Chapter 1

The Greyhound streaked down an alley between two buildings in hot pursuit of its prey; a pickpocket whom Det. Cyrus Decker and Deputy Brock Guthrie had been trying to catch for two weeks. Their co-worker, Deputy Ellie Jeffries, had gone undercover as an old lady that day, and the crook had taken the bait.

Cy, as he was called by most people, whistled to his dog, Slink, and the Greyhound surged ahead, catching up to the thief in seconds. He cut to the right and nipped at the pickpocket’s heels, tripping the man, who went down hard. Rolling over, the man was instantly covered with doggie kisses as Slink wagged his tail.

Laughing, the crook pushed Slink aside and attempted to run again, but he halted when he came face-to-face with another dog. The huge German Shepherd-Husky mix didn’t share Slink’s view that this was playtime. Instead, he bared his wicked fangs and let out a low, rumbling growl, making it clear that he was dead serious about the pickpocket remaining still.

At a different whistle from Cy, Slink backed off and sat down.

Brock, a broad-shouldered, blond man, came up behind the other dog with a big grin on his face. “Good boy, Burt.”

Other than flicking his ears back, Burt didn’t pay him any mind, intent on his job. He didn’t let down his guard for a second and barked when the robber moved. Brock stepped around Burt and hauled the guy to his feet.

“Guess what, jackass? You’re under arrest for theft,” Brock said as Cy reached them.

Cy gave Burt a hand signal. Burt sat down, but he kept a watchful eye on the criminal, whom Brock handcuffed.

The thief sneered at them. “Using dogs. Isn’t that cheating or something?”

Cy grinned. “No, that’s called good police work.”

Brock nodded in Cy’s direction. “We don’t agree on a whole lot, but he’s right. Let’s go.”

Heavy panting drew their attention to the mouth of the alley. A black Pug raced towards them, his pink tongue protruding from his open mouth as he ran.

“Told you he’d find us,” Cy said.

Brock smirked at him. “Don’t be so damn cocky.”

“I’m not. I just know my dogs, that’s all. Good boy, Pudge.”

Pudge danced around a little and then bit the crook on the ankle.

“Ow! What did he do that for?” the guy complained, sidestepping the little dog.

Cy and Brock laughed.

“For good measure,” Cy said. “Knock it off, Pudge.”

Pudge sneezed an affirmative response. Cy praised the other dogs and gave them each a little piece of wasna. His uncle, Cotton Lone Wolf, was a Comanche man who still made the Indian staple, and Cy always kept it on hand as a reward for his dogs.

As they walked out to the main street, Pudge ran ahead of them, performing pirouettes on his hind legs.

Brock grinned. “He’s really putting on a good show.”

“Yeah, but he’s not getting any more treats right now. Enough, Pudge.”

Pudge dropped to all fours and silently regarded them with his big, dark eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Cy said.

Pudge let out an irritated growl.

Cy pointed at him. “No backtalk.”

Brock hid a smile when Pudge turned his back on them and trotted away. Pudge was smart enough to know that when someone smiled or laughed at him that they weren’t serious about a command they’d just given. Although he didn’t like Cy much, Brock loved Cy’s dogs, and he never interfered with their training.

He was surprised to see a smile tug at Cy’s mouth, too.

Cy shrugged at his questioning look, humor gleaming in his dark eyes. “I’m just as susceptible as you to how cute he is. I just hide it better, that’s all.”

Brock shook his head and marched their prisoner forward.

Sitting at his desk a short time later, Brock worked on a report on the apprehension of the pickpocket, but he was distracted by images of a gorgeous, dark-haired woman with exotic brown eyes and soft lips. Cy’s sister, Daphne, captured his attention every time she was around, and his thoughts were on her much of the time.

Her beauty, intelligence, and kindness called to him. She’d made her feelings for him clear when she’d kissed him in September. It was almost November, and the memory of that kiss hadn’t dimmed in Brock’s mind one little bit. She’d accused him of being racist, and he knew she was right. The murder of his beloved grandfather by some Comanche braves had instilled a deep hatred of Indians in his heart. As a child, he’d witnessed the attack, and he’d never gotten over it.

That hatred was one of the reasons he barely tolerated Cy. He also resented Cy because their boss, Sheriff Rob Anderson, thought the department needed Cy on their staff, as though Brock and the other deputies couldn’t handle crime on their own. Cy seemed to believe he had the right to issue orders to his co-workers, which grated on Brock’s nerves.

All this fueled the animosity between the two men. However, since they’d made a truce in September, it hadn’t been as strong. They were learning how to work together, but still butted heads. Brock had developed a grudging respect for Cy and Cy gave Brock credit for his solid investigative methods and excellent photography skills.

Brock sighed and forced his mind back to his report, propping his feet up on his desk and getting down to business. Ellie Jeffries came in the door as he finished up.

He smiled at the petite brunette. “Well, I see that you’re back to your normal self.”

Ellie nodded. “And glad of it. I don’t know how actors stay in those getups all night. I was glad to get that wig off, too. It might be cold out, but I was hotter than blazes in it.”

Brock grinned. “But you did make a very pretty old lady.”

Ellie laughed and hung up her woolen coat. “Thanks. I’m glad you nabbed him, so I don’t have to keep dressing up like that.”

Brock put his report in a file folder and got up. “I’m glad we got him, too. He’s not cooperating much, though. Walt Gaines is supposed to stop by to talk to him.”

Ellie groaned. “Oh, no. Not Walt.”

Brock chuckled. “What’s the matter? Don’t wanna see the man who’s in love with you?”

Ellie wanted to punch Brock. “No, I don’t. How many times do I have to tell him that I’m not interested?”