Tail-Tell Heart

By Jenna M. Fox

A dognapping leaves ER doctor Chris Blevins needing help from the detective she tangled with and whose muscular ass she drew the little red heart on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: Sep 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781612355801

Jenna M. Fox

Jenna also writes as Laura E Reagan. Prepare to delve into the world of Romance Run Amuck. We all know that the road to true love never runs smoothly. I say we celebrate that road. My novels are for those who want to remember why they began reading romances to begin with. They are for you!

Book preview

Tail-Tell Heart

by Jenna M. Fox

Published by

Melange Books, LLC

White Bear Lake, MN 55110

www.melange-books.com

Tail-Tell Heart, Copyright 2007-2013 by Jenna M. Fox

ISBN: 978-1-61235-580-1

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States of America.

Cover Design by Caroline Andrus

TAIL-TELL HEART

by Jenna M. Fox

A dognapping leaves ER doctor Chris Blevins needing help from the detective she tangled with and whose muscular ass she drew the little red heart on.

Table of Contents

Tail-Tell Heart

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About the Author

Previews

To Tania, Charlie, Smoe and Tiny.

My thanks to Nurse Tania Shaughnessy for acting as medical consultant

Chapter One

13th Precinct. Midtown Manhattan

Detective Chuck Hollis’ dark brows shot upwards as his deep train of thought suddenly derailed. The white blur of a folded paper plane sailed into his line of vision. It struck him in the chin before falling to his desk. He peered up from his papers to find his partner, Randy Wilkins, rising from behind his desk and snatching his coat from his chair.

What?

We gotta go, Chuck. Randy was already heading for the door.

Are you kidding me? It’s freezing out there!

Adillo was just identified as the shooter in last night’s robbery. We got a location on him.

Adillo? Son of a bitch! What does this make, huh? The second or third time he’s gotten out of jail free? Chuck climbed out of his chair, covering his long-sleeved t-shirt and shoulder harness firearm with his brown tweed jacket. It belonged with a pair of dress pants, but he had grabbed it by mistake, as he left his apartment that morning. He knew, as he shrugged it on, it would not prevent him from freezing his ass off.

The two headed for their car. Wilkins, as usual, drove, giving his partner time to light up.

You know, Randy began as he started the engine and pulled out into the street, When I joined the force, I did it to help people. Now, all I want to do is live to see retirement.

The 42-year-old Chuck agreed. I know what you mean. You got a lot longer than I do. Odds say I’ll make it. If I don’t quit first.

Not you! Not the hero!

Cut the crap.

You are a hero, my friend!

Yeah? Well, tell that to the store owner lying in his own body fluids.

Look Chuck, you got Adillo. What happened after that was not your fault. Between the lawyer pleading him down and the judge going along with it, hell, he was bound to get off with hardly any time. We put them in and the lawyers get their raggedy asses out. But, you got him.

Don’t mean shit tonight. Chuck stared out into the freezing rain. The night felt sleazy, the city seemed to ooze and belch nastiness, making the falling white snow just a part of the gray slush once it hit the streets. From pure to poisoned. Chuck continued to stare out into the shiny slick streets, thinking of his small apartment and the puny little Christmas tree waiting to welcome the hero home. No family, no pets, just a bottle of Jack Daniels and a half a carton of Chesterfields, and that poor little fake drug store tree with its strand of multi-colored lights. It was amazing how it cheered the place up. With all of the apartment lights off, he could sit back, put his feet up, listen to Dean Martin singing Christmas tunes, and for a while, almost forget that he was alone. Did I ever tell you about Slivovitz?

Slivovitz, Randy tried the name out. Was that a bust?

No. He was this cop from my old neighborhood. One day we were all out playing in the yard, me and my buddies, and this police cruiser pulls up across the street. Well, this little old lady lived there and her cat had gotten up a tree and she was having a damn fit. Slivovitz came waddling up, looked up the tree, and began to climb it. Me and the guys were laughing our asses off, watching this fat ass cop dragging his girth up this tree. Never occurred to us that we could have climbed up there and gotten the cat. No. We just stood there laughing at his fat ass. It was his job after all.

What happened?

Well, he got the cat and he made it down. We were laughing, talking about how lame he was, hoping he would split his pants. It wasn’t pretty, but he made it down.

Good for him.

