by Lynn Lorenz
“No. Thanks, but no.” Jack shook his head. His brain was a small metal ball and his skull was the pinball machine. Right now, tilt should be flashing in the air over his head.
Just then, as if to save him, Kristen knocked on the door and opened it. “I have the first-aid kit, sir.” She came in, placed it on his desk and stared from one man to the other then at the dog. “You need anything else?”
“No, Kristen. Thanks.”
She nodded and left, pulling the door closed behind her.
Jack reached for the kit, opened it and pulled out what he needed to treat the bite.
“I can do that for you,” the man offered.
More touching. “No, thanks. I think you’ve done quite enough as it is. You’re free to go.”
“I’d love to, but…you shot my car, remember?”
Had he already begun to block the memory? “Okay, let me call one of my men, get him to take you to the garage. The car should be fixed by now. Then you can go on to Olivia’s.” And get out of Jack’s hair.
Beauregard stood. “First, I need to tell you about Winston.”
“Tell me what?” Jack narrowed his eyes and braced himself.
“Just a few things. First, you can’t leave him outside at night. Promise me.”
More promises? “Okay.”
“Second, he only eats Mighty Dog Stew. It’s in a can. His favorite is liver and egg. He hates the hamburger and cheese flavor. No table scraps—he’s on a diet.”
“A diet. Uh-huh.” Jack listened with every intention of forgetting every word of the man’s instructions.
“Third, he likes to take a walk just before bedtime. At least fifteen minutes long. And you have to walk him, not just let him out. He needs the exercise.”
“Right.” Jack’s patience had just about reached the end of its rope.
“Four. He likes to sleep by my feet in bed.”
The rope hit its end with a resounding twang. “No.”
“What?”
“I said no. I’m not sleeping with a dog in my bed.” He hadn’t shared his bed with a dog since he was a teenager. Hadn’t shared it with anyone since then, for that matter.
“Why? Doesn’t your wife like dogs?” Beauregard snapped.
“I’m not married.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“No girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Beauregard’s eyebrows rose.
They stared at each other and Jack felt the snap, crackle and pop that arced between them. No fucking way.
He jerked open another drawer, pulled out a ticket pad, slammed it on the desk and began writing.
He tore off the first sheet. “First, this is your speeding ticket. Going sixty in a forty-five.” He tossed it across the table to Beauregard. The paper soared through the air then landed near Beauregard’s hand.
He scribbled again. “Second, this is your ticket for having an unlicensed dog in city limits.” Again, the paper floated to the other side of the desk.
“Third. This one is my favorite.” He took his time writing it out. “This one is for assault on an officer, namely me, by that animal of yours.” He ripped it out and added it to the stack.
“You’re joking, right?” Beauregard picked them up and looked through them.
“No, I’m not joking. You have thirty days to pay the fines or appear in court with a lawyer.” Jack pulled out his cell phone, searched for Brian Russell’s cell number and hit Send.
“Brian? It’s Whittaker. Can you swing by the station? I need you to pick someone up and take him to Smith’s Garage for me. Great.” He closed the phone and stared across at Beauregard. “Your ride will be here in five minutes. Now get out of my office.”
Beauregard stood. “Can I say goodbye to Winston?”
Jack nodded.
The young man went around the desk to where Winston lay sleeping, and knelt.
“Hey, boy.” The dog woke and tried to crawl into his lap. “The nice chief is going to let you stay with him for a few days, okay?”
Woof.
“Be good for him. I’ll come and visit you soon, I promise.” Then he leaned down, kissed the dog on the head and got a quick swipe of the dog’s tongue on his cheek. He stood, gathered the tickets and shoved them into his wallet.
“Take care of my dog, Jack.” Those deep brown eyes penetrated Jack with a look that demanded a promise. What is it with this guy and promises?
“I promise, Mr. Beauregard.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” Again with the last word.
Beauregard walked to the door, turned and gave Jack a quick smile. “My name is Edward.” Then he slipped through the door and shut it softly behind him.
