Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
She pulls in a breath. “But still, I shouldn’t have screamed in your face. I should have calmly told you that I thought a ghost was tugging on my clothes. That’s what I thought it was at first, before I formed a more logical hypothesis.” She lets out a strained laugh. “Hypothesis! Ha. I never said things like that before. I’ve been spending too much time with Wren and Barrett and their nerdy science brains.” She gulps. “I’m sorry, I’m talking a lot. I talk a lot when I’m nervous about ghosts and escaped animals and injuring my employees right before I make out with them. Not that I’ve ever done that before. I’ve never had an employee, let alone made out with him. That would have been a first.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, figuring the conversation about why we shouldn’t get that close to making out ever again can wait until after we’ve recaptured whatever ran across her foot. “Let’s get that flashlight and see if we can find the fugitive. Then I’ll go check the fuse box and we can take things from there.”
She nods and moves tentatively into the office and around to her desk. “I think it’s under here. That’s the direction it ran when it went over my feet, anyway. Though…now that I think about it, it felt too big to be a hedgehog. Could be one of the smaller cats, maybe? If it’s Pierre, he’ll scratch my hand off if I get too close. I understand that he had a hard life as a feral kitten on the mean streets of Bad Dog, but he needs to take the violence down a notch or two or he’s never going to get adopted.”
“Here, let me.” I shift behind her, guiding her to one side so I can get to the row of drawers. Her ass brushes against the front of my jeans as she moves and, once again, my cock sings the “Fucking is Fine and We Should Do It All the Time” song of his people.
His very dumb people.
Cocks are dumb. That’s a proven fact, and I don’t intend to let mine call the shots. Even on the rare occasions when I have a one-night stand, I think it through first. Thinking is good. It keeps a man from making things awkward for himself in his very small hometown or accidentally fucking a relative.
Yes, I know all my first cousins and most of my second cousins on sight but considering McGuires and McGuires-by-marriage make up most of this town, a person can’t be too careful.
I’m not into cousin love, even if it’s two or three times removed.
“All right, Pierre,” I murmur in a soft, hopefully soothing rumble. “If that’s you, I’m just dipping into the drawer to get the flashlight. No reason to get upset.” I reach for the drawer, pausing as a soft chirping sound emanates from beneath the desk.
I glance up at Starling in the dim light. I can’t see her expression, but I make out her shrug as she whispers, “I have no idea what that is. It sounds like a bird, but I’m pretty sure those were paws on my shoes. And Captain Carl the parrot got adopted last week.”
“All right then, we’ll just take it slow until we figure out who’s hiding under there,” I say, continuing to speak in my animal-whisperer voice, the one that’s kept me from being bitten by the frightened strays I’ve helped socialize for years. Pulling the drawer out just far enough to get my hand inside, I reach in, feeling for the flashlight. “Could be the ferret. What was his name again?”
“Could be,” Starling whispers back. “His previous owners called him Ludwig. Because the marks above his eyes look like big, fluffy eyebrows. But Sheila’s going to change it. She doesn’t think he likes being called Ludwig.”
“Really?” I ask as my fingers close around the handle of the flashlight. “Why?”
“Would you want to be called Ludwig?”
“Good point.” I pull out the flashlight and close the drawer, covering the end of the light with my palm before I flick it on. I don’t want to scare the animal by blasting a beam directly into its face.
Gently, slowly, I set the still-covered bulb down on the tile and peek underneath the desk until I see two glowing eyes above a white-and-black striped snout.
“It’s Stinkerbelle,” I whisper to Starling, the name summoning another chirping sound from the skunk, this one more irritable sounding than the one before. “I don’t think she likes her name, either.”
“Oh, the poor thing,” Starling says. “She was so scared in the kennel earlier. I’m not surprised she made a break for it, though I can’t imagine how she got out.” She drops to her knees and peers under the desk, cooing, “Hey there, sweetheart. I’m sorry I screamed and scared you. And I’m sorry you don’t like your name. What if we call you Belle or Bella instead? Would you like that?”