Heir of the Dog Black Dog - Hailey Edwards Page 0,5

voice.

“Shaw has seniority,” she reminded me. “If he decides he wants the case, I have to give it to him. If you worked together, you could split the bounty.”

“I’ll think about it.” I picked at my nails and stared at her from underneath my lashes. “When are you expecting him back?”

“He ought to check in before dawn.” She glanced up then, brows drawn and lips pursed like she had sucked a whole lemon out of her tea glass. Clearly, she wasn’t hot for this idea either. “Do you want to wait for him?”

“I— No. No need for that.” Heat crept up the base of my neck. “I’ll be in my office wrapping up O’Shea’s paperwork if you need me.”

The last thing I wanted was for Shaw to find me waiting on him like a lovesick puppy.

Chapter Four

The staccato rap of knuckles on wood brought my head up in time to spot Jackson Shaw lean against the doorjamb in my office. A flannel shirt hung from his shoulders in tatters with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, exposing vivid crimson slashes across his forearms. More gashes bisected his torso, leaving his abs peeking out at me from under his T-shirt. Dried mud caked his boots, and he smelled of...

I coughed into my fist and reached for a bottle of water. “Is that sauerkraut?”

He shrugged while shutting the door then crossed the room and perched on the edge of my desk. “Don’t ask.”

“Fine. I won’t.” I swigged tepid water to wet my parched throat. “What brings you here?”

His gaze jerked from my lips to my eyes. “Mable said you had a proposition for me.”

“Um, no.” Heat blistered my cheeks. “Well, not exactly.”

Fabric tore as he removed his flannel shirt and used it to wipe his face clean. He glanced up and caught me staring. A heartbeat later, the scent of bergamot and patchouli stung my nose, the heady fragrance sinking heavily into my lungs, tingling in my limbs with every inhale until my tender nerves sizzled.

Shaw’s voice dipped into a husky register. “It’s been a long time, Thierry.”

Twelve months. Twelve. Too long. Not nearly long enough.

“Don’t.” My voice sounded as small and pained as a wounded animal. “Just don’t.”

I dug through my satchel for the vial of smelling salts I kept there. I inhaled until my sinuses burned and my eyes watered. Thank God, the pungent scent still cut through his sultry lure. As to why I kept the vial on me, call me sentimental.

His jaw tightened. “The conclave—”

“—had nothing to do with you rolling out of my bed and right into someone else’s.” Bitter laughter stung my throat. “Five someone elses.”

“Give me some credit.” He fisted his ruined shirt in his lap. “I tried.”

“Not hard enough.”

Being faithful to me had almost killed him. Learning he had been unfaithful? Well, that almost killed me.

Shoving from the desk, Shaw began pacing the room. “Did you want something or not?”

I leaned back in my chair. “Mable wants us to work the Morrigan’s poaching case together.”

A moment passed between us then, and I knew he was remembering the first case we had worked as partners. We had gone after poachers then too.

He planted his feet and gave me his full attention. “I’m listening.”

Leaving nothing out, I filled him in on my visit from “Raven”.

“Dealing with a death-touched fae means hazard pay.” He considered me. “If we split the bounty, we’ll both come out with a nice check.”

One niggling doubt kept pecking at my brain. The first rule of investigative work was to rule out the obvious, even if the obvious was impossible. “Mable says Raven can’t physically be here.”

“Black Dog bound him.” He shook his head. “Only he can unbind him.”

That was news to me. Mable was right. Shaw was leaps ahead of me in the research department.

I wondered, “What about a spell?”

Incubus or not, Shaw was the best spellworker the Southwestern Conclave had.

“Not likely.” He scratched his jaw. “Most spells perform a single function. If Raven projected his likeness, he could converse intelligently with you. If he tapped into the invocation circuit the marshals use to summon the Morrigan, he would hear the calls and could send his magic to consume the tithe. The odds of him crafting a spell complex enough to accomplish both tasks are slim.”

I nodded in deference of his expertise. “So poacher it is.”

Fragrant spice burst in the air between us, twining through my senses until my body softened.

“I missed this,” he said. “Us working together.”

I made a noncommittal