Alone, Jack ran his hands through his hair. A gentle nudge pressed against his leg and he jerked back, his chair rolling against the wall with a sharp thud.
Winston gazed up at him, his hindquarters shaking with what passed for a wag.
“Oh, no. Don’t give me those eyes. You bit me.” Jack shook his head.
Winston squirmed between Jack’s legs and the corner of the desk and curled up underneath it next to Jack’s feet.
Uh-uh. No fucking way.
“Get out from there.”
The dog didn’t move.
“Now, Winston. Right now. Move.” Jack snapped his fingers at the animal.
Winston rolled over on his back, rear legs splayed, front paws bent, mouth open, tongue lolling, and fell asleep.
Jack didn’t know which one was worse, the dog or his master.
Both of them refused to obey him.
Both of them drove him to violence.
Both of them made him so mad he could spit.
But if he had to choose which one was the biggest pain in the ass?
It would be Beauregard. Hands down.
Edward Paul Beauregard the Third.
Chapter Four
Edward sat on a wooden chair against the wall of the reception area and draped his jacket over his lap. Blinking to clear his eyes, he refused to think of the worst case. That would be too much to stand, and he had nearly fallen apart in Jack’s office. He already had a good idea what Chief of Police Jack Whittaker thought of him. Edward didn’t intend to give credence to the ‘emotional fag’ stereotype by crying. Beauregards were made of sterner stuff.
He’d never been separated from Winston, except on a few overnights, for almost six years. Now Winston’s life was on the line and Edward swore he’d do whatever it took to free his best friend.
Edward didn’t think Jack would hurt Winston, but if there was one thing he’d picked up from the chief of police in their too-brief time together, it was that Jack Whittaker upheld the law, no matter what the law decreed.
Even if it said a little dog had to die.
Jack’s secretary gave him a smile then went back to her work, whatever it was one did when one worked for a chief of police. The main office was large, nondescript and her desk sat like an ugly brown metal guard outside Jack’s office. At the other end was another hall that led to the back where he supposed the criminals were kept. The place smelled of cinder block, Lysol and the cloying gardenia scent Kristen wore.
“What’s down that hall?” he asked.
Kristen looked up. “That’s the muster room and the cells. If you need the bathroom, it’s the first door on the left.” She pointed and gave him another smile.
Edward smiled back at her and time ticked on.
“So,” she said. “I like your shirt. It’s pretty.”
Pretty? He paid one hundred and fifty dollars at a trendy Dallas shop, and all he got was ‘pretty’? Not fabulous. Not stunning. Not ‘it goes so well with your eyes’?
“Thanks. Not too much fringe?” Edward ran his finger along the chocolate brown strings, enjoying the way the suede felt on his skin. Satin sheets trimmed in this fringe would be just the thing. He could have them made back in Atlanta. It would be like swimming in chocolate. Delicious.
She checked it out, then shrugge
d. “Maybe for a man’s shirt. I’ve never seen a man’s shirt with that much fringe on it. Mother-of-pearl snap buttons, maybe, but not fringe.”
“Oh.” Maybe Jack hadn’t been joking. Maybe he looked like a fool in this shirt, instead of hot as sin, but it had seemed so good in the mirror at the store, setting off his dark hair and eyes. Even that cute young salesman had said so.
“Now I’ve seen women’s shirts with fringe. Lots of those, especially for parties and such. But men, no.” She shook her head. “Where’d you get it?”
“In Dallas.”
“Oh. Dallas.” She sniffed. “I suppose for Dallas it’s all right.”
“Have you ever been to Dallas?” Edward had no idea why he was extending the conversation—at least, no idea he wanted to confess to.
“Yep. Every year for the Texas State Fair. You?”
“Just a few days ago, on my way here.”
“Oh.” She went back to her typing.
“My grandmother is Olivia Rawlings.” Never hurts to name-drop.
“Miss Olivia?” Her eyes brightened and she gave him an even bigger smile. Seems the name worked. “Everybody knows her. I didn’t know she had any family.”
