Baby for the Billionaire(95)

“That would have defeated the entire point of the ‘unannounced’ portion of the inspection.” She folded her twig arms across her nonexistent bosom. “Are you going to let me in, or are you going to continue looming there in that threatening manner?”

He narrowed his eyes at her phrasing. She narrowed hers right back at him. He wasn’t sure how the stalemate might have ended if it hadn’t been for Isabella charging toward him with a shriek. Her fingers fluttered in a gesture she used to alert them to a problem with the puppies. Then she yanked on his suit coat.

He turned to Mrs. Locke. “You’ll have to leave. We have an emergency on our hands. That takes precedence over everything else.”

She stiffened and yanked out a cell phone from the purse tucked beneath her arm with impressive speed. “Shall I call 9-1-1?” she asked crisply.

“That won’t be necessary. It’s a—” he hesitated “—dog emergency.”

Mrs. Locke’s brows climbed skyward. “A dog emergency is not an emergency I recognize,” she informed him in a wintry tone. “The inspection will continue.”

Isabella yanked harder at his suit coat and he rested his hand on her head in gentle reassurance. Damn it to hell. Why now, of all days? He regarded Mrs. Locke with a sour expression and gave her two options. “In that case, you may wait here until I’m available, or grace us with your presence at a more convenient time.”

“I’ll stay,” she stated in tones as implacable as his own.

“Jack? Red alert. The puppies are on the loose.” Annalise charged into the hallway and skidded to a halt. “Oh, we have guests.”

Jack grimaced. This grew more complicated by the minute. He’d wanted time to prep Annalise before the two women met. “Mrs. Locke is not a guest. She’s here for an inspection.”

“Mrs. Locke?” To his disgust a broad, welcoming smile swept across his wife’s face. “Isabella’s Mrs. Locke?”

The caseworker inclined her head. “And I assume you’re Mrs. Mason?”

“Oh, please. Call me Annalise.” She held out her hand. “I’m afraid we have a bit of a family emergency going on here.”

“So, I understand. Something to do with dogs?”

Isabella made a frantic noise and Jack interrupted. “Which we need to take care of immediately. Annalise, ask Sara and Brett to scour the first floor. I’ll take the bedrooms. You and Isabella see if anyone’s found their way to the third level. Since this isn’t a scheduled appointment, Mrs. Locke can return at a more convenient time.”

His beautiful, sexy, loyal wife fluttered her lashes at him and turned traitor in the blink of an eye. “I’ll give Sara and Brett the heads-up while you and Isabella check the bedrooms. Mrs. Locke and I will be having some iced tea out on the patio. Once everyone’s rounded up, you can join us there.”

“Excellent suggestion,” Mrs. Locked concurred. “I wanted some private time with your wife, anyway.”

“I— You—”

Annalise smiled in satisfaction. “It’s a plan. I’ll call your office and warn them you’re running behind.” She fished her cell phone out of her pocket and hit a preprogrammed button. “Mary, it’s Annalise. Jack’s going to be late again. What? Oh, yes, of course. The pups on their usual rampage. Expect him when you see him.”

Isabella didn’t give him an opportunity to argue further. Grabbing his hand, she literally towed him in the direction of the steps. The last view he had of his double-crossing wife was her saucy backside vanishing in the direction of the kitchen, accompanied by the smirking Wicked Witch, her broomstick slung over one shoulder.

This was not good. Not good at all. He’d planned to be there the first time Annalise and Locke spoke, to run interference in case they hit any snags. Based on the smug look the caseworker shot him, she’d known it and took great delight in outmaneuvering him. Not that she’d actually been the one to make mincemeat of his plan. He could lay that delightful screwup squarely on his wife.

It took thirty nerve-racking minutes to round up five of the mischievous puppies and return them to the gated bedroom that was their “nest.” Isabella remained with them while he went in search of the last one, the runt of the litter. He found Mister Mayhem, as he’d begun to refer to the dog, on the verge of sneaking out the kitchen door. He scooped up the wriggling bundle of energy before the pup could make good his escape.