Page 44 of The Right to Remain Mine

Closing her eyes, she squeezed Dylan closer for a brief second, and then she pulled away, giving them a brave grin. "I'm so happy for you guys."

~ * ~

Raith was starving. Though it had been a scheduled day off for him, he'd just worked from noon to eight, and he'd been so swamped with calls, there hadn't been time to stop and take a meal break. He'd found a squashed pack of crackers under the seat of his patrol car and still been so hungry after wolfing them down, he'd licked the excess crumbs from the package.

It was a good thing he'd eaten DeVane's cereal for breakfast. If he'd gone home for his own brand, he wouldn't have gotten any whole grain nutrition, and probably would've passed out hours ago.

He wasn't feeling very stable as it was. And the only thing he could find in his cupboards that would make any kind of meal was canned tuna. Hands shaking from the hunger pangs, he opened the tin lid and scooped out the meat inside, only to stop halfway through the task. He cringed as he stared at what he was fixing for himself.

"Hell, I could have leftovers better than this at DeVane's," he muttered aloud, yanking a spoon from the drawer and eating the tuna cold and plain.

After tossing the empty can, he pulled a beer from the fridge and popped the cap. He turned on only one light in the living room and prowled the dimly-lit floor, not even bothering to watch the muted television as he drank heartily.

He'd been serious when he'd said he could get better leftovers at DeVane's. Hell, that lasagna he'd eaten the first night at her place had been damn fine. Wondering what else she might have lingering in her refrigerator, he suddenly remembered seeing a reusable container next to the milk carton that morning.

His stomach gurgled, letting him know the tuna hadn't filled his stomach at all. After finishing his beer, he headed out the back door. As he climbed into his truck, he told himself this wasn't about DeVane or her body or even getting a little companionship. This was only about filling his stomach.

So, why did his heart race at the thought of seeing her again? And why did he make a quick detour by his bedside nightstand before leaving?

The area about five inches down from his belly obviously wasn't so convinced this trip had anything to do with food. It clearly heard the handful of condom packages crinkling in his pockets with every move he made, and realizing where he was headed, it sprang to attention, impatient to reach their destination.

Though her ritzy neighborhood was only about a ten-minute trek across town, Raith thought he'd never reach DeVane's place. Glad he was no longer on duty because he'd seen about twenty traffic violations on the way over, half of them his own, he couldn't seem to obey the speed limit until he finally turned down her street. Then he slowed so as not to look too eager.

About to pull in her drive, he punched the brake when he found

another automobile already sitting behind her BMW. Eyes narrowing, Raith hit the gas and kept driving. He crept around the block, his mind whirling the entire way. Who the hell was inside with her? Instantly imagining her in the bedroom with some loser, he gripped his hands tight around the steering wheel. If it was DiAngelo, Raith was going to kill him.

He blew out a breath. The damn fool woman. Maybe he hadn't been clear enough about the whole "exclusive" speech he'd given her the night before. Or maybe he'd been too clear, and this was her way of showing him his dominant male attitude wasn't going to fly with her. Or worse yet, maybe this was her saying she was done with him.

Muttering curses under his breath, Raith slowed in front of her house and spontaneously pulled to the curb across the street, put his truck in park and killed the engine. Damn it, now he was staking out her house. If Lewis didn't serve him with a restraining order by the end of the week, he'd be surprised. He couldn't believe he'd turned stalker.

There was no way he was moving until he found out whose car that was, though. Tempted to pull out his cell phone, call dispatch and give them the tag number of the maroon Lexus, he sat stiffly, barely stopping himself from using his connection for personal gain.

A five-minute wait later, he hit pay dirt. Rubbing his frozen fingers together and blowing out a white cloud of frosty air, he paused in the middle of a body-trembling shiver and sat forward. At the side of the house, DeVane's back door came open. A shadowed male form stepped out into the night and started down her drive, dodging iced-over puddles formed from the rain earlier in the day that had frozen by sundown. His body went taut.

So she was seeing someone else. Damn it, he couldn't believe she had screwed another man. The taillights flashed once on the Lexus as it was unlocked, and then Raith's mystery man opened the driver's side door. As the interior light flooded out and filtered over his face, he sucked in a startled breath.

"What the hell," he uttered aloud, falling back into his seat.

Dylan Taggart climbed into his car, shut the door and started the engine. After his encounter with the ex-con that first night at DeVane's, Raith had done a background check. He'd been bowled over to discover the scumbag he'd once known was now Dr. Dylan Taggart.

The man had cleaned his act up years ago, gotten an education and become a veterinarian, a very good vet judging by all the awards and honorable mentions he'd won for his work. He'd opened a large animal, equine veterinary clinic on the north side of town and led a very distinguished career, frequently volunteering his time at the humane society and providing his services pro bono.

He'd married DeVane's first cousin, Dr. Camille Fletcher, who was a child psychologist. She'd been plastered to Taggart's side in almost every picture of him in the newspaper Raith had found during his online research. The two were always holding each other close and grinning at the camera as one or the other of them posed with a plaque for their upstanding roles in the community.

They'd seemed like the ideal loving couple at the theatre when Taggart had rushed to her side and bent over backward trying to placate his petite wife.

Realizing that was all a sham, Raith sneered as the door to the car reopened and Taggart slid out again.

"Oh, go back for more, asshole," he muttered under his breath. "Your sweet little pregnant wife is just sitting at home all alone while you're here, doing her..."

His words died as the back door opened and his sweet little pregnant wife stepped outside, followed by DeVane herself. Taggart hurried to Camille's side and took her hand, helping her manage the icy puddles. Glancing back at his car, Raith suddenly realized exhaust was coming from its tailpipe. It was still running. Taggart had only been going out to warm up the car for her.

Mrs. Taggart paused to give DeVane a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, to which her husband promptly followed suit, wrapping an arm around her waist before pressing his mouth to her temple.

Suddenly glad he sat alone in his truck so no one could know what a fool he'd just made of himself, Raith watched DeVane shiver and pull her coat tighter around her as she stood on the back porch and waited for her guests to make it safely to their ride. Once Taggart opened the door for his wife and helped her into the passenger seat, DeVane finally turned and went inside.

Raith hunkered in his truck and stewed. He'd been jealous. He'd been goddamn jealous, and he didn't like the sensation. Wanting to escape the emotions raging through him, he told himself to put his truck into drive and take himself back home before he got sucked into something deeper than he could handle. But he really wanted to see DeVane. So he loitered a while longer before coming to the decision he needed to get laid. And fed.

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