“My mother is her daughter,” Edward enlightened her.
“Funny, she never talks about any family.” She narrowed her eyes. “You sure you’re kin to her?”
“Yes.” Edward frowned. If his grandmother hadn’t mentioned him, that was her right. Still, it stung.
She lowered her head again and typed.
“How long has he been chief?” Edward tilted his head at Jack’s office door, no longer able to resist asking about the ruggedly handsome cop and the real reason he’d kept talking to the young woman.
“The last five years.” Her eyes never left the screen.
“He’s kind of young for such an important position, isn’t he?” He hadn’t missed the sprinkling of gray in the chief’s hair that made him appear distinguished. And sexy.
“Youngest chief we’ve ever had.” She nodded and the conversation came to a standstill.
What else could he ask without being obvious? He already knew the man wasn’t married and didn’t have a girlfriend, and asking if he had a boyfriend would be the height of indiscretion.
Just then, the outer door opened and a drop-dead gorgeous cop sauntered in. Edward had to keep his teeth together to keep his jaw from dropping.
“Hi, Kristen,” the officer greeted the secretary.
“Hi, Brian.” She jerked her head at Edward and he sat up straighter. “He’s the one.”
The cop turned to Edward, raised his eyebrows and gave him a nod of hello.
“You need a ride to the garage?”
Edward’s first thought was to say, Yes, I’m the one. Me. Me. Me, and throw himself into the man’s arms, but instead he stood and held out his hand. “Yes. Edward Beauregard.” Hell and damnation, if he’d known they grew them so big and good-looking here in Spring Lake, he would have come to visit his grandmother sooner.
But did they all have to be cops? And straight? What was a boy to do?
The cop shook his hand. “Officer Brian Russell. Well, come along and I’ll drop you off.” He headed for the door.
“See you later, alligator,” Edward quipped at Kristen.
“After a while, crocodile,” she shot back. They laughed and Edward trailed behind Brian out of the door, enjoying the way the cop’s ass filled out those black uniform pants. The officer led the way to a marked patrol car, opened the passenger door then headed around to the driver’s side. Edward got in, buckled up and sat back.
“Had some car trouble?”
“Your chief shot my tire.” I probably shouldn’t have said that.
The officer turned and stared at him. “How did that happen?”
“It was after my dog bit him,” Edward mumbled as he adjusted his bandanna.
“Your dog bit him?” He put the car in gear and pulled out of the lot.
“After he stopped me for speeding.” Edward rolled his eyes.
“So. You’re a dangerous criminal, huh?” Brian chuckled.
“That’s me.” Edward sighed and stared out of the window.
“What’s up?” The cop sounded concerned. It was probably something he’d learned in cop school, or wherever they taught that sort of stuff, but his soft voice drew Edward in.
He turned in his seat to look the guy in the eyes and it all came out in a rush. “I’ve had a horrible day. My dog bit Jack, and now he’s being held until I can prove he doesn’t have rabies, and Jack’s going to keep him for me because my grandmother is allergic, and Winston is claustrophobic and can’t stay in a cage or a cell or be tied outside to the fence like some wild animal—” Edward took a breath, but the cop interrupted by holding up his hand.
“Whoa! Slow down.”
Edward exhaled. This was just another fine mess he’d gotten himself into. No. He’d gotten Winston into this mess. Hell and damnation, maybe his father had been right about the trust fund after all. Right about what a self-absorbed—
“Look. I’m sure whatever happened, Chief Whittaker will handle it with fairness and respect. Your dog, that’s Winston?”
“Yes.”
“The chief stopped you for speeding and the dog bit him?”
“Right. I don’t know why Winston did it. He’s never bitten anyone before. Ever.”
“Okay. And the dog can’t go into the kennel, so the chief is going to hold on to him for you, right?” The officer spoke as he drove down a main street lined with businesses and stores.
“That’s right. Do you think he’ll treat Winston okay?”
“Of course. Chief Whittaker is one of the most decent men I know. If he says your dog is safe, then he’s safe.”
