Page 17 of Beware of Dog (Lean Dogs Legacy #6)

She looked so eager, the blue of her eyes so bright, that he hated to be the voice of reason.

Someone had to be, though, and he was the only one here.

“Yeah, you could . But you weren’t there when it happened.

Anything you say would be hearsay. Even if the DA wanted you on the stand, the judge would throw out your testimony. ”

She was wise beyond her years in a multitude of ways, growing up with the club at her back. But some of her reactions still struck him as achingly young , and this was one of them. The way her eyes went anime big and sad, and all the fight drained out of her in a sudden rush.

“Fuck,” she muttered, turned, and flopped back against his side. “You’re right. Fuck .”

“That’s the hard part of these kinds of cases,” he said, rubbing her shoulder again. “It’s he-said, she-said, and he’s gonna say she wanted it.”

“Yeah. Wanker.” A bolt of tension shot through her.

“Wait. Melissa said something. She said a ‘witness’ told them where they could find Sig on campus. Maybe,” her tone shifted, growing excited again, “someone did see what happened to Jamie. Sig’s never alone.

He’s got friends around all the time. Maybe one of them ratted him out. ”

“Hopefully, but that’s for Dixon to find out.”

“No. But.” Cass slipped away from him and got to her feet, hands lifting in a way he knew well. “If Sig treats women this way, then he’s got to be a shitty friend, too. Maybe if—”

“Cass.”

She’d begun to pace the width of the coffee table, and paused to glance toward him.

“If there is a witness, that’s Dixon’s job to talk to him. You get that, right? That you can’t be involved?”

She scowled. It was very cute. “But—”

“Nope.”

“But if I just—”

“Nuh-uh.”

“ Stop interrupting me, you’re insufferable.”

He offered a sweeping go ahead gesture.

She put her hands on her hips and squared off from him.

Stuck her chin and one leg out, and reminded him, hilariously and adorably, of the side-ponytail girls he’d gone to school with.

All she needed was dangly earrings, gum, and a Jersey accent.

“We’ve already established,” she said, her own accent getting crisper in her agitation, “that Sig is influential. That he can intimidate people, which means”—she ticked her points off on her fingers—“that if there’s a witness, he can intimidate him. ”

“Why are you talking so slow? Do you think I’m some kinda moron?” he asked, mock-stern, just to mess with her.

Her responding look said yes . “If Sig puts the squeeze on the witness—”

“ Squeeze ? You been watching old detective movies?”

“Would you let me speak , Francis?”

He mimed zipping his mouth shut for the satisfaction of watching hers twitch with reluctant amusement.

She took a deep breath and said, “It’s important to make sure the witness doesn’t get frightened and recant his statement.”

“You think Dixon doesn’t know that?”

“I think that if I—”

“Christ. No. Stop . You can’t go around asking people if they ratted out that little bastard. That’s witness tampering.”

“But…” She interrupted herself that time, frowning. “Shit.”

“Not to mention, you don’t need to be anywhere near him, or his friends, or any potential witnesses. Be a good friend, let Dixon do her job, and leave the rest of it alone.”

“Be a good little girl, you mean.”

“I mean.” His temper flared, voice snapping and sharp-edged. “That I want you stay the fuck away from the creepy little asshole who drugged you.”

Her eyes widened, surprise she shouldn’t have felt, and which pissed him off.

“I know you’re not stupid, so what the hell’s your problem, huh?

” The more he talked, the angrier he sounded—the angrier he was .

“Maybe your brother let his daughter play James Bond in London before Candy locked her down, but that ain’t happening here.

” He gestured between them. “Real life is not a Nancy Drew story. All you’d do is fuck up the case, and/ or get yourself raped or beat to shit, and I’m not having that . ”

Her eyes got rounder and rounder as he spoke, until surprise was overtaken by blank incomprehension. In a strained voice, she said, “Are you really comparing yourself to Phillip? Are you trying to be my father ?”

“No. If I was your father, I’d be fucking around in Tennessee somewhere while my daughter fended for herself.”

He hadn’t meant it as a jab. It was the objective truth, one that angered him every time he thought about it.

He hadn’t been a part of her detail when trained thugs-for-hire tried to abduct her at an art gallery when she was seventeen, but it was a thing that had happened, something spoken about at length in Albany, and her deadbeat dad hadn’t seen fit to take a more proactive role in her life.

He hated Devin Green, and thinking about him brought out Shep’s asshole side.

The remark landed as a jab, though. He saw the fast flare of hurt in her eyes before she locked her expression down and went full Raven: ice queen in the extreme. “You don’t know anything about my dad.”

“I know he’s a philandering piece of shit who fathered ten children on ten different women, and can’t be there for any of them.”

Her head kicked back as though he’d slapped her. Her nostrils flared, and he heard her sharp inhale. “And you think it’s your job to tell me what to do, then.”

“Someone needs to before you run off half-cocked and wind up dead in a dumpster somewhere!”

She attempted to take a step back from him—a move she’d never performed, and which instantly banished his anger; panic welled up to take its place, because oh shit, he’d really stepped in it—but she bumped up against the coffee table, wobbled, and nearly fell back across it.

Shep jumped to his feet and grabbed her forearm to keep her upright. It put them chest-to-chest, face-to-face, her head tipped back, her eyes huge and blue and startled. He could feel her pulse on the inside of her arm, a hummingbird tattoo against his palm.

Her lower lip trembled when she dragged in a breath, and her eyes went glassy. She was on the verge of crying again, and this time, he hadn’t caused it with an awkward show of caring, like in the kitchen earlier. This was all down to being a shithead.

“You’re an asshole,” she accused, without any heat. She didn’t try to get away.

“I am. And I’m sorry that I am.” Somewhere, multiple women’s ears must have started burning because he’d just willfully apologized. “But I’m not sorry about what I said, because all of it’s true.”

She attempted to narrow her eyes and scowl at him…but fat tears welled up on her lower lids and she ducked her head away so she could dash at them with her free hand. “You’re an asshole ,” she repeated.

“Yeah, I know, babe. Maybe I ought to—”

She sniffed hard, twisted her arm free—and then threw herself at his chest. She hugged him hard around the middle, her face pressed into his chest, and fought a silent, shaking battle with her sobs.

For the second time that night, he held her tight, and indulged in stroking his fingers through the silk of her hair.