Page 34 of Ace (The Deuces Wild #4)

The ground level suite included a full kitchen, a living room with a view of the terraced patio, as well as two plush bedrooms. The master bedroom lay to the right of the sitting area, the smaller lay to the left.

Keller took Savannah into the master bedroom and put her to bed.

He retrieved a dampened washcloth from the lavish en suite master bath and cleaned her face, neck, and arms. Carefully, he extracted the rosary from her neck and hair and put it in his pocket for safe keeping.

Poor thing barely stirred when he tugged the blanket up to her chin.

Keller shut the bedroom door just as room service knocked.

He waved the waiter and his rolling cart inside, while Galahad and Red barked their heads off from the other bedroom.

That got Keller a raised brow from the waitstaff.

At this rate, Savannah would soon be awake, and they’d all be back on the street with two loud-mouth dogs.

“Allow me,” Roger said as he let himself back into the spare room.

Keller had no idea what Roger would do with Galahad and Red, but he’d no more closed himself in with the dogs when the ruckus ceased. No yelling. No swearing. Just silence.

“Shall I serve?” the young waiter asked. Red-headed, stern-faced, and dressed in a short-jacketed tux-like uniform, he stood with a white towel over one forearm, gesturing toward the spread under several silver domed plates.

Keller extracted his wallet, dug out two slightly damp twenties, and handed them over. “No thanks. I’ve got this.”

“As you wish.” The prim waiter pocketed the bills without looking at them and exited stage left, no doubt on his way to alert management they had a pest problem on the ground floor, and it wasn’t bedbugs.

Closing the spare bedroom door behind him, Roger stuck a thumb at the exit. “I’d better get back to parking cars.”

Retrieving another twenty from his pocket, Keller offered his hand. “Thanks for your help. Before you go, tell me what you said to keep them quiet.”

“Thank you, sir,” Roger said as he stashed the bill in his pocket. “I take it those dogs belong to your lady friend, not you.”

“Yes, she runs Sanctuary, a dog rescue east of here. Savannah Church. You ever heard of her? ”

“No, but she trained those boys well, I can tell. What’d you call that Pitbull? Galahad?”

“Yes, the other’s Red.”

Roger cringed. “Aw, he needs a better name than Red, but yeah. Those boys know all the basic commands, like quiet, stay, heel, and sit. If you need them to settle down after I leave, just tell ’em ‘quiet.’ They’re good boys. They’ll listen.”

“That’s all?” He just might have to keep Roger around. “Good to know. Thanks again. I owe you, man.”

“No problem,” Roger said as he let himself out. At the open door he paused. “I’ll be back to walk them at oh-six-hundred hours if that works for you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Keller protested, “but it would sure help. I don’t have any leashes, though. First thing in the morning, I’ve got to contact a pet store, see if they’ll deliver a couple dog crates and—” Shit, this night just kept going from bad to worse.

“Hey, Mr. FBI. Dude!” Roger snapped his fingers. “Cool your jets. I’ve got a couple crates and sturdy leashes I’m not using at the moment. I’ll bring them with me in the morning. Until then....” He offered a quick salute. “You’ve got a midnight snack waiting, and I’ve got work to do. Later.”

Four plates of steak and potatoes were not Keller’s idea of a midnight snack, but he dug in and finished off one serving before he fed the dogs two of the others.

Remembering how Savannah kept them separated, he put one plate in the kitchen for Galahad.

Once the pittie was noisily slurping his treat, Keller took the second plate into the bedroom.

He ducked inside to see what damage the dogs had done.

Surprisingly, none. Red gave Keller a regal look from where he’d stretched out on the bed like a prince who owned the place.

“Get down,” Keller groused at the smart-aleck setter while he set the food on the floor. “You’re getting steak tonight. Don’t get used to it. Tomorrow you’ll be in a crate and back to kibble.”

Slinking to the floor, Red ignored the food and rubbed against Keller’s leg, his tail wagging, and his snout raised. Keller stroked the setter’s long neck and scratched his ears. “You’re a good boy, you know that, fella? Damn those men for hurting you.”

The dog’s face, ears, neck, and well, most of his skin was knotted and scarred.

One long ear bore a ragged notch where it had been bitten.

But when Red closed his eyes and groaned at Keller’s touch, Keller kept petting.

He could relate to this sleek beast. He knew what it felt like to be unloved and untouchable, ragged on, chewed on, and mistreated.

Affection hadn’t been a staple in his childhood, either.

Not until Carol Marie came along had Keller known any kind words.

So he poured a heaping dose of empathy into everything he did with this pretty red dog.

Overall Red’s coat had come in long enough to cover his scars.

Most weren’t visible. You wouldn’t know he’d been badly used until your fingertips encountered the real dog beneath the silky hair.

Savannah had worked nothing short of a miracle saving this fellow’s life.

Keller knelt, pulling Red into his arms for a hug. The crazy dog had a way of sliding his muzzle over Keller’s shoulder like he was hugging back. Lifting to his feet, Keller brushed his tears away. They never solved anything.

Once Red settled down to eat, Keller closed him in the bedroom and checked on Galahad one last time. The pittie had finished eating and was now stretched alongside the sofa. He looked comfortable and tired. Maybe a little smug.

“Stay, and for hell’s sake, be quiet,” Keller told him as he walked by on his way to the master bedroom.

Galahad snorted but didn’t budge. If Keller was lucky, the food would make both dogs sleepy, and he’d have a quiet night.

Closing the bedroom door behind him, he paused until his pupils adjusted to the dark.

The slightest sound of steady breathing confirmed Savannah was still out cold.

She hadn’t moved since he’d laid her down.

Stepping into the bathroom, he doffed his dirty clothes and took a quick, hot shower.

