Mitch rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a wuss! They found Caramelli after, like, eight hours. He was a little dehydrated, but he was alive.”

CHAPTER 8

Lock parked his SUV in front of his parents’ New Jersey home and got out. If this had been the weekend, when he spent most of his time in his workshop, he would have been more rushed to get in and get out. But on this lovely October morning, he found he was in no rush. Besides, he enjoyed spending time with his dad. The old man could be quite entertaining in his own wacky way—unless you were some poor guy trying to fix the plumbing and move on to your next job.

Using the same set of keys he’d had since he was nine, Lock entered his parents’ home.

“Dad? You around?” When Lock didn’t get an immediate answer, he closed the door and headed through the sunroom into the living room, through the dining room, and straight in to the kitchen. A big bowl of berries sat on the table and he grabbed a handful. He could hear sounds coming from the basement, so he entered the tiny hallway, which had a doorway to the right that led out into the backyard and to his parents’ two-car garage, and a set of stairs to the left that led to the basement.

Lock barely had his foot on the first step when he heard a, “No, no, no, don’t!” Followed by a “woosh!”

and a definitely girlish squeal that he refused to believe came from the old man.

Lock charged down the stairs but stopped when he hit the last step. He simply wasn’t in the mood to get his boots wet.

He watched his favorite childhood stuffed dog float by before looking in the corner to see his father standing there, looking typically guilty and holding a giant wrench. Beside him stood…

Lock blinked, not sure he was seeing correctly.

“You,” he said, too shocked not to show it. Then he did something he rarely ever did—he laughed. Bent-over-at-the-waist laughing. He couldn’t help it. Not a day had gone by when he hadn’t thought about her. Part of him still ashamed he’d left her alone, part of him mad she’d made him care one way or the other. But he never thought he’d see her again. At the very least he never thought he’d see her again in his basement, with his dad, drenched from her knees to her boots from whatever fuck-up Brody MacRyrie had managed to get himself into.

“Lock?” his father asked, most likely shocked at the laughter coming from his only boy. “Are you all right?”

Lock couldn’t answer. He was laughing too hard, which did absolutely nothing but piss off the little feline with the hospital phobia. And even though she clearly didn’t appreciate being laughed at, she decided to take it out on Brody rather than Lock.

Yanking the wrench from Brody’s hand, Gwen shook it at him—although Lock would be eternally grateful she didn’t use it to bash theman’s head in.

“What did I say? I said don’t touch!”

“I was just curious.” And that only made Lock laugh harder. He’d lost count of how many bad days with his parents began with the sentence, “But I was curious!” It was true, almost all bears were curious by nature, even Lock, but Brody took it to an extreme that made those who knew him love him and want to punch him all at the same time. “I merely wanted to see—”

“Out!” the little feline roared, the sound a bit more frightening as it seemed to combine the roar of a territorial lion with the warning growl of a pissed-off tiger.

“But why? I didn’t do—”

“Dad.” Lock stood up, wiping tears from his eyes. For a moment he thought that wrench would come right at his head. “Upstairs.”

“I’m your father, boy. You can’t tell me—”

“Up. Stairs. Or I’m calling Mom.”

“Traitor,” Brody mumbled, but he mumbled while moving, so Lock didn’t bother arguing with him.

“And you’re both being unreasonable.”

Lock waited until his father marched up the stairs and back into the kitchen, then he focused on Gwen.

“You’re the plumber?”

Those gold eyes narrowed dangerously. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m having a hard time believing you can fix my parents’ plumbing.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“No. Because you’re you.”

The wrench slapped into her left palm with a “swack!” “First my brother and now you. What a perfect fucking day.”

He sloshed over to her, grateful he’d worn his work boots rather than his sneakers. “I don’t know your brother. Just the half-brother of your half-brother, which I still find entertaining.” He took hold of her left hand and lifted it. “But these are not the nails of a plumber.”

“What’s wrong with my nails?” She snatched her hand back and studied them. “The polish isn’t even chipped.”

“Exactly! What kind of plumber has pristine nails?”

“A smart one.”

Lock took her hand again, studied her nails. “Are these the colors of the Philadelphia Eagles?”

Once more she snatched her hand back. “I support my teams. You got a problem with that, too?”

“If they’re the Eagles.”

“At least we have a team,” she shot back. “And just because I have style and my nails look good, doesn’t mean I’m not the best plumber you’ll ever know.”

“Is that right? Are you even licensed in Jersey, Mr. Mittens?”