“Thanks.” Then smile at my patient’s family before kneeling down to greet Cloyed a very hyper Yorkie who makes me wish that men were as easy to understand as dogs.
The rest of the day passes quickly between patients and back work that I have to catch up on. I don’t leave the building until it’s dark outside, leaving Kayan to go shopping alone, which I regret the next evening when she shows me what she picked up.
“I’m not wearing that.” I look at the black full bodysuit that Kayan just pulled out of the bag she set on my bed.
“You are.” She smiles then walks to the bathroom and comes back a few minutes later wearing a matching black bodysuit that is unzipped, showing cleavage, and a pair of black boots that go to her knee, with three-inch heels. Her black hair is up in a high ponytail, and she has put black smudges under her eyes.
“Come on, go get dressed.” She pushes me toward the bathroom, and I go unwillingly then frown when I put on the outfit. I have no idea how I let her talk me into this. I leave my hair down. The bodysuit shows off every single curve and dimple of cellulite that I have. I don’t have a choice but to leave the top unzipped, because my breasts are so large the zipper is likely to bust. When I come out, she’s in my closet and she comes out with a pair of boots I wore once for Halloween. They are basically stripper boots that are shiny and have five-inch heels.
“I’m not sure about this.” I frown.
“We need to blend in,” she tells me, and my frown grows deeper.
“Blend in where? At the strip club?” I ask, and she laughs, handing me the boots that I reluctantly put on.
We get in my Jeep and go over to the office, and we park off in the distance where it’s completely dark. It’s after ten at night, and from the video footage timestamp, I know whoever dropped the last dog off had done it after midnight.
“What’s that?” I ask as Kayan pulls a bag from the backseat.
“Supplies,” she mumbles distractedly and begins pulling items out. The first is a camera that she sets on the dash. Next is a pair of walkie-talkies that she sets next to the camera, and then a thermos and a box of powdered doughnuts that she holds in her lap.
“I think you’re taking this too far.”
“The guy at the cop store didn’t even let me get everything I wanted.”
“What?” I laugh.
“I wanted to get one of those things you roll out to blow out tires, but he told me I needed to be a cop in order to buy them, along with smoke bombs.”
“Ugh.” I look at her and she smiles.
“This is going to be so much fun,” she whispers, and I shake my head and look out the front window. At one o’clock I’m just about ready to give up and go home, when lights flash and a car pulls into the parking lot. I tap Kayan, who had fallen asleep after eating the whole box of doughnuts while drinking the thermos of hot cocoa.
“What?” she mumbles, and I elbow her again.
Her head comes up as I hiss, “They’re here.”
“Oh shit,” she whispers, pulling the camera off the dash.
I pull out my phone and call one of the vets, Mark, who has been working with me over the last few months. I tell him he needs to get to my office and take care of the dog that was just dropped off, and to call the vet tech on call. He agrees, and I watch as the person drops the dog at the door then gets back in the truck.
Everything in me wants to go to the poor dog, but I know there will be someone coming to help him soon so that I can follow the truck. I need to see if I can find out any more information. When the person gets back in the truck and pulls off, I make sure my headlights are off before I start up the Jeep and follow him out of the parking lot.
“I wonder where he’s going,” I say as we head out of town on one of the back roads.
“Don’t know,” she mumbles, watching the truck in the distance, which pulls into a large parking lot that is packed with cars. That’s when I remember it’s a Friday night. I pull in and park a few spaces behind him then wait until the driver gets out before I open the door to my Jeep. I watch him, taking in what he’s wearing so that I know what to look for if we lose sight of him inside.
“Just so you know, I’m firing you on Monday,” I tell Kayan as I realize the outfit I have on.
“You look smoking hot,” she whispers, but I can tell she’s nervous as well.
I shake my head, slam the door, and head into the building. The moment we walk though the door, the loud country music hits my ears. I follow the guy toward the bar, feeling every single person in the bar looking at Kayan and me. Hell, if I were them, I would be looking too. It’s not everyday you see two chicks dressed like cat-women walk into a country western bar.
“Your dad’s in back, bud,” the bartender tells the guy we followed here. He looks probably twenty-five. He takes his hat off and runs his hand over his hair then gets up and starts walking toward the back of the bar. I start to follow him, when an arm bands around my waist and breath whispers against my ear.
“Where you going, pretty girl?”
I elbow the guy holding me then back up, grabbing Kayan’s hand and pulling her with me toward the restrooms saying. “You’re really getting fired.” As my gaze connects with Wes’, who is standing near a pool table talking to some guy, his eyes sweep over me, and even from across the room, I can see anger enter his handsome features.
“Oh no,” Kayan whispers, and I remind myself to start looking for a new receptionist and best friend on Monday after I have a full-face transplant.
“Run,” I breathe.
“I said run!” I cry, and we both turn and start toward the front of the bar. We get down the hall, almost to freedom when I’m suddenly pulled back into a hard body.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” is growled near my ear, making my whole body shiver.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to get away.
“Z, watch her,” Wes tells a tall guy with a bald head and tattoos that run from his neck and down his arms, which you can see from the white tank and leather vest he has on. His arm muscles look even more intimidating as he stands, crossing his arms over his chest while looking down at my very petite best friend.
“That’s not necessary; we were just leaving,” I say as I’m walked backwards into the men’s restroom through a swinging door.
“Out,” Wes growls to some guys who are standing near the urinals. They all look between Wes and me, zip up their pants quickly, and then rush out of the room.