the window. “Yes, sir. I was just getting cleaned up. I’ll be right there.”

“I’m sorry.” He went back to the bathroom and picked up his toothbrush. “That was the chief. I have to go back to work.”

“Right now?”

“Ten minutes ago.” Brody sighed.

“It’s all right.” Hannah stood. “I have to meet with the prosecutor about Lee’s case early in the morning. I should go home.”

“I wish I could stay.”

“Me, too.” She glanced at the pile of wet clothes in the hallway. “Do you mind if I wear your clothes home?”

“Not at all.” He went to the closet and started dressing while Hannah went downstairs and found the dog’s leash on the kitchen table. AnnaBelle and Danno were curled up together on Brody’s overstuffed sofa.

“Time to go, girl.”

AnnaBelle looked disappointed. Hannah knew how the dog felt. For once, she was the one who was being left. She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Brody hunched against the cold. The door of the mobile home outside the kennel opened, and a crime scene tech entered, his hands full with a box of small envelopes and a roll of evidence labels. Outside, rain beat against the windows, and the temperature had dropped since Brody had been at the crime scene earlier. The front yard was filled with emergency vehicles and news vans. What he wouldn’t give to be in a warm bed with Hannah right now.

“Our suspect is a cocaine addict.” Officer Carl Ripton pointed at a laminate table littered with small packets of white powder. A crime scene photographer snapped a close-up of the drugs next to a yellow evidence marker.

With a gloved hand, Ripton lifted a driver’s license. A pretty young brunette smiled at the camera. “The homeowner’s name is Joleen Walken. Joleen leases the property. The kennel business was hers.”