by Tee O'Fallon
Nick got there first, snatching it away and setting it on the counter. “Not a chance, buddy.”
A high-pitched whimper sounded from the back of Saxon’s throat, and he lowered his head as if he were pouting.
Andi laughed and began filling the bowl with water. “Loves sweet treats, does he?”
Nick nodded. “Too much.” Renewed suspicion rankled his gut. “For someone who doesn’t live here, you seem to know your way around this kitchen.”
She groaned. “Don’t start that again. I told you the truth about my relationship with Joe. On the few occasions I’ve been in this house, he and I spent most of the time in the kitchen. Before the restaurant’s kitchen was renovated, I’d come here to try out recipes on him. Poor guy. I think he got sick of my cooking.” She set the bowl on the floor, giving Saxon’s ears a quick massage as he bent his head to begin lapping at the water.
He watched in surprise when Saxon turned to give her hand a quick lick, as if to say thanks. His dog was trained not to attack someone just because they touched him, but bestowing an affectionate lick on a total stranger was definitely not in his repertoire.
He’d occasionally seen that kind of instant rapport between humans and canines, and Andi Hardt seemed to have it. He also trusted Saxon’s instincts the way he trusted only a few people in his life—friends like Eric and the other guys he’d gone through K-9 school with. Saxon was a good judge of character, and it wasn’t lost on him that the dog’s immediate acceptance of Andi didn’t jibe with her being a criminal.
It would take time to prove her innocence or complicity. His dirtbag radar was pretty damned infallible, but he wasn’t sure about anything. Still, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d been surprised by someone.
Loud slurping had them watching Saxon as he made quick work of drinking every drop in the bowl. When he was done, he continued licking until the bowl began inching across the hardwood floor. Then Saxon sat in front of Andi, panting with a gratified look on his face. His long tongue slipped from the side of his muzzle. Droplets fell onto her sandals, calling attention to the pale-pink nail polish on her toes. Even his dog was drooling over her.
She picked up the bowl and filled it again. After Andi reset it on the floor, Saxon got to work lapping up more water. “He looks purebred. Is he?” Nick nodded. “I’ve heard black shepherds are rare. Either the sire, the dam, or both have to have the recessive black shepherd gene.”
He leaned his hip against the black granite counter, also watching Saxon as he took great, sloppy gulps of water. “You know your shepherds.”
“I love dogs.” She shrugged then quickly looked away.
A moment of awkward silence passed between them. As if there could be any other kind, under the circumstances.
“I’m sorry about the girl,” she said quietly. He must have had a puzzled expression on his face because a moment later, she added, “The teenager caught in the crossfire last week. It must have been horrible finding her that way. I can’t imagine what goes through your mind at a moment like that.” Her eyes clouded with genuine sorrow.
“You get used to it,” he lied. He’d never gotten used to it.
“Really?” The clear skin on her forehead wrinkled. “How?”
“By keeping it impersonal so I can do my job.” The acid boiling in his gut made him feel sick. Five years after the fact, and the grisly images of his dead wife remained imprinted in his memory as if they’d been stamped there yesterday. There’d been no need for an autopsy. Even if she hadn’t left a suicide note, the unregistered firearm in her lifeless hand and the bullet wound to her head told the story.
Except for where she got the gun. A gun with its serial number filed off—the same as the guns sold by this dealer.
“If I let it get to me every time I see a gunshot victim, I’d be worthless.”
Every cop knew that, although why he was confiding in her, he had no clue.
Someone cleared his throat, and Nick found Cox standing in the doorway. “We’re just about done here.” He gestured for Andi to return to the other room. “I need you to sign a property receipt for the few items we’re seizing.”
Ignoring Nick, she patted Saxon one last time. “Goodbye, Saxon.”
He stopped slurping and fixed his gaze on her, watching with obvious longing as she went out the kitchen door.
If Nick didn’t know better, he’d say his dog was in love.
“What’s up?” Cox glanced briefly in the direction Andi had gone.
“Nothing.” He shook his head, annoyed with his thoughts. There was just something about her that stayed with him, and it had nothing to do with the case. “What d’ya need?”
“Your opinion.” He leaned his forearms on the granite island. “Think she’s bullshitting us?”
“Maybe, but it’s too soon to tell. I’d like to see her full background check first, especially the rest of her financials.” He looked around Cox’s shoulder, noting the way Andi’s khaki shorts tightened across her backside as she leaned over the dining room table to sign the property receipt. “Whether she’s innocent or not, my guess is Myer will try to contact her. Despite what she says, he obviously still has feelings for her. She’s his sole beneficiary. A man doesn’t do that without a darned good reason.”
Cox turned to follow Nick’s gaze. “Should we work her?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, then quickly outlined a plan for doing just that. “Given what we’re holding over her head, I’d be surprised if she doesn’t go for it.” Didn’t matter whether she was innocent or not. If she could be exploited for the good of the investigation, they should do it. She was the best lead they had to find Myer before he got his money-laundering ass killed and they lost their best witness.
