Chasing Her Tail (13 page)

“For tiny people.”

Bridget snorted at that before quickly turning the sound into a fake sneeze.

John picked up a black leather collar that was studded with fake diamonds. “How about this one?”

Not bad
, Bridget thought, surprised that she really didn’t mind that one.
I like the
bling.

“Do you like the pink one better?”

God no. I’d look like Paris Hilton’s Chihuahua dressed me.

After studying both collars for a few moments, he put the pink one back on the shelf. “The black one’s a little classier, don’t you think?”

Nothing says classy like black leather and rhinestones.

John squatted down so he was at her eye level. “What’s with the sneezing, sweet pea—are you getting a cold or something?” He eyed her carefully. “Maybe I should take you to the vet. I’ll call tomorrow for an appointment. I probably should check if anyone’s missing a dog too.” He sounded so sad that Bridget gave his hand a quick lick.

Don’t worry, John. No one’s reported me missing.
Or had they? She was brought up short by the thought. The men who’d been chasing her in the hospital parking lot and 66

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breaking into her house knew she could change into a dog. Would they be advertising their “lost” pet in an effort to track her down?

“There. You’re looking fine, sweet pea.” John’s voice brought her out of her panicked thoughts. He’d buckled the collar around her neck and was now moving her head from side to side, admiring how it looked. Picking up the matching leash, he pulled off the temporary slip lead, to Bridget’s relief. She hadn’t liked the idea that the leash could’ve tightened, cutting off her oxygen.

“It looks nice with your fur,” he told her, clipping the leash to her collar, and she wagged her tail halfheartedly.

If someone had told me a week ago that I was going to be wearing a leather collar and
matching leash, led around by the sweetest, most built guy I’ve ever met, I would have laughed
and laughed.

John’s hand stroked over her head as he led her to the checkout.

Although
, she mused, her eyes half-closing in pleasure as his fingers lingered on her ears,
it’s not as bad as I expected.

Especially since John didn’t remember the dog food until they were halfway home.

Once he’d found Bridget’s scent, it was easy. The rain had actually enhanced the trail, making it a simple matter to follow the route she’d taken the night before. Micah paced himself, resisting the urge to flat-out run, but the smell of Bridget overlaid with blood was thick in his nose, making it hard to think rationally. He should have risked changing earlier, while it was still light. He forced himself to concentrate on tracking.

He followed her trail into a town—Myra, the sign read—and behind and through a residential neighborhood and up to the front porch of a house. A thrill rushed through him—he was close. Micah closed down that bubbly excitement since the trail was still old—at least twenty-four hours—and he didn’t think she’d stayed long.

He circled out from the porch, hoping to pick up her trail again. After four passes, he found her scent once more. Micah wasn’t sure what had driven her off that porch, where he’d figured she’d intended to spend the night, but she had headed straight down the road, away from the direction she’d come from originally.

Another person’s scent underlay Bridget’s. It was a man and it was…intriguing, warm and spicy with undertones of sweat and pheromones. Following their combined trail, it wasn’t long before he trotted up a driveway. A quick check showed that Bridget had entered this door.

Micah huffed with relief and a bit of humor. She’d found herself an owner.

Although he was glad she’d been safe and dry last night, Micah still couldn’t feel settled. Had she taken off to who-knew-where early this morning? The nice-smelling man she’d picked up last night could’ve taken her to the animal pound. He circled the front yard, not able to pick up on any trails except the one she came in on. With her scent scattered around this area, however, Micah couldn’t be sure of anything.

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Slinking along the side of the house, he circled the exterior of the fence. Bridget had been back here more recently and the scent of her made him dizzy. Although he wanted to stay, to watch until he saw her, Micah knew he could get a lot more information as a walking, talking human.

After a long backward glance, he headed back in the direction of the road.

She smelled him before she saw him.

John had taken her out on a run through the crisp darkness and they had jogged through the streets of Myra, the air smelling of wood smoke and dying leaves. Bridget loved this part of being a dog, this athletic ability, this capacity to run and run without getting tired.

