Page 7 of Lock ’N’ Load

A moment of horrific clarity hit her. I’m going to die.

Chapter Two

“Let’s get out of here, girl. I’m beat.”

Matt waited for Sheba to jump in the SUV—a CIA-issued Explorer, specially equipped for K-9s—before closing the door behind her. He wiped the sweat from his brow, relieved to be heading home. These double shifts were killing him, and he couldn’t wait to grab some food and kick back.

As he got into the driver’s seat and buckled up, his thoughts rewound to events of that morning. More specifically, to Trista Gold.

Having been newly assigned to Langley, he hadn’t gotten to know many of the employees, but he knew who she was. The CIA’s crack analyst.

“She’s a little thing with a lot of power at her fingertips.” The remembrance of her petite form in his arms had him realizing just how tiny she really was. And how unexpectedly curvy her body was beneath that head-to-toe gray outfit.

Hearing his words, Sheba thrust her snout through the cage opening between the headrests and gave a soft snort.

Cranking over the engine, he pulled out of the lot and headed to the main gate. Only one place would be open this time of night and still serving. Luckily, the Moose was on his way home.

He wondered where Trista lived. Actually, he wondered a lot about the woman, something that shocked the shit out of him. She was nothing like his type. Trista was shy, unassuming, and wore minimal, if any, makeup. Rather than trying to hit on him as most women did, she couldn’t seem to get away from him fast enough. Still, there was something about her that intrigued him. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

As Matt drove past the security gate, he waved to Mac, the officer on duty, then turned toward Dolley Madison Boulevard and the Langley Shopping Center.

“You know, girl,” he said, reaching out to stroke Sheba’s velvety-soft muzzle, “I’d bet my ass that beneath those librarian glasses and those god-awful schoolmarm clothes she wears, there’s a stunning beauty itching to cut loose.”

Woof.

Sheba’s warm breath blew against his ear. She knew he was talking to her, and he loved their late-night chats. Unlike most women he dated, Sheba was a great listener. Some nights after a double shift, their conversations were the only thing keeping him from falling asleep at the wheel. It also helped him unwind.

He and his Belgian Malinois had been together for two years now, and he couldn’t imagine being teamed up with anyone else. They’d become tight, anticipating each other’s next moves and thoughts, the same as any human partner ever could. Maybe more.

Sheba was the only female constant in his life, and he preferred it that way. It was the way things had to be. Years ago, he’d figured out that as soon as he began to feel anything resembling true happiness with a woman, guilt would smash the relationship into smithereens. As a result, he had a long list of pissed-off ex-girlfriends who’d been unceremoniously dumped. Ten in the past twelve months, if his count was accurate. It wasn’t that they’d done anything wrong, or even gotten too clingy.

The old saying It’s not you, it’s me was far too accurate. They never believed him, but it was true. What he didn’t tell them was that he didn’t deserve any happiness. Not after what he’d done.

He dragged a hand down his face. Twenty years later, and the guilt was still as raw and fresh as if it had happened only yesterday. The only good thing was that he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since that day.

Slowing the Explorer through town, he passed the supermarket. He hated shopping but had next to no food in the house. With his buddies and their K-9s coming into town to stay with him during the upcoming pre-election events, he’d have to pick up a ton of groceries. Pretty much the only thing he had plenty of was kibble. Turkey and salmon flavor. Sheba’s favorites.

When he lowered the window for some fresh air, the smells of greasy fast food wafted into the truck, and he scowled. Trista Gold smelled a whole lot better.

When she’d fallen into his arms, he’d breathed in pretty-smelling woman. It must have been her shampoo or perfume. Vanilla and sweet spice. He’d guess she was in her early thirties, and had no ring on her finger. Come to think of it, she hadn’t been wearing a single piece of jewelry. Odd, but the woman had something about her that really got to him.

Her heart-shaped face included a cute nose and lips so rosy pink they didn’t even need lipstick. He hated the stuff. Most of the women he dated usually wore red or deep pink that inevitably wound up all over his face or on his shirt collar. He didn’t know what they made that shit out of, but it never seemed to completely wash out of his clothes.

Without those gargantuan, dark-rimmed glasses hiding half of Trista’s face, he’d finally gotten a good look at those sparkling green eyes of hers. They were the same color as his mother’s ferns just before they unwound from their spiral bud. With those thick waves of honey-blond hair all messed up and escaping from that prim bun, she’d looked less like a schoolmarm and more like a woodland nymph on a bad hair day.

Now it was his turn to snort at the imagery he’d concocted. It wasn’t like him to wax all poetic-like. What he ought to do was tell her to ditch the bun.

“She sure doesn’t like you, though.” He gave Sheba a quick scratch under her chin, and she leaned farther through the opening, resting her head on his shoulder. “She took one look at you and almost had a heart attack.”

Sheba gave his ear a quick lick.

“Hey!” He gently swatted her muzzle away.

Woof. Sheba snorted and lay down in the back of the truck.

Not that he could ever see himself in a relationship, but if by some miracle he ever got his head out of his ass, any woman of his had to like dogs. No cringing in fear the way Trista had. It was obvious from the all-consuming panic in her eyes that the woman had been severely traumatized by a canine somewhere in her past.

Too bad. She didn’t know what she was missing. In his opinion, dogs had better character, honesty, and loyalty than most humans. The only exceptions he’d encountered lately were the guys he’d gone through K-9 school with.