Page 108 of Not Mine to Rescue

“How long have we known each other?”

Her mind worked. “Almost as long as Boots and I…oh.”

That freed her up enough to lay everything out and answer our questions. I worked with Boots to form a plan of attack. It started with a couple of phone calls. Nickel wasn’t answering, and his partner in all things criminal and technical was holed up in the honeymoon suite with the redhead who’d beaten me in a tit-flashing contest. Nasty was not happy to be interrupted. Eventually, he sent another prospect to the farm to climb a ladder up onto my roof to retrieve the card from the camera in the cupola. The cloud feed cameras showed nothing. Whoever it was, they avoided the house and the cameras on the road.

This wasn’t some random person sneaking in to cause mischief. We had an enemy.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Honoria

Wombat looked like he’d been through Hell. He took three steps into my entry hallway and stopped cold. His eyes were vacant, and his hands were open, but they flexed like they wanted to hold on to something that kept slipping away. He didn’t even acknowledge me. Instead, he stared at the artistic vase and matching lamp which rested on my polished mid-century wooden table.

I didn’t ask what was wrong. Everything was wrong.

Instead I asked, “What are you thinking?”

“How quickly it went to shit.”

I ached to hold him, but he looked brittle. So I reached for the closest of those empty hands and tried to lift it.

He pulled it away. “Where’s DA?”

The dogs had worn themselves out reuniting and playing outside. DA was unusually lethargic. I didn’t know if that was because of his recent brush with death, and Lemon wasn’t here to explain. “They’re in the rumpus room.” I pointed down the hall to the lowest room attached to the patio. Wombat looked down at his clothing.

“I should have changed before coming. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Of course you weren’t. It’s okay.”

His eyes lifted, and the pain was right there.

Damn the soot and who gave a shit if he was muddy. I stepped in to give him a hug.

“Hey, you’re going to get⁠—”

I wrapped my arms around him before he could finish. “Dirty? I don’t care. You need this.”

“Honor.” His voice broke.

“I’m here.”

Molly padded up the short stairs and leaned against us both. Soon the heavier clicks of DA’s paws joined, and we had two dogs propping us up.

Wombat reached down to scratch DA’s ears.

“I am really glad you were at Lemon’s, you stupid shit.”

“He would have run in after you.”

“Yeah. He would have.” He heaved in a breath. “We need to talk.”

My heart fell. “Come.” I led him to the couch and pushed him to sit. “Don’t worry about the dirt. The surface is treated. Get off your feet.”

A heavy sigh left him. “There’s no sign of Hoot yet.”

Damn. I tried to be positive. “He’ll come back.”

“I’m going to be a shit father.”