A dog barked. The little yappy sound echoed through my basement apartment. I moaned.

"Not now, Brent," I groaned against a scratchy throat.

He answered via bark. I cracked open one eyelid and then quickly closed it again. He needed to shhh, or we'd both be in trouble. Mrs. Mets took her landlord duties too seriously to find out I'd stashed a missing dog in the bathroom.

With a deep breath for strength, I attempted to leave the bed by lifting a shoulder. It screamed in protest and I fell back against my pillow.

I groaned, and even that slight movement forced another scream from my shoulder. Literally. It was like my bones were threatening to go on strike.

"That's what I fucking get."

My entire body ached. Punishment for chasing Brent for six long blocks, through trees, around the old white church on the outskirts of town, and finally catching him in front of the town's only light house.

I needed to buy some damn Tylenol and work on stretching before I took off after a dog. Brent had some speed on him.

A smart person would have taken him right to Mrs. Coogs, but I didn't catch up to him until after nine. I didn't want to wake the old woman. Selfish, maybe, but I wanted to see her face when I presented her with her beloved Brent.

The dog in question barked twice.

Damn it. He probably had to pee or something. I twisted an arm in the hopes if I got enough of my body over the side of the bed I'd fall off with the help of gravity.

"Ow."

My arm flopped over and hung there, but it wasn't enough to pull me over the edge.

That sealed it. I was a cat person.

Solid.

Brent barked again. His little yip coming off frantic sounding.

"I'm coming," I lied.

Hell, I needed to get my ass out of bed and rescue the damn dog from the bathroom before he escaped, or worse, peed on something in there. I hadn't asked Mrs. Coogs about his bathroom behavior, but I'd bet money he didn't know how to use a toilet.

I lifted my head. Well, I tried to, but didn't make it very far. At some point in the night, my brain grew too heavy for my neck to support. I swore I'd been flopping over the bed trying to find my way out of it, but in reality, I'd barely moved an inch. My movements hadn't even disturbed the covers.

I'd definitely have to disturb covers if I planned to move.

My phone dinged on the floor beside my bed, only inches from my fingertips. Still, it'd take more movement and pain to extend far enough to reach it.

I made the sacrifice, my shoulder bitching the entire time. My fingers drifted over the phone, and I hooked it, raising it high enough to grab fully.

TONY BALONEY: You busy? I need help with my skipper.

My eyes fully opened in excitement. My toes even twitched in enthusiasm. A real takedown. Antonio Franco wanted help on a real take and he asked me. Me! Vonnie Vines taking down her first master criminal.

Maybe I'd make the phone tree.

For something good.

Hell, if it went well, they might write it up in the weekly print edition of the town paper. Small town life meant they didn't always have enough actual news to make the weekly print edition. I'd have to ask Tony to get a picture of me cuffing his guy so I could give it to the paper for the front page.

I held my phone tightly and typed out my reply.

VONNIE: Absolutely. Send me the deets.

Hopefully, I didn't appear an eager beaver, but I didn't want to give him time to ask someone else.

TONY BALONEY: Great. I'll let you know when. Wear a dress.

His next text came in immediately after.

TONY BALONEY: Make it a short one.

My nose crinkled. I preferred to wear leggings when taking down a criminal. It allowed for better leg movement and general limberness. But I didn't question the master. At least not until we apprehended his mark. Besides, me in a dress cuffing a notorious criminal would look even more kick ass on the front page of the paper.

Brent barked again, reminding me I had a dog issue to deal with before I became paper famous.

Mysterious manly fingers plucked the phone right from my hold.

A deep voice rumbled next to me, still heavy with sleep. "I'm not cool with you getting texts from another dude while I'm in your bed."

I stole the phone back, scowling at the robber. "What the hell?"

I jumped out of bed, my indignation making me forget about the aching body parts. Everything hurt and I'm pretty sure my left shoulder threatened to kill me the next time I slept.

"Why are you still here?" I asked.

After we secured Brent in the bathroom and resumed our argument over his bossiness, I'd ended up leaving Broadrick in the living room when I stormed off to bed.