Edward let out his breath in a long exhale. “Thanks. I thought so—I just wanted to hear someone else say it.” He smiled at the cop.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No. How could you tell?”
“Well, other than knowing most of the people who live here, the shirt was a dead giveaway.” Brian, the hot cop, chuckled again. Besides his good looks, Brian had a way of putting Edward at ease. Edward couldn’t help but like him.
Edward winced. “I know. Too much fringe.”
He nodded. “And your accent. Georgia?”
“Atlanta.” Edward nodded.
“What brings you to Spring Lake?”
“I’m visiting my grandmother, Olivia Rawlings.”
“I didn’t know she had any family.”
“So I hear.” Edward frowned. “I’m a big secret.”
“Is it because you’re gay?”
Edward turned to the officer. “No. She had a falling out years ago with my father. How did you know I was gay?”
“You’re joking, right?”
Edward waved his hand down his chest. “The shirt?”
“That, and since I’m gay, it’s easy for me to spot another gay man. And you don’t exactly hide it, you know.”
“You’re gay? Get back, Loretta.” Edward slapped his thigh.
“Gay and taken.” The officer held up his left hand to show a band of solid platinum.
“Of course. Just my luck.” Edward sighed and sat back. “What about Jack?”
“What about him?” Russell asked warily.
“He wouldn’t by any chance be gay too?” Edward turned and looked out of the window, not positive if he wanted to know. It didn’t matter anyway—Jack was not his type. Repeat. Not his type.
“Here’s the garage, Mr. Beauregard.” The cop pulled up in front of the door and waited for Edward to get out.
“Thank you, Officer Russell.” Edward leaned down and smiled at him. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here. See you around.” Russell gave him a salute and pulled away, leaving Edward’s question about Jack unanswered.
Edward slung his jacket over his shoulder and went inside the shop’s office.
Behind the counter, a young man in a blue work shirt with the name Phil embroidered above the pocket looked up. His eyes widened as his gaze traveled up and down Edward.
“Can I help you?” he asked, trying to keep a straight face.
Anger prickled Edward’s skin as he read the man’s expression. This guy was going to give him a hard time. He braced himself and walked to the counter.
“Yes. I came to pick up the red Miata. The tire was flat.”
“Oh, right. Hold on.” Phil stepped to a door that led to the service bays, opened it and leaned out. “Is the Miata ready?”
Someone called back something and Phil stepped out where Edward couldn’t hear him, then came back in.
“It’s done.” He stole several glances at Edward as he worked with the papers.
Edward leaned against the counter and tried to see what the man was doing.
“That’s one hundred and seventy-one dollars and fifty-seven cents.”
“Is that for a new tire?” Edward asked.
“Yep. And the tow. Couldn’t fix the old tire. You can’t fix two holes in the sidewalls. How’d you manage to do that?”
Edward just shrugged. He definitely wasn’t telling this jerk.
Just then another man, older and covered in grease stains, came through the bay door. “This the guy?” He had Jimmy embroidered over his pocket. With the grease on his clothes and his hands, Edward figured him for the mechanic. As the man stared at him, Edward’s stomach started a slow slide down to the bottom, where fear waited.
“Yep. That’s him.” The younger man stepped back.
“Un-fucking-be-liev-able. Well, aren’t you pretty?” He gave a low whistle as he shook his head. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.”
Edward glared at Phil. “Is my car ready or not?” The office felt too small and the urge to bolt washed over him, but he locked his knees and stood firm.
“It’s ready. What’s your hurry?” Jimmy asked.
Edward hadn’t been in a hurry—he just wanted to avoid any more trouble. He’d certainly met his quota for today. Okay, for the next year. Besides, the next time he saw the police chief, he didn’t want to be wearing a set of shiny new handcuffs. Or sporting a lovely black plastic body bag.
He placed his credit card on the counter and pushed it at the young man, but the older man snatched it up. “Edward P. Beauregard I-I-I. What’s that mean?”