Page 47 of Decoding Morse

He cleared his throat. “I'll walk you up.”

“Don’t bother.”

I headed for the stairs, half expecting him to stop me, but he didn’t. Of course not. He clearly couldn’t risk tripping and accidentally shoving his tongue down my throat again. No, we wouldn’t want that, would we? Irritation rode me up the stairs until I reached the landing leading to our rooms and heard a shout of surprise coming from down the hall.

“The fuck…? Ahh! It’s pissing!”

Dread curdled my stomach as I pictured the likely culprit.

It couldn’t be.

Hurrying my steps, I turned down the hallway in time to watch a naked biker burst out of the men’s room door carrying a wriggling, black furball in his fully extended hands.

The man spotted me and asked, “This little pisser belong to you?”

“Uh… y-yeah. Sorry.” I fumbled over the answer because, again, the biker was nude, wearing nothing but a collection of brightly colored tattoos. Metal glinted from his… uh… equipment, but I endeavored not to look too closely.

I didn’t have to ask what had happened because that much was evident. Bailey had somehow escaped the tyranny of the loving family who kept her safe and sought refuge in the porcelain stalls of the community showers, only to be discovered by a bathing biker. Around my house, coaxing the dog out of the bathroom so people could use it without her staring at them was a common occurrence. The naked biker was a new touch.

“What the hell’s wrong with it?” the man asked.

Before I could answer, the door to our room flung open, and Thia and Morgan spilled into the hallway.

“Morgan, go back inside, we’ve got this,” I said at the same time Thia announced, “Oh my God, he’s naked!”

Despite the warning—or possibly because of it—Morgan’s head whipped around, and she took in the sight, shrugged, and walked back into the room, clearly unimpressed by his bulging muscles, violent body art, and positively intimidating scrotum piercing.

“I only got two hands,” the biker said in defense.

Now that I’d drawn closer, I recognized him as Zombie, one of the men who’d been smoking by the door the night we’d temporarily relocated to the fire station.

“Well, hand her over,” Thia said as she approached.

Instead, Zombie pulled the dog closer, shielding her from Thia. “First, you need to tell me who the fuck’s been beatin’ on this poor puppy.”

Thia and I shared a what-the-hell look.

“N-nobody,” I replied, more than a little intimidated by how he glared at us like we were responsible for Bailey’s current malfunction.

“Then why’s she so scared?” he cuddled her against his side, stroking her head.

Bailey shuddered, eyes wide, legs twitching to run. She valued snuggle time about as much as Morgan did, and flight was her default response. The little mutt was clever, nimble, and all about survival. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some weasel in her lineage.

“Our girl there was the runt of the litter,” Thia explained, hands up and palms out to prove her harmless intentions as she stepped closer.

Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs behind me.

“Abandoned with her siblings at a shelter when they were newborn,” she continued. “Not even old enough to be weaned. Bailey was so tiny and helpless the shelter was afraid her siblings would crush her, so they separated her from the rest of the litter and kept her in a bathtub.”

I glanced behind me in time to watch Havoc lunge onto the landing and turn toward us, concern furrowing his brow. Questions glinted in his eyes, but Zombie’s expression was softening with Thia’s story, so I threw up a hand to let Havoc know we had this. At least for now. His presence was comforting, though, especially since I knew who’d likely sent him. I scanned the hallway, searching for cameras, but only spotted signs cautioning of their presence. Despite everything, Morse was still watching over me. Even though my irritation with him hadn’t faded, I appreciated him having our backs.

“They separated her from her brothers and sisters?” Zombie asked, his anger draining into a sorrow so deep and dark it tugged at my heartstrings. This was a guy who clearly knew what it meant to be lonely.

“Yeah.” Thia nodded, and the concern in her eyes told me she’d picked up on it, too. “Bailey never learned how to be a puppy. They tried to integrate her when she was old enough to survive, but she was an outsider by then, and the other puppies never really accepted her. She’s a weirdo, but she’sourlittle weirdo. We’d never let anyone hurt her.”

He watched the dog as if waiting for her to verify the story but finally handed her over to Thia, who immediately lowered her to the floor. Still trembling, Bailey went straight to her belly in what we referred to as her don’t-touch-me pose.

“Come on, girl,” Thia said, heading for the door to one of our rooms. “Let’s get a treat.”

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