Page 35 of Bones

My words cut off when she frantically shook her head.

“I get it,” I said honestly. “I’ll drop you off at a hotel.”

And possibly sleep in my truck in the parking lot.

Strike that.

Definitely sleep in my truck in the parking lot.

I didn’t share that part. “You got bags we need to grab first?”

She wrote quickly before stabbing at the paper to get my attention that she’d had from the moment I’d sensed her.

I’ll stay if you’re sure I’m not in the way, but I won’t take your bed.

“You’re not in the way. I get up early as hell, and I don’t want to wake you up when I’m banging around with the grace of a moose on ice skates.”

I don’t sleep much anyway.

“You’d sleep less down here.” I gestured to where my devil dog sat happily near Aurora’s chair. “Victoria sleeps on the couch.”

Then she’ll disrupt your sleep.

“When I fall asleep on the couch, she takes the chair. But she likes you. You’ll wake up to her butt in your face. Or her hot breath. And I’m telling you now, that’s worse.”

She gave me a soft laugh as she wrote again.

What breed of dog is she?

“Vet says part corgi, but no clue what else is in that mix since there’s no papers. Victoria just showed up here a few months ago and claimed the house.”

It’s a pretty name.

“I have my neighbor to thank for that.”

When the Demon Dog had shown up on my porch, I’d taken her to Mabel—my retired neighbor a few miles down the road—to see if she knew the owner. After she’d jokingly suggested the name Victoria, the stubborn dog wouldn’t respond to anything else. I couldn’t hold a grudge. Mabel helped out when I was working late by letting her out, feeding her wet food before she destroyed my furniture in a rage, and taking her to grooming appointments.

Though I was pretty sure she volunteered to do the last part because she liked the visual of me with a fluffy dog in the dopiest bow she could pick out.

“You didn’t answer me about your luggage,” I pointed out.

Her eyes dropped to Victoria as she shrugged.

My brows lowered. “You didn’t bring anything?”

That hollowness returned as I watched her write.

Stolen.

“Where? Did you file a police report?”

She let out a little scoff.

Not worth it. There was nothing important.

“Okay, we’ll figure it out tomorrow.” I had my theory on why she’d been in the woods, but now that she had a way to tell me, I was impatient to know if I was right.

If she felt our connection, too.

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