Must Love Hellhounds

bedroom, Blake was hitching his jeans up over a backside that, even chewed up by karma, still looked damn good. With his tall, leanly muscled build, all of him looked good.
    But not flawless. A puckered scar marred his upper left shoulder. There hadn’t been a scar in front, so the bullet hadn’t punched through. Removing it would’ve required surgery, yet there were no gunshot wounds or hospital stays listed in his medical history.
    According to his profile and the pile of write-ups from his supervisors, Blake did nothing at Ramsdell Pharmaceuticals but dick around behind his desks and research stations. According to his body, he did much more than that.
    Maggie wasn’t surprised by the evidence his body offered. Although she hadn’t anticipated his blindness, she’d assumed there was more to Geoffrey Blake than his frequent transfers between Ramsdell’s international subsidiaries suggested. Even if nepotism and family connections had played a part in Blake’s employment history, Ames-Beaumont would never have relied on an incompetent man to lead the search for Katherine.
    So Geoffrey Blake wouldn’t be inept—and no stranger to dangerous situations.
    “No,” Maggie finally answered. “Except for a dog, I came alone.”
    Blake cocked his head before giving it a shake. To Maggie, his silence seemed to be of confusion rather than just caution.
    Or was it disorientation? She continued, “We’ll have your blood tested to make sure the drug—”
    “No.” Blake turned, pushing his dark hair back off his forehead. “The Ramsdell offices in New York don’t have labs. We don’t send my blood anywhere else. I’m fine.”
    She couldn’t blame him for his paranoia, not after he’d already had his blood stolen. “Very well. Are you ready?”
    As an answer, Blake walked unerringly toward her. Guided by the direction of her voice, Maggie guessed. When he drew close and stopped, she had to look up at him. That didn’t happen often, whether she was in boots or bare feet.
    Her gaze skipped from his knees to his ribs to his throat. A single blow would eliminate her height disadvantage.
    But taking him out wasn’t necessary; getting him out was. “Have you trained with guide dogs?”
    His expression tightened, but she couldn’t read anything in his face. “Yes. Uncle Colin sent one with you?”
    “In a manner of speaking.” Maggie backed into the hallway and called out, “Sir Pup!”
    The hellhound trotted into view and clambered up the stairs, his tongues lolling from each of his three enormous heads.
    “We need the harness,” Maggie said as he reached the landing. “You’ll escort Mr. Blake downstairs and to our vehicle.”
    Sir Pup brushed past her hip and padded into the bedroom, his black fur gleaming over heavy muscle. His middle head looked Blake up and down. His right examined the room, and with his left, he turned to glance over his shoulder at Maggie.
    She had no doubt that the expression pulling at his lips and exposing razor-edged teeth was a grin.
    Her eyes narrowed. “You won’t take him anywhere but to the vehicle and through the airport,” she ordered. “And you won’t leave him anywhere, either.”
    The hellhound’s grin lengthened. Oh, damn. Most likely, she’d just added another idea to whatever mischief had already been percolating in his heads.
    She returned her gaze to Blake and frowned. His skin had paled to a sickly gray. When he weaved on his feet, she stepped forward and caught his elbow.
    “Mr. Blake?”
    He visibly gathered himself. His chest rose on a long breath before he echoed, “Sir Pup?”
    Maggie began to nod, then realized Blake wouldn’t see it. “Yes.”
    “The hellhound ? The one that my uncle watches from time to time?”
    Actually, it was the other way around. Sir Pup was the companion to Ames-Beaumont’s closest friend, and it was true that the vampire sometimes let the hellhound stay in his mansion. But it was the hellhound who watched over Ames-Beaumont; Sir Pup helped Maggie protect the house on those days the vampire succumbed to his sleep.
    Demons were the only real threat to Ames-Beaumont while he slept, and they had nothing to fear from Maggie’s gun—but Sir Pup’s venom could paralyze a demon, and his massive jaws could easily rip one apart.
    Maggie was not willing to reveal the details of Ames-Beaumont’s security, however—even to his nephew. She said only, “Yes.”
    “In his demon form?”
    He wasn’t, thank goodness. But if