Zane set the cage on the sideboard in the hallway and headed for the bathroom. The dog instantly yowled in the most miserable way he’d ever heard an animal cry.

“Ah, shit!” he cursed and turned back to the cage. He released the lock and opened the grid door. He reached for the dog and pulled him out, fully intent on setting him down on the floor so he could roam around. But when he felt the soft fur of the Labrador puppy beneath his fingers, Zane instinctively brought the animal to his chest and stroked his hand over its back. The dog turned his head and licked Zane’s hairless chest.

Some of his anger dissipated. He couldn’t really blame the dog for Yvette’s actions. “And don’t think I’m gonna keep you. It’s just for the day.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I won’t have enough time to get you to Yvette’s and back here before sunrise.” He could if he rushed, but he wasn’t in the mood right now.

The dog gave a soft woof as if he understood.

“And I’m not calling you Zane.” He’d call him Z, but only for today. Tomorrow night he’d return the dog to Yvette and be done with it.

As he walked into the kitchen to get the dog a bowl of water, his phone rang. He grabbed the receiver next to the fridge and answered it. “Yes?”

“I believe you’ve found your gift by now,” Samson said nonchalantly.

“I ain’t keeping him. You can tell Yvette. She’ll take that fucking dog back tomorrow or I’ll dropkick him down her street.”

The dog made puppy eyes at him, and Zane rubbed his thumb along his ear. Little Z probably had dirt for brains anyway and didn’t understand a single word he said, so why did he get the sense that he’d just hurt the dog’s feelings?

“He’s part of the package, so treat him nicely, and that’s an order.”

Zane grunted.

“And a file with details of your next assignment is in his cage. You’ll report tomorrow after sunset to relieve Oliver. Good luck.”

A click in the line confirmed that Samson had disconnected the call, giving Zane no chance to comment. He slammed the receiver down.

“Asshole!”

The dog yelped. “Not you!” Zane stroked his hand over the dog’s head and snout. Instantly, the dog rolled sideways in his arms, exposing his belly. Zane got the hint and rubbed his knuckles along the dog’s fur.

A few moments later, he reluctantly set the dog on the floor and retrieved the file from the cage.

As he read through the detailed instructions, rage instantly boiled over.

“You fucking jerks,” he cursed. “You want me to babysit?” They couldn’t have simply relegated him to a desk job to punish him? No, they had to turn him into Nanny McPhee to a volatile, spoiled, and probably suicidal girl who was seeking attention.

“Oh, I’ll show you, assholes!”

The dog tilted his head, giving him another dose of his puppy-eyed look. Zane crouched down to him and shelved his snout on his palm. “You’re probably gonna get hungry, aren’t you? So unless you like Mrs. Hernandez’ home-canned plums, I suppose we have to go shopping for dog food tonight.”

His neighbor, Mrs. Hernandez, had cornered him in the backyard a few times and palmed off some jars of plums from her garden on him. Instead of instantly tossing them in the trash, he’d stashed them in one of the many empty kitchen cabinets, not knowing what else to do with them. He wasn’t used to people giving him things.

Chapter Six

Portia folded her arms across her chest as she leaned back in the passenger seat of the black limousine her bodyguard Oliver was driving. Bodyguard, her ass! More like a jailor! Did her father really think she was stupid enough to believe that he’d hired this guard to protect her while he was gone on another long business trip? His claim that there was some crazy murderer on the loose who only a few nights ago had killed a young man in the Mission, rang hollow. As a hybrid, she was as strong as any vampire and could easily defend herself against any assailant. Even though she’d never trained in hand-to-hand combat, her instincts told her that she knew what to do if the situation demanded it.

Hell, she could take down the guy they’d assigned her as a bodyguard. She gave him another sideway’s glance. His tousled dark hair seemed to point into every possible direction, and any comb Oliver had tried had probably lost the battle against his unruly hair. His eyes were sharp and focused, and his body muscular. It was clear that he was in great shape and capable of fending off any attacker. Not even his fresh face could detract from that fact. If anything, his youthful looks—for he could be no older than twenty-five—most likely fooled any would-be assailant into thinking they’d have an easy target in him. At first, she’d been fooled too, but then she’d spoken to her friend Lauren.