"Anyway, we were laughing and shit, and he hands that cat to that old lady and the look on her face, man. I’ll never forget it. She had tears streaming down her cheeks, hugging her damn cat. It was pissed. It

wanted down. Then she hugged Slivovitz. And it hit me. I mean, he could have fallen out of that damn tree and broken his damn neck, but he climbed up anyway. He did it and he made a difference in that old lady’s life. I never forgot the look on that little old lady’s face. You would have thought he was Superman, you know? He was a hero that day, and we laughed at him. He retired a week after I joined."

Wow. Break out the tissue box, will ya?

Screw you.

What made you think of Slivovitz?

I don’t know. He made a difference that day.

I thought maybe you wanted to go join the ASPCA or something.

Nah. Hell no. I was just thinking.

Reminiscing is a sure sign of old age.

So is dreaming of retirement. What’s your point?

Just wondering what happened to your ten year plan. You told me you were going to have it all by the time you reached forty. Family, kids...

You’re my family.

No, Chuck. You were going to have a wife and kids. What happened? You just give up on that dream?

I’ll get around to it.

I’ll bet that’s what you said ten years ago.

What are you, my mother? His gaze trained ahead towards a corner convenient store. His focus grew intense, fighting the almost blinding fluorescent red words that blinked above a small group of men, advertising cold beer. Three men stood huddled on the corner before the store. The trio looked suspicious, but tonight, only one held any interest for him. Hey, over there. Mr. Corn Rolls. Isn’t that our guy?

Adillo. That’s him. Another store.

Let’s get this son of a bitch.

Again.

As Randy bounced the Crown Victoria over the small curb and onto the sidewalk, the suspect turned and fled around the corner and into the freezing night.

Tell me he’s not going down the alley. Shit! Chuck flipped his cigarette of the window, disgusted. He did not want to be heading down a dark alley in this nasty weather, but there was nothing else he could do. Shit. He opened the car door. I’ll play Cujo. You swing around and cut him off. Go!

Chuck barely heard the Crown Victoria as it squealed away from him. He was blasted with the frigid chill that met and swirled about him. Reaching under his thin tweed jacket, he pulled his firearm and gave chase. The alleyway became eerily quiet in its darkness, cut off from the rest of the noisy city. Keeping low, he quickened his steps, trying to still his own breathing, not wanting to give Adillo a chance to spot him by any visible huffs of breath. Too late, he heard a loud clang, a cat screeched, and he saw the flash of a gun. He dove, crashing onto the pavement, hearing glass shatter and the unmistakable sound of feet running past him. The smell of garbage assailed his nostrils as he rolled to his side. Bad idea, he knew immediately as he felt his torso and side being flayed from his body.

Son of a bitch.

* * * *

Bellevue Hospital’s emergency ward was decorated for the Christmas holidays, but it felt more like Halloween to the people working there that night. So far, it had proved a very busy and bloody night. The latest excitement had come in the form of a highly agitated male patient, suffering from acute anxiety. To the attending doctor’s assumption, his episode had been brought on, no doubt, by excessive recreational use of narcotics. It was not his first visit.

The male patient could be heard yelling obscenities as he struggled against the attendants trying to subdue and restrain him. Out of the tangled fray of arms and legs slid the attending Dr. Chris Blevins, her doctor’s coat hanging askew, and her dark red hair falling from its confines. Stumbling out into the main hallway in her Jimmy Choos, she moved further away from the fight.

Adjusting her pastel pink skirt and plucking at her matching silk blouse, she checked to make certain her string of pearls had not been ripped away in the fracas. Her pearls had survived. However, her blouse had not been so lucky. At first, she thought it had been pulled from its buttons, but upon closer examination, she realized several buttons had been ripped away. Shaking her head in muted anger, she knew what she had slipped on as she disentangled herself.

She displayed a tight smile as a nurse joined her. Nice top... less. Denise was funny, African American, and Chris’s best friend, her only friend.

Yeah, Chris sighed, trying to fold the blouse together. Finally, she shrugged and gave up, thankful she’d worn a camisole underneath.

What is it with the men tonight? Denise inclined her head toward the last room she’d vacated.

Full moon, Chris answered, pushing away a loosened strand of hair from her eyes. Did you know that emergency cases rise forty-six percent on nights with a full moon?

Do you have statistics for every occasion?

Chris shrugged, tucking the wayward strand of hair behind her ear. I like statistics. They’re orderly.

Yeah? When was the last time you felt surprised by someone or something? Denise wondered aloud, taking the file from Chris and handing her a new one. Anything?

I don’t do surprises, Denise.

Then why do you work in the emergency room?

