As his roar of rage died away, James glanced at her phone. Sure enough, she’d dialed the emergency number. He ended the call and tucked it in his pocket. He had to give her credit. She had balls.
He swiveled his head in her direction. For the first time she came into focus as a person, and it was a revelation. She was about five six, with a thick mahogany ponytail that had been skewed to one side by their struggle. Thick dark bangs framed her eyes, which appeared darker than before and were narrowed in calculation. But to be honest, he was more interested in the fact that her hoodie had come unzipped and it was spectacularly obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
She followed his pointed gaze to where the vee of her jacket had widened to the waist and the globes of her breasts were trembling with the heated rise and fall of her breath.
“Pervert!” She jerked her zipper up, her cheeks coloring with emotion, anger, or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell. The zipper didn’t budge. Cussing under her breath, she yanked again, and then a third time before it moved, locking the plastic teeth back together all the way up to her chin.
James stood staring at her a moment longer, wondering whether she’d yanked open her jacket to distract him or if it was just an accident. Either way, he was distracted. None of this had gone the way he’d expected.
He glanced over at his long-lost partner to help him regain his balance. Bogart sat up and gazed at him with a lolling-tongue expression that looked for all the world like a big fat grin.
James’s attention switched back to the woman. She had recovered her composure with surprising speed. But her expression caught him totally off guard. She wasn’t just angry; she was dead furious and ready to do battle.
He watched her judge the distance between herself and the door and then between herself and him, before she spoke. “You say you’re police? I want to see some ID. Now.”
He reached into his jacket for his badge and then held it out toward her. “Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department, Special Operations Division.”
Shay glanced at the shiny badge and then up into his face. If she’d been asked before this moment what her attacker looked like, all she could have described was a very angry male in camouflage clothing with a rifle.
Now she needed a whole new vocabulary.
He was young, maybe not even thirty, and tall. And he was gorgeous. He had that old-fashioned handsomeness with a broad brow and strong jaw, baby blues, spiky short dark hair, and the kind of mouth that made bad boys so irresistible. Not that it made any difference. So what if his muscular shoulders and tapered hips gave him the look of an Abercrombie & Fitch model? He had attacked her. In her home.
Shay tore her gaze away. Stop staring. Where was her sanity?
She drew herself up and found a safe place halfway between his chin and his belt buckle to stare at. “Why the hell would you break in here like that?”
“You’re in possession of a canine belonging to Charlotte-Mecklenburg law enforcement.”
Shay’s gaze jerked up to his face. Even his scowl was, well, damn sexy, now that she didn’t feel her life was in danger. Then understanding dawned.
She moved quickly over to stand by her pet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is my dog, Prince.”
“The hell he is! That’s my dog, Bogart.”
Both turned to gaze at the dog who had been silently watching them. The K-9 barked twice, thumping his tale in good spirits, but didn’t move an inch.
They seemed to be at an impasse.
Which was just as well, because the siren wail of a law enforcement vehicle closing in fast was filling the morning with sound.
A minute later a sheriff’s vehicle rolled to a stop in her yard.
CHAPTER THREE
“Hello, Shay.” Chief Deputy Sheriff Elijah Ward stood wide-legged on the porch of Shay’s home, surveying her through the mirrored lenses of his shades. “You make a 911 call?”
“Yes!” The deputy was one of the local enforcement officers she’d known since she was a teen. He was a big man, twenty years her senior, with a polished-pecan complexion sprinkled with chocolate freckles across his broad nose and cheeks. “I’m glad you got here so fast.”
“I was just round the bend in the lake, checking on Malcolm’s house. Everything okay?”
“No.” Shay pushed her door wide and pointed inside to the man standing in shadow several feet behind her. “This man just forced his way into my house. I want you to arrest him.”
The deputy whipped off his shades with a crooked finger as he entered the room. The stranger in question stood at ease but slowly lifted both hands as the lawman approached. “Ms. Appleton says you forced your way in here against her will.” He squinted at the man dressed as a hunter. “What do you have to say about that?”
“It’s a misunderstanding, Deputy.” James turned his right hand palm out so that his badge was in view. “I’m on a case. My name’s James Cannon, Charlotte-Mecklenburg police.”
“You got a driver’s license, son?”