As they slowed to a walk a block away from John’s house, Bridget felt uneasy, oddly prickly. Three houses down from his, she caught a scent and stopped dead.

Micah.

“What’s wrong, sweet pea?” John’s voice was low as he looked around, his body tensing in response to her reaction. Bridget eyed him, unsure of what to do. The collar made her edgy. If she’d been free to run off, she would have.

On the other hand, she hesitated to leave John alone. He was a mountain of a man and could definitely take care of himself, but he didn’t know the situation.

I
don’t know the situation
, Bridget reminded herself. She gave in to John’s tugs on the leash and began walking again, staying close by his side.

John was still tense. She could feel his muscles vibrating, could smell the change in his sweat as he walked toward the car parked in front of his house. As they drew closer, Bridget used all her senses, her head swiveling as she tried to smell and hear and see Micah before he could ambush them.

“Hi.”

Bridget jumped and felt John start as Micah stepped out of the shadows of the porch.

“Can I help you?” John’s voice was sharp with nervous energy that had converted to irritation.

“Sorry.” Micah was smiling affably and Bridget eyed him uneasily. She was more familiar with his surly side. “I know it’s late. It’s just that your neighbor mentioned you’d found a dog and I was hoping it was my nephew’s dog.” His eyes fell to Bridget.

“That’s her! Hey, Bridget! We’ve been worried sick about you, you silly dog.” She had the impression he was talking through gritted teeth.

“She’s yours?” John’s face was expressionless, although his eyes were wary.

Micah looked at him again. “My nephew’s actually. I was supposed to watch the dog while he and his dad were on vacation. Bridget took off yesterday, the first day I had her at my house. Great dogsitter, huh?” He smiled too widely again. Bridget 68

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wished he’d stop doing that—it was really freaking her out. She glanced at John, whose expression hadn’t changed.

“Do you have any proof that she’s yours?” John asked.

The fake smile fell away. “Proof?”

“Vet records, pictures, bill of sale—anything to prove ownership?”

Hah!
Take that, Mr. Can’t-Make-Up-Your-Mind-If-You’re-Interested-In-Me-Or-Not!

Bridget was starting to enjoy this. With an unyielding John at her side, it was much easier to feel safe than when she saw him as she was fleeing from home intruders. She cocked her head and eyed Micah with interest. He was starting to look annoyed.

“They have all that stuff at my brother’s house,” he said. Now he was definitely talking with his jaw clamped shut. “Look, buddy, I’ve been searching for her for the past day and a half. Why would I go to all this trouble if she wasn’t mine—my nephew’s, I mean?”

John let a beat or two of silence pass before answering. “I have no idea. What I
do
know is that you’re here at my house at eleven at night, lying your ass off. You come back tomorrow with some proof that this dog is yours, then we’ll talk. Right now, I think you’d better go.”

Bridget watched Micah, waiting for him to explode. Instead he closed his eyes for a few seconds. When they opened, he looked incredibly tired.

“I need to talk to you, Bridget,” he said directly to her. She stared at him, shocked that he’d dropped the dog-owner act. “I know my family’s the cause of this whole mess but there’s a guy after you, a really dangerous guy, and I just want to keep you safe.”

“Talking to the dog isn’t helping to prove your sanity here, buddy,” John told him.

“I know.” Micah grinned crookedly at John. “Sorry to drag you into this—both of you. I’ll be back tomorrow. Promise to keep her safe for me?”

John nodded, still wary. “Of course. I’ll be home by six, so swing by anytime after that. Maybe not this late though, huh?”

“Sure.” Micah turned toward his car but then paused to look back at them. “Oh and Bridget, Sam wants you to know that he’s really, really sorry.”

Sam.
That confirmed what Bridget had suspected—the puppy in her classroom, the one that had sunk its sharp little teeth into her wrist, was Sam. He’d turned her into this dog-human hybrid. As she watched Micah get into his car and pull away from the curb, Bridget couldn’t decide how she felt about that.

“What the fuck was that about?” John muttered, drawing her attention. Bridget gave her best dog shrug, which entailed a cock of her head and a blank stare. “Yeah, I don’t know either. If that
is
your owner, no wonder you left. He’s messed up.”

