Bound By Temptation Page 17

  “Sit,” she said.

  The fluffy hindquarters instantly plopped down.

  “So you know who he belongs to?” Logan asked, glancing between her and Janine with a slight frown.

  “I think so,” Kaylea managed. He belongs to me. He’s my Max Midnight.

  She ignored the surprised look Janine sent her and stared at Logan, willing him to leave.

  He must have picked up on her assistant’s confusion, or maybe the strangeness of her reaction, because he hesitated again, his frown deepening.

  “Just leave him with me. I’ll contact his owners.”

  Please don’t ask who his owners are.

  He glanced between her and Janine again, and Kaylea held her breath, just waiting for her assistant to voice her confusion and blow everything. Janine knew their clients’ pets as well as Kaylea, so she knew there wasn’t a golden retriever who looked like this or went by the name of Max in their database.

  After another slow glance between the three of them—the dog, Janine, and Kaylea—he finally nodded and turned, heading for the front entrance. Silence dominated until the bells chimed, signaling the door closing behind his broad back.

  “I’ve never known you to lie, Kaylea Armund,” Janine said, planting her palms on her generous hips. “So I’m sure there’s a good reason for that clunker of one you just told.”

  “It wasn’t a lie,” Kaylea protested. At least not a complete lie. “I do think I know who he belongs to.”

  Janine released a soft huff of doubt and confusion. “And this person isn’t on our lists? Because I’ve never seen this dog in my life.”

  No, she wouldn’t have. Max had died long before Janine had come to town. It can’t be Max. It can’t be. Yet every instinct Kaylea possessed screamed that it was.

  “So his name’s Max?” Janine asked.

  “Yeah. Max Midnight.”

  The dog raised his paw to shake hands as Kaylea said his full name, exactly as she’d taught Max to do all those years ago. Her heart stuttered and thrashed, trying to break free from the shackles she’d chained it in. Break free and trust in this miracle.

  “Midnight? That’s an odd name for a golden retriever.”

  That’s what her father had said, just before he’d hit her.

  “He was named for a comic book hero.” Kaylea pushed the explanation past her tight, aching throat. “Max Midnight, Avenger of Injustice.” And abusive, murdering fathers.

  Janine still didn’t look like she believed Kaylea, but it was closing time, and she’d said she had big plans for the weekend involving the casino in the next county. She shrugged and went to collect her purse and sweater. “Never heard of it.”

  No, you wouldn’t have. I burned all the copies I created after he died.

  She busied herself pretending to straighten the office until Janine’s car pulled out of the parking lot. Then she locked the front door and pulled the window blinds.

  Once she was alone in the clinic, with no witnesses, she studied the dog intently, inspecting him from nose to tail. He really was the spitting image of Max—from the pink scar on the bridge of his black nose to the slight kink in his tail. Absolutely identical to her childhood companion, to the best friend she’d ever had.

  Slowly, she knelt in front of him. His deep brown eyes watched her with adoration and joyfulness. The expression was so familiar, so much like Max’s.

  Her hands were shaking as she ran her fingers through the fur along his neck and then down through his chest, searching for scars—for the evidence of the bullets that had plowed into him and taken him from her.

  Bullets that had been meant for her.

  “Max?”

  His tail thumped hard against the floor.

  How was this possible? Seventeen years separated them. Even if he was Max, he’d be nineteen years old now, an old man in dog years. Plus, wouldn’t he remember a child? A twelve-year-old girl? How would he even recognize the woman she’d become?

  And then he leaned over and sniffed her arm, his nostrils flexing, and she knew. He’d recognized her by scent. Physically she might have changed in the intervening years, but her scent must have remained the same.

  If this was Max.

  Because Janine was right. She tried not to lie. Not even to herself.

  And everything aside, this couldn’t be Max. It couldn’t be. Max was dead. He’d died and taken her heart with him.

  For a while it had looked like Logan might be able to revive it, except she’d eventually discovered that her heart was best buried where she’d left it—with Max Midnight, the superhero who’d offered his life so that she might live.