That didn't seem to get through his thick skull.

The big ass bossy SEAL shrugged as he repositioned himself under my comforter. He didn't look repentant at all. Like not in the slightest. My eyes still weren't one hundred percent working, but I swore he had a smirk on his pretty face. His tattooed arms re-tucked himself under the covers.

"Well?" I demanded, with a hand on my hip for emphasis.

"I got tired," he said smoothly. Like it was no big deal, but it was an enormous deal.

An enormous deal.

My apartment door rattled as someone pounded with a heavy fist on the other side of it. I threw my hands up at Broadrick and ignored the banging. I only had enough patience to deal with one thing at a time. No one had magically brought me an iced coffee yet. A woman could only be expected to do so much before caffeine.

"I heard a dog! No dogs are permitted on the premises," Mrs. Mets wailed between her pounding.

Great.

An infuriating man in my bed, an illegal dog in the bathroom, and a nosey landlord at the door. What a wonderful wakeup call.

Brent, hearing his condemnation, barked louder to make sure the whole complex heard him.

Broadrick chuckled from his spot on the bed.

I narrowed my eyes, still not ready to finish our argument and outline his transgressions. "It's not funny. I'll lose my lease."

He shook his head and threw back the covers, revealing his naked chest and that freaking wonderful six pack he hid under clothing too often. "I'll take care of her."

I grabbed his arm as he tried to walk past me. "Don't kill her."

Broadrick rolled his eyes and tipped his head until we were only inches apart.

For a minute I worried he'd kiss me, but when he didn't, I wondered why not.

Damn me.

"Seriously?" he asked.

"What?" I dropped his arm. "I don't know what you military types consider conflict resolution."

Broadrick continued to the living room to flash his abs at Mrs. Mets-at least she'd be too stunned to kick me out-and I beelined it for my dresser to find something to wear for the day. A shower would have to wait.

One boot cut pair of jeans and a bright pink t-shirt reading "Don't blame me. You left me unsupervised." later, and I was ready to go. I scooped Brent up from the bathroom, promising him a bathroom break on the lawn, and met Broadrick in the living room.

He had his head stuck in the refrigerator. "I thought I'd make breakfast. What are you hungry for?" he asked, closing the door with a clatter.

When did my condiments gets so noisy?

When did I get condiments in my fridge?

"I have to get Brent back to Mrs. Coogs." Brent snuggled into my arm and licked my elbow. His little body never quit wiggling.

Broadrick stared at him. "You don't have a leash."

"Oh, yeah. Well... I figured," I trailed off, letting my gaze find the corner of the room. Fingers crossed he'd supply me with an idea because I had nothing.

I hadn't given it enough thought and now, faced with Brent peeing in Rachel as I drove to Mrs. Coogs' home, I needed a better plan. I couldn't just let him down on the grass because he'd take off again. The little guy didn't even have a collar. He must have lost in during his hijinks the last few days.

"Do you have some twine or something?" he asked.

"Really? Do normal people just keep twine lying around?" I deadpanned. Where did he think he was staying? Army Surplus R Us?

Broadrick rubbed at his forehead. "Anything rope like?"

"Not really. You're the Boy Scout. Aren't you always supposed to be prepared?"

His forehead rubbing intensified. "No one can be prepared for you as their girlfriend."

"I am not your girlfriend." Seriously, the man thought he'd rush back into my life and help me rescue one lost dog and I'd take him back? No.

In my inner rant about the absolute madness of the man-someone needed to let the United States Government know he'd lost his damn mind-an idea struck.

"I have a bathrobe."

"You're not leaving the apartment in your bathrobe." He leaned against the counter, staring at Brent as the dog made out with my elbow.

"First, you can't tell me what to wear." Until that second, I had no desire to wear a bathrobe out of the house, but if he was going to be so bossy about it, maybe I'd start a new fashion trend. "I thought I'd tie the robe belt around his neck."

"Let's make it a harness so you don't choke the poor thing to death."