Dr. Gnome Excertp

“Let me do the talking.” Pierce slammed his car door without waiting for Kit’s reply.

“Now, why would I do that?” His pain-in-the-fang partner stared at him from across the hood, one finely arched brow raised as if in flight.

Suppressing a growl, he rounded the bumper and stepped onto the sidewalk. “Because, these are my people and I said so.” Jaw clenched, he reminded himself the supercilious woman falling into step next to him wouldn’t be around much longer.

Known as the Dirty Harry of PLASMA, he never kept a partner long—they either died or defected to the other side.

“Your people?” She snorted for a few strides then stopped.

He glanced at her slackened body. Overcome, she laughed so hard, tears rolled down her heart-shaped face and dripped into the peek of her exposed cleavage. His groin tightened. Had the drops traveled the whole valley?

This was no time to be turned on.

Ripping his gaze away, he ignored his libido and stomped toward the bar. She wasn’t even his type. Hell, she wasn’t even human. Neither was he, but that wasn’t the point.

Like a disco tune—painful to the ear—her laughter followed him down the street. That’s it! In less than half a second, he shot to her side. Wind from his hastening blew his hair into her face. “Yes, my people. Do you have a problem with that?”

She didn’t flinch—didn’t blink. “I just can’t picture you having people. Who do you think you are, friggin Lord of the Fangs?” Renewed amusement burst into her eyes. She slumped back against the closed pawn shop and the metal security door creaked under her shuddering weight.

“Great. I’m partnered with the feline version of Don Rickles.” He checked the stars. A lot of work needed to be done and he was losing the night sky. His gaze bounced to the snickering woman. “This is good. This is very helpful. Yeah, you stay here and chuckle.” Muttering a curse, he shook his head and proceeded to the pub without her. Even if she didn’t last long, you’d think PLASMA would’ve given him someone more useful than Chuckles the Cat.

Counting the streetlights as he strode down the sidewalk, Pierce reached number three when Kit appeared next to him. Damn shifter. Even his keen sense of hearing hadn’t picked up her approach.

He glanced sideways at her. “So, you decided to be an agent?”

“Hello…” She waved then pointed to herself. “Cat here. I’m curious. I want to see your people. They’re not aliens, are they?”

“Why do I even bother?” Fingers curling around the handle, he pretended it was her sexy, slender neck and yanked the pub door open.

“Hi, Pierce.”

“Hey, Pierce.”

Several of the patrons called to him. He waved and scanned the crowd for Rudy, his snitch.

“Hello, Pierce.” Warmth wrapped around him in the form of a familiar looking blonde. She kissed him deeply, holding his face, while her tongue searched his mouth for tonsils.

He let her look.

A throat cleared. “Honey, despite the old adage, if you’re looking for money, that’s not where he keeps it.”

The blonde lifted her head then glanced behind him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you brought your dinner with you.”

Kit—dinner? His traitorous body heated at the thought. “She’s not dinner. She’s my partner.”

All bar activity ceased. Even the drunk, holding up the wall in the back, turned startled eyes upon them.

“Wow, De Vein. You really know how to silence a crowd.” Kit hit his shoulder. “I take it back. You do have a commanding presence. I’m just not sure what it commands.”

“Partner? I hope you have a will, sweetheart,” someone called out.

“Yeah.” Another snickered. “Make sure your affairs are in order.”

Her head tilted. “Nice people, De Vein. I’m feeling the love.”

“I give her a day,” another commented.

The bartender pulled out a notebook and money started exchanging hands. “I’ll take that bet.”