“Anything else?”
“Yeah. She did a satellite view search and there’s an outbuilding set in the middle of a small wooded area on the property that happened to be where Carrie pinpointed a cluster of phone calls. The dirt road leading in turns into pavement, and it’s wide enough for cargo trucks.”
“We got ’em?” The delight on Brody’s face was near comical.
I couldn’t help but return it. “Yeah, I think we’ve found the mill.”
He plucked me off the step and spun me around while Mack and Jet danced around our feet. “Hot damn, darlin’!” Brody’s lips landed on mine, teasing the seam of my mouth open for a quick but intense kiss before he sat me back on my feet.
“But,” I said, grabbing his arm and dampening the moment. “With the break-in, taking that slip of paper? They may know we know, Brody.”
“Which means they might close up shop. That’s not a bad thing.”
“It’s not, but we need the people running the mill to be prosecuted and hopefully sent to jail. Puppy farming is lucrative, and this one is most certainly a cash business under the table. If they close up shop in one place, they’ll just pop up somewhere else.”
I chewed the inside of my lip. “Think the pet store manager ratted you out?”
“Possibly. If he did, these people know you have backup with pull and muscle, and they don’t give a damn.” Brody’s hands dropped to his hips. “Shit.” He spit the word, turned away to pick up Mack’s ball and nearly hurled it out of the yard.
I pinched my nose. “We need to move fast. We don’t want to give them the chance to disappear.” I stooped to scratch Jet’s chest. “But with me calling the police because of the break-in, it complicates how fast we can go. I’d hoped we’d get proof of where they were and the condition the dogs are in, then call in the police. But I can’t give up how we got that information.”
“Yeah, we can’t put Carrie at risk.” That line between his brows returned. The one that was always a dead giveaway that the gears were turning. “You said Officer Johnson was a dog lover, right?” Brody turned his eyes on me, and it struck me how absolutely breathtaking this man was.
“He has a retired K-9 at home, and a rescued Pit mix. He even showed me pictures.”
Brody brushed his hair back, rested his hands on his head. A move that should have been painful for someone who’d separated a shoulder. “What if we give him a day or two? If he comes back with nothing, we’ll go poke around.”
“That was my thought, too. I just...” This was so incredibly frustrating. “I hate waiting at all when they could be hurting those dogs. Moving them, or...disposing of them.” I tried to keep the panic out of my eyes.
Pulling me against his chest, he tipped my chin up. “I know you’re worried, but I think it’s the only play we’ve got. I’d say let’s sneak out and get the evidence we need tonight, but this whole break-in thing is too damn fresh for me. These people are probably on high alert. Besides, it will give me time to call the cop and tell him I’m your partner in the mill hunt. That’s no secret at least, and maybe it will help move things along.”
I nodded absently. “I’m supposed to go stay with a friend or have them stay here with me. I can ask Olive.”
“No. I want you with me. At my place.” A hardness crept into his tone, one I didn’t particularly like.
“That’s not bright,” I snapped back. “Me coming and going from your apartment every day.”
Brody arched his neck and took a deep breath. We were both having visceral responses to the strain.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, but if I stay at your place, we’re more likely to be photographed. I feel safest with you, Shaw. But if it’s going to be you with me, you should stay here. Your pickup truck is a dime a dozen, but you can put it in my garage if you want. I’ll park in the drive.”
I gestured to the end of the house, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Besides, I have a yard for the dogs and my neighbors know I kept CC for a friend. They won’t think anything of it.”
“Yeah.” His voice sounded weary. “That makes more sense. I know you’re strong and capable of taking care of yourself. And all that. But the caveman in me needs you with me.”
I nodded, remembering he had a doctor’s appointment. “What did the doctor say about your shoulder?”
“Range of motion, strength, all that, looks good, but he wouldn’t tell me if he thought it was separated or not. Said to follow the team doctor’s orders.” His lips thinned. “The feeling I got was that he wasn’t going to step on anyone’s toes for me. I’ve got to see a PT guy today. How ’bout I bring some stuff over after that.”
“I have classes this afternoon, anyway. I’m going to take care of those so nobody else has to cover for me.”
I backed up on the step, using the front of his shirt to pull him to me. The way his lips curled, one dimple winking at me—he was all arrogance and swagger—but in the eyes is where I found my Brody. The tough guy with a soft heart and a gaze the color of molé that melted me faster than butter on a hot tortilla.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Where was Hayes when you needed him?
At training camp.
Brody
It had been a fucking day. The break-in at Lily’s house had me unsettled. These scabby-dick-tip motherfuckers threating my girl and her dogs? I’d never felt that kind of anger before. Not even on the field.
Shit was not sitting well, and I was walking a fine line with my temper as I headed into the Bulldogs practice facility for Devon to treat my shoulder. With a couple of players besides me injured, Dr. Douche had decided Devon would accompany us back to Dallas for treatment. Seemed odd to me. We had therapists who didn’t travel to Nebraska with us this year—one of which had been with the team a lot longer than Devon.
While I stood in the hall outside the medical room waiting for my appointment, I checked the clock on my phone. Team should be taking lunch about now. It gave me a chance to hit up Hayes.
“Hey man, how’s the shoulder?”
“S’okay. I’m waiting on PT, but I’m fine. No residual pain past the forty-eight hours. How are you doing, old man? Getting the start against Miami?” The Sharks were our third preseason game.
The sigh Hayes let out made him sound drained. “Hell, I don’t know. Same shit, different day around here.”
“How’s Jensen doing in my spot?” Jensen Bishop was the rookie linebacker out of Miami who held it down when I got hurt last year. He’d played fifty percent of last week’s game while I’d continued to ride the bench for a fucked-up shoulder I didn’t have. Sonofabitch. I was proud of the kid. He was doing his job like the a pro he and he was a quick learner. None of this was Jensen’s fault. It was just the nature of the game.