Page 14 of The Vampire in the Potting Shed

>>I lost ten pounds in sweat this morning when Mercer started asking questions.

>Thanks for last night.

>>Would you think less of me if I admitted I had a blast?

>Ha. No. I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

>>I fell asleep with cow blood on my face, which is even better, imo.

Murmured conversation broke out in the living room, and a minute later, the front door opened.

>Dad just left, so I’m going to get ready for work.

>>See you soon.

Eager to check out the potting shed in daylight, I rushed through dressing in my embroidered scrubs and sleeked my hair back into a bun. Once I had my sneakers on, I scooped Myrtle under my arm then hit the sidewalk. I reached GSG in record time, let myself in, a smile for Sloane on my lips, but she wasn’t the one who strolled in from the kennels.

No.

I wasn’t that lucky.

Bowie, not Sloane, gave me a wink and a grin, offering me a cup of coffee and a donut.

Sidestepping him, I dug out a collar and leash for Myrtle from a cabinet. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking in to let you know I’ve been assigned to your security detail.”

“Congrats.” I fastened Myrtle’s leash to the stainless pad eye mounted on the counter for that purpose. “Welcome to the mostboring job you’ll have in your entire life.” I selected a dog bed from storage, and I don’t think I imagined Myrtle sniffing with disdain. “Look, the fancy-pants bed from yesterday belongs to someone else. You’re going to be stuck out front, with me, on a perfectly nice store-bought bed.”

Unimpressed, Myrtle curled up on the cold floor rather than step paw on an off-the-rack bed.

“That dog is a diva.” Bowie thrust out his offerings. “What was her owner thinking, stashing her here?”

“That they only wanted the best for their beloved dog?” I accepted the bribe, set it aside, and began my half of the opening routine. “Where’s Sloane?” I kept the question casual. “I haven’t seen her yet.”

“That fat tabby got sick, so she’s cleaning up in the cat room.”

“Toblerone’s GERD always acts up when his owners leave him for longer than a week.”

“That’s…” Bowie tilted his head. “Cats get acid reflux?”

“Yep.” I blew out a breath. “I better go check on Sloane before I get started with my first groom.”

Dimple winking in one cheek, Bowie asked, “Do you have lunch plans?”

“I’ll probably work through lunch today. Nothing like expressing anal glands to ruin an appetite.”

A hard swallow later, he backed out the door with a subdued nod, and I went in search of Sloane.

“That was evil,” she said, slipping out of the cat room smelling like blood from the myriad scratches crosshatching her arms. “You could have just said no.”

“The only reason he asked was to obligate me into participating in a Q&A session.”

“Maybe he likes you.”

“Bowie is ambitious, and he stuck his foot in it with Dad with the sister-knocking-my-tooth-out thing.”

Concern pinched her features. “Are you still holding that grudge, though?”

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