For the Love of Nick. Jill Shalvis
bell above the front door of the studio chimed. Danielle jerked to face him. “I thought you said you were closed.”
“We are.” Nick groaned at the thought of taking more pictures. Because bad as a dog was, it could get worse, far worse.
He could have to take a baby picture.
“Nick.” Danielle gripped his shirt when he turned to go out front. “I need to tell you—”
“Hang on, I’ll be right back.” But short of prying her fingers from him, he couldn’t budge her. Then he saw her face, which had gone colorless. “Hey.” Concern replaced everything else, and without thinking, he stroked her hair from her face, touching her cheek. “What is it?”
“If it’s the police—”
“The police?” He went very still. “Why would it be the police?”
“If it is,” she repeated, swallowing hard. “I—”
“Hello?” called a male voice from out front. “Sergeant Anderson. Anyone here?”
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