Tell me about it.

“Cute but messed up.” With a shake of his head, he started toward the front door.

Bridget stared after him until the leash hit its full length and yanked her forward.

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“Cute”?
she thought in shock as she followed him into the house. John was gay?

How had she missed that she was crushing on a gay guy?

“Is that your name? Bridget?” he asked, unhooking the leash from her collar.

Bridget hesitated, unsure of how to respond. If Micah knew her name, that went a long way toward proving ownership. On the other hand, it had been a relief to hear her real name, an acknowledgement of the person beneath all this fur. On still another hand, “sweet pea” wasn’t half-bad as a name. She waved her tail uncertainly, not sure if that was telling John anything at all.

“Weird name for a dog,” he said. “Better than what I’ve been calling you though, I suppose.” Wandering into the living room, he plopped down on the couch and picked up the remote. Bridget followed, jumping onto the couch and curling up next to him, her head resting on his thigh.

His hand massaged her ears as he frowned down at her, ignoring the late-night talk show that lit up the TV screen.

“Knew I shouldn’t have gotten attached,” he muttered.

You and me both, buddy
. Bridget’s sigh emerged as a whine.

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When John finally fell asleep in bed later that night, Bridget slipped out into the hall and changed. She knew that it wasn’t much use trying to get on his computer again.

When she was at the office with him, he’d logged on while Bridget was in the other room, so she hadn’t had a chance to watch him type his password. Besides, he was probably a careful enough guy to have a different password for each computer.

She mainly changed to make sure she still could. There was a niggling fear at the back of Bridget’s mind that she wouldn’t be able to change back one of these days, that she’d be stuck in dog form for the rest of her considerably shortened life.

Now, standing naked and shivering in the hallway, she didn’t know what to do.

Almost without consciously deciding on anything, she padded silently back into the bedroom, her heart banging in her ears.

John was restless, his head moving against the pillow as he muttered incomprehensible words. Bridget moved closer, despite a voice in her head screaming at her to retreat to the hallway and change back into her dog shape. Instead, she walked closer, wanting to see this man with her human eyes, to see if he was as fascinating and huge and lust-inspiring as she thought from her dog perspective.

He was. Bridget stopped a few feet away and looked at him. He was still moving, obviously in the middle of a dream, and she had to resist trying to smooth away the worry lines twisting his eyebrows together.

He’s gay, dummy
, she mocked herself, but it didn’t stop her from taking another step toward him.

His eyes opened and he bolted upright.

“It’s you!” he said, blinking hard, as if that would make her disappear before his eyes.

Bridget was frozen in place, unable to move or think or speak.

“How’d you get in here?” he asked. “Who
are
you?”

“I’m the dog,” she finally answered in a croak, saying the first thing that crossed her mind and then immediately cursing herself.

“You’re the
what
?” He rubbed his eyes and then stared at her, his eyes flicking down over her body and reminding her that she was totally naked. Naked, that was, except for the leather and rhinestone dog collar snugly circling her neck.

“The dog.” She didn’t know why she was telling him the truth. He’d be calling the cops in a second and she’d be on her way to a psych evaluation.

To forestall any calling of the authorities, and because she’d been dying to ever since she changed back, Bridget took the two steps to the edge of the bed, leaned over 71

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and kissed him. The man let the kiss cling for several seconds before tearing his head away.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I knew I wasn’t dreaming last night.”

There was something in the way he’d looked at her naked form, something in the way he’d allowed the kiss to continue, that gave Bridget hope. Besides, the one taste of him hadn’t been enough. Bridget caught his face in her hands and kissed him again, harder this time, bruising her lips against her teeth. She’d wanted Micah but had gotten scared. Now she wanted this man and she wasn’t running away this time.

Seizing her arms, he pulled her down and flipped them both over so she was pinned beneath him, arms captive above her head. A touch of nervousness was drowned out by adrenaline and lust and she surged up toward him, trying to reconnect her mouth with his. He stayed just out of reach, holding her down easily.