For about the millionth time since she'd been transported to Maryland like a hog to slaughter, Leelee wondered if Emma would have been happier if she'd never come into her life.

She shook her head. She needed to chill. Emma was not like her mom, right? Emma wasn't going to go off half-crazed with lust for some guy she'd just met, like her mom always did. Emma wasn't that kind of woman. Emma was cautious. Emma was safe.

Emma really loved her.

The phone rang, and it jarred Leelee into the land of the living. Velvet was on another line with an owner, and she began gesturing wildly for Leelee to answer the phone.

Leelee picked up. "Wit's End Animal Behavioral Clinic, may I help you?"

"Emma?"

He sounded eager, nervous. "I'm sorry, Dr. Jenkins is on another line." Leelee had no idea why she'd just lied, but she didn't like this man's voice one bit. It was too deep. Too he-man.

"I see."

He sounded disappointed.

"Thank you, Leelee," Velvet's voice chimed in the background. "I've got it now."

Leelee put the caller on hold and stepped slowly away from the phone, feeling her heart sink to her knees.

"I'm afraid Dr. Jenkins will no longer be able to care for Hairy," she said. "We can refer you to the only other behaviorist in the area, a Dr. Aaron Kramer in Annapolis, or to a veterinarian of your choosing."

"Isn't he Emma's ex-husband?" Thomas asked.

If Emma's assistant was surprised he knew about Aaron, she didn't let on. "Yes, he is. Shall I call-"

"I'd prefer to see Emma."

"Really? Well the thing is, Mr. Tobin, Dr. Jenkins doesn't want to see you. Capisce?"

Thomas could hardly believe he was getting the Godfather brush-off from a Japanese-American vet assistant who, from what he recalled, dressed like a Spice Girl.

"Ms. Miki, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Did Emma get the deliveries this morning?"

She snickered. "Sure did. The dog treats were an original touch. I was impressed."

"Thank you. But I take it Emma didn't feel the same way?"

"Oh, she liked the treats well enough-just not the treatment."

Thomas closed his eyes and sighed. Velvet Miki was apparently Emma's bodyguard as well as employee, and she had the protective instincts of a junkyard pit bull. His chances of getting by her appeared slim.

"Hey, Velvet, do you think you might be able to help me out here? All I want to do is apologize in person. Talk to Emma. I know I screwed up. I… I'm not all that smooth with women."

She laughed. "You don't say?"

"Look-"

"Actually, I think I can help you, Mr. Tobin." Velvet's voice seemed quite cheerful. "My suggestion would be that with your next victim, try to work up to the Count Dracula thing instead of springing it on a girl right off."

Thomas had a bad feeling about where this conversation was headed, and swallowed hard. "I'm not sure I understand."

"You chomped down on Emma's ear, then hit the road! I think it might have been a bit disconcerting for her. What do you think?"

Thomas winced.

"She's a sweet woman who's had a rough time lately. She deserves better-in fact, she deserves the very best there is-in men and in life."

"Yes, she does."

Thomas knew he must sound like the idiot he was, but everything Velvet said was true. Emma did deserve the best, and he was well aware that he fell short of that mark. "Just tell her I called. Would you do that?"

Velvet was quiet for a moment, then said, "Yeah. I can do that."

Thomas thought he detected a trace of regret in her voice.

He couldn't stand it another nanosecond. Thomas flipped the sheet off his legs, gingerly sat up on the edge of the bed and heaved himself to a stand.

By the time he got downstairs and ripped the pillowcase off the dog crate, the ungodly noise had ceased.

"Listen up, pal. You're disturbing the peace. I'm tired. And if you don't shut the fuck up I won't be held accountable for my actions. Got it?"

I'm so lonely, Big Alpha. So cold and afraid. I need to be close to someone warm, feel their touch. Take me with you! Get me out of here!

Thomas replaced the pillowcase and began to walk away when the racket started up again. It was a high-pitched keening sound, like the screams from miniature demons from hell interspersed with those little "yips!" that felt like knitting needles being rammed into his ear canals.

I'm going to die if I have to be alone one more night! Please!

"God!" Thomas turned on his heels, threw the pillowcase across the room, and opened the latch. He reached in for Hairy and crammed him into the crook of his arm as he staggered back up the stairs to his bedroom.

"Here. Lie down right here and shut your damn yap." He dropped Hairy to the rug next to his bed. "I'll be up here."

Thomas returned to the bliss of lying flat, pulled the sheet over his legs, and closed his eyes.

This was not working out.

Sure, Hairy was getting better, but the weirdness factor was just too damn high for him to take much longer. Thomas had hit the wall earlier that evening, when he'd found Hairy snuggling up with a pair of his boxer shorts.

Apparently, none of the goddamn squeaky toys did a thing for Hairy. None of the fuzzy little beanbag things, either. None of the chewy rings or the bumpy rubber balls seemed to float his boat.

So what did Hairy want? He wanted Thomas's boxer shorts-the white pair stamped with purple and black Ravens football team logos. He carried them in his mouth all over the house. He buried them under the couch. He slept on top of them. He wadded them up and pounced on them.

Thomas eventually tricked Hairy into giving up the damn things. He threw them in the bathroom laundry hamper and shut the closet door, thinking that would be the end of that. But Hairy sat down in front of the door and pined for them, whining and pacing and making pitiful noises that Thomas just couldn't take.

Thomas lay on his back now, staring at the dark ceiling, groaning. All right, so be caved-he gave the dog the shorts. But damn! At least he'd washed them first. There were some things that were just too strange to allow to happen in this world.

Thomas felt himself grin in the dark, remembering how the little mutant sat patiently in front of the washer, then the dryer, his tail wagging. He'd given the boxers back to the dog only after he'd tied them in knots. He figured that if anyone happened to see them hanging from Hairy's mouth, they wouldn't immediately see that the dog had an abnormal attachment to a pair of underwear.

Jesus God, the dog was weird.

Thomas rubbed his face with his hands and tried to go back to sleep. But not two blissful minutes had passed before he felt the dainty impact of dog paws on the mattress, then the pinch of little feet going up his shin, to his thigh, to his bare stomach, then to his chest. Thomas kept his fists clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to fling the six-pound pain in the ass across the room.

At that point, the circling began-tight and fast little spins that went on and on until Hairy apparently thought he'd rearranged Thomas's chest hair to perfection.

Hairy plopped down with a sigh, dropping the pair of boxers next to Thomas's head. The dog curled up and managed to bury his pointy snout in the cozy hollow beneath Thomas's chin.

Thomas lay perfectly still. He tried to relax his fists and breathe normally. He felt the dog's warm skin against his own and looked down his nose to watch the dog's shock of white Billy Idol hair rise and fall with each of his own breaths.