He took it being directly across from the Spencer Inn Sports Club staff entrance as a sign. Rarely was such a prime slot vacant at ten o’clock in the morning.Things are finally going my way.Fighting to keep down the wicked laugh bubbling its way to his lips, Lance grabbed his athletic bag and tennis racquet from the passenger seat and stepped out of his car. The feeling of good fortune took a dip when the hair on the back of his neck rose to attention. He turned around to find the source of suspicion in the form of a German shepherd eying him from the front seat of a red Dodge Viper in the carte blanche of parking spaces—that reserved for the Spencer Inn’s owner, Mac Faraday.“What are you looking at?”The shepherd narrowed his eyes into a glare.“Mutt.”The dog’s snout twitched. His lips rose into a snarl.“My younger brother used to have a dog just like you.” Lance waved the racquet in his hand. “He bit me. You know what I did to him?”The shepherd bore his teeth.“I backed over him with my car … on purpose.