Statistically speaking, I know exactly what to expect on any given night. For example, tonight, we can expect the following, in order of amount of occurrences: heart attack, stroke, stomach pain, lacerations, pregnancies, attempted suicide, knife wound, drug overdose, broken bones, gunshot wound. See? I know exactly what tonight holds. No surprises.

Thanks for taking all the fun out of it.

Who’s next?

Denise handed Chris the latest folder. One of New York City’s finest. Injury to his side and doesn’t like hospitals. I heard his partner threatening him just to get him in here.

Wonderful. A big baby. She rolled her eyes and carrying the file with her, crossed the hallway and stepped into the examining room. The metal rings slid noisily as she peeled back the privacy curtain.

There he sat, on the exam table, his back to her, his broad shoulders moving as he spoke into his cell phone. Surely, he knew cell phones were not allowed in the ER. She cleared her throat delicately, closing the curtain again.

He barely spared her a glance before turning back to his call, as if she’d interrupted him.

Yeah, hey, the nurse just came back, so I’ll call you later. Flipping the phone closed, he tossed an order over his shoulder. Can we get a doctor in here, honey? I don’t have all night.

Chris was used to this sort of chauvinistic remark, but usually they came from men much older than this one. It astonished and angered her that this man would make a remark that cloddish. Her Irish rose slightly, along with one slender tawny eyebrow. Affecting her best cheerleader’s voice, she hoped she sounded all of sixteen years old. Oh, well, the doctor is really busy. He said for me to take care of you. She wondered if he could hear the sarcasm dripping from her mouth.

Alright. Fine, honey. Just give me a shot of whatever and I’m outta here.

Fine, just drop your pants. She hoped her normal voice signaled to him her experience, levity, and her growing irritation.

The words she spoke caused him to swing back around to face her. His loud hiss was evidence of the pain his sudden movement caused him. Ignoring his distress, she set the folder aside and struck a pose, her hands riding her hips, spreading open her lab coat. She hoped to impress upon him that he was talking to a doctor. She watched as his gaze raked her from head to toe. He grinned. This was not the response she’d wanted. His grin only deepened and she realized his gaze was concentrated on her unbuttoned blouse. To her deep chagrin, he laughed quietly.

Look, sweetheart. There are only two reasons I take my pants off. Having a needle jammed into my ass ain’t one of them. He moved to slide out of his jacket, his efforts painful to watch. He was obviously suffering and having a lot of trouble peeling it from his shoulders. Finally, he laid the jacket across his denim-clad legs and worked his t-shirt sleeve up, sticking his arm out for the shot.

Turning away from the laughter in his blue eyes, she snapped the latex gloves onto her hands. He had to be kidding, after that remark and calling her honey and sweetheart. Sorry detective, this shot goes in below the belt, or it doesn’t go in.

Geez, get me a doctor. I don’t have time for this.

Neither do I. She moved closer. Now, let’s get these pants off. She reached in for the closure of his jeans. He moved quickly to stop her, laughing nervously. His fingers slid around her latex covered wrists, holding her still.

Slow down, baby, he chided in a teasing, husky voice.

Instead of pushing her away, she realized he was keeping her close to him. He seemed to stare a hole into her skull, his dark brows gathering at the bridge of his nose. Have we met before? he asked. As soon as the words were out, he clamped his mouth shut, shook his head, and continued to stare.

She knew he was trying his best to come on to her. She had to admit the look he gave her was very sexy, as if he were very close to kissing her. She was also captivated by the spicy scent he wore. It stirred her just being this close to him. She stared into his eyes and it felt as if she were seeing him in a different setting. Had they met before? Had she blinked since he’d taken hold of her wrists?

Why do you want my pants off, huh? He whispered the words close to her ear, easing her hand closer.

Nonplussed, she answered him. Because, I might need to draw some blood.

What? The color drained from his face.

Just a little prick will do.

Whoa, he laughed nervously, shoving her hands away. His eyes flashed dangerously. The curtain was wrenched back and Denise entered the room. He seemed to relax seeing another person, though Denise carried a metal tray for the examination.

Thank God, you’re here, he said, jerking his thumb towards Chris. I think this one escaped from the psych ward. You might want to take Psycho Barbie back and get her some meds.

Denise lifted a perfect eyebrow over her ebony eyes, giving this man her best, Oh, no you didn’t look. Turning to Chris, she smiled. Will that be all, Dr. Blevins? she asked.

"Yes, thank you,