If he’d thought of it sooner, he would’ve called the front desk and had them order new clothes for him and Savannah.

He couldn’t bear the thought of climbing back into his rumpled, smelly shirt and pants.

But that was what he did, sans day old underwear.

Come first light, he’d hit the nearest department store and make things right.

Finally showered and semi-fresh, Keller pulled the padded chair from the corner of the bedroom over to the bed, where he could see better.

Resting on her back with her head turned toward him, Savannah held one hand to her chest, the other hidden under the blanket.

The light from the bathroom barely reached through the cracked door, but it allowed him to see enough .

She was by far the most beautiful woman in his world.

With his elbows on his knees, he leaned toward Savannah, content to watch her sleep and listen to her breathe.

If there were anything better in the world, he didn’t know it.

This woman had changed his life in less than a day.

Who would’ve thought someone so delicate could be that powerful?

In her sleep, she pursed her lips. With every rise and fall of her chest, a warm glow of satisfaction suffused Keller.

It’d been a long time since he’d been privileged to stand guard over a treasure.

Yet here he was, the man Savannah Church had accepted as her first lover.

The beast she’d allowed to ravage the sweet fruit of her body.

Yet he hadn’t felt like a beast when they’d made love.

Even then, she’d comforted him in ways he still couldn’t explain.

It was as if she’d reached into his psyche and made him a better man.

She’d made him feel like he’d finally come home.

On what had to be the worst day of her life, she’d done everything she could to soothe a hard, worthless man like him.

Pushing back into the chair, Keller stretched his legs alongside the bed and crossed his ankles. Hell, she’d gentled him just like she gentled her dogs. And that was okay. Keller didn’t mind being lumped into the same category as Galahad and Red. They weren’t so bad once you got to know them.

But about those would-be killers in the monster truck, those uncanny alligators that seemed to show up at the same time the Camaro blew, the explosion at Sanctuary, and the fact that Gran Mere’s houseboat was missing? That four-pronged attack was nothing less than a diversion and he knew it.

Whoever was behind it had money. The bastard meant to keep Savannah too busy fighting to survive to interfere with his moving Gran Mere’s home.

He’d had a good-sized crew and heavy equipment on standby, too.

He’d had this move planned for days, maybe months.

Which meant he’d had someone watching Gran Mere and Savannah for a while now.

He’d known precisely when Gran Mere died, also known when Savannah left the houseboat with Keller.

All clues led to Doctor Rudy John, and that made Keller uneasy.

Not only had he stalked her, the sweetest woman on earth, but John knew Keller was in town.

But precisely who else was RJ working with, and where was the houseboat now?

Who was the money man behind this coordinated attack?

It sure wasn’t Doctor John. Keller meant to find out.

Easing out of his chair, he leaned over Savannah to tell her goodbye, that he had work to do. Breathing in, he drew in the lovely scent unique to this diminutive bundle of extraordinary fire. Closing his eyes, he brushed his lips over the satiny expanse of her forehead. How sweet. How rare.

Unable to resist, Keller toed out of his dress shoes and knelt on the bed.

Peeling half the covers away, he slid one arm beneath her shoulders and settled alongside Savannah.

Rolling her to her side, he tucked his knees into the back of hers and reached his free arm around her shoulders.

Aroused at the contact of her soft breasts against the inside of his bicep, he basked in the contentment seeping into his soul.

It only took one touch of this woman. Didn’t even have to be skin on skin.

Just holding Savannah melted away every last one of the psychic barriers he’d erected to keep his heart safe.

Keller’s best gift hadn’t always been empathy. Used to be solitude and distance. Ever since he could remember, he’d been pushing people away, fighting for personal space and a comfort zone that excluded Elaine and her treachery. But lying here with Savannah…

Breathing her in…

Fighting the urge to make love to her...

Unabashed happiness washed over Keller. For the first time in years, he released the death grip on his inner control. He allowed himself to remember.

Shane Boniface. His father. The town drunk.

The waste of skin. The do-nothing bastard and ne’er do-well husband.

All Elaine’s harsh edicts. He’d died when Keller was six.

For whatever reason, the forgotten memories of quiet times with Shane surfaced like a rush of effervescent bubbles to the silvery surface of a glass of 7-UP.

Yeah. 7-UP. Keller remembered now. Shane always had a glass or a can of 7-UP in his hand, laced with whatever rotgut was handy.

Vodka or whiskey, the poison didn’t matter.

Only the endgame. After tossing back enough of those doctored 7-UPs, Shane developed a cute sense of humor.

He took Keller fishing for catfish or carp, crawdads or frogs, not that little boy Keller knew then why his dad was more fun with a can of 7-UP in his fist. All Keller knew was that Shane took him away from home and Elaine.

Besides, poor white folks ate what they caught, didn’t matter if it was trash fish.

Trash begot trash, least that was what Elaine always said.

I remember now… Dad let me steer the outboard. We were fishing and he trusted me. He called me Killer Keller. He said I had guts… He called me Buddy, and he gave me his baseball cap.

Keller scrubbed his free hand over his bristly head, wondering what happened to that ratty old Army cap. Where was it now? Was his dad really in the Army? Was he a vet or was that just the cheapest cap at the five-and-dime? Keller honestly didn’t know.

Yet the persistent memory of a real, no-kidding father and son connection lingered.

Tall, gangly, and quiet, Shane had never once been mean, snarky, or abusive.

Keller couldn’t remember him yelling or cursing, never hitting or kicking, either, which Elaine was prone to do.

It didn’t take much to push her over the edge on a good day.

Keller had often thought his breathing set her off some mornings.

More often than not, Shane was the buffer between him and his mother, the peacemaker and the quiet man who’d suffered Elaine’s worst temper, vilest outbursts, and sharp tongue. Her belt. Her fists. Her lies.