“Something wrong?” Cox asked. They’d been working together long enough that the man had picked up on Nick’s reluctance. “You having second thoughts about using her?”
“No,” he lied. “She’s a means to an end. Nothing more.”
“I’ll pitch it to Bennett. See what he thinks.”
As Cox placed a call to the AUSA, Nick snagged Saxon’s body armor at the door, then led his dog outside to the Explorer. He didn’t care how they got to Myer, as long they did.
He popped open the side door for Saxon, who leaped up and settled on the kennel bench. When he shut the door, Andi’s white pickup parked in the driveway caught his eye.
She’d definitely tell him to go to hell, but the best person to work Ms. Andromeda Hardt…
Is me.
He wanted to wipe this gun dealer off the planet, and he wouldn’t let anyone stand in his way. If they did, he’d steamroll over their ass without hesitation. If necessary, he’d back up and grind them into the pavement.
Because for him, this was personal.
Chapter Three
By the time Andi pulled into the lot at the DPC, it was after ten a.m., still an hour and a half before lunch service kicked off. There were only a handful of other vehicles, some of which belonged to her staff, some to patrons running their dogs in the hundred-by-two-hundred-foot dog run.
She parked and let out a heavy sigh. Behind her on the truck’s bench seat, Stray responded with a whine that had Andi glancing in the rearview mirror. The lingering smells of slightly damp dog mixed with baby shampoo filled the cab. Seemed like Stray had recovered from her surprise encounter with that giant K-9.
Better than I have. Holy cow, what a way to start the week.
In the end, all Cox had said was that he’d be in touch. “In touch.” She laughed bitterly. Yeah, she knew what they’d be in touch about. Her cooperation, which she undoubtedly had to keep giving if there was any hope of getting her bank account unfrozen.
Opening a restaurant was risky business in any town, let alone in a suburb without a big city to provide patronage. In order to add the dog park aspect to the place, she’d had to buy land outside Springfield. The location had been less expensive, but the necessary renovations had sucked
her account close to dry. She’d done the research, though, and discovered there wasn’t another dog park within a hundred miles, let alone one with a restaurant. She was counting on that unique combination to draw in customers who loved good food and spending time outdoors with their furry friends. The DPC was everything she could have hoped for, and she’d finally found a reason to be optimistic about the future.
Until now.
Using her bank account was a betrayal of everything she and Joe had once shared. And it hurts, dammit. She tightened her fingers around the steering wheel. Not for the first time that morning she began questioning her judgment where men were concerned.
It had been nearly two years since she’d seen Steve. His duplicity had been the nail in her dating coffin, and since then, she’d sworn off men altogether. That conniving bastard had slept with her, pretending to want a real relationship, when in fact, he’d only been trying to get close to her to further his career. He’d said he wanted to help with her clients’ portfolios, and in the end, he tried bilking them out of their annuities to bring in more money for the firm. All to pad his accomplishments and grab the next VP promotion. One that should have been hers.
After wising up, she’d confronted her bosses about Steve’s illegal activities, and the sons of bitches actually backed him up. Then they tried to buy her silence. She’d quit on the spot, then walked out the door and turned over evidence to the Attorney General’s Office.
She let out a disgusted huff.
It’s in the past. Forget it and move on.
There were plenty of problems to deal with in the here and now.
Shaking her head, she gazed out the windshield at the dog run, watching a medium-size Schnauzer cavorting with a large gray Bouvier. Stray’s friends.
She’d temporarily named the dog Stray after the animal had wandered into the DPC about a month ago. The café was turning out to be a magnet for wayward dogs, and thus far she’d been 100 percent successful in finding good homes for all of them. Since Stray was a beautiful female with a sunny temperament, she figured the dog would be adopted any day now, and she was already sad at the prospect of not having her around.
Unable to drag her butt inside, she sat in the truck with the engine running. She frowned, wishing she could call Joe, but that wasn’t possible. Federal agents had seized her personal phone.
Who writes phone numbers down anymore?
The cell at work didn’t have any of her personal contacts, but at least she could borrow it for a bit.
Even sitting in the truck with the AC on, she began to sweat into her blue tank and khaki shorts—the clothes Sgt. Houston had selected for her. Funny how he was so completely not the kind of man she’d be interested in, yet something about him stuck in her mind. Like a burr. No, make that one big-ass burr.
The man was as big and strong as an oak tree. Even his dog was enormous, looking as if it should be housed in a barn, not a kennel. The two of them were made for each other. Although the dog—Saxon—was significantly friendlier than the man. No, she much preferred a warm, affable man who actually knew how to smile. Definitely not one who obviously spent every spare moment pumping iron in a gym.
Ironically, he seemed to have a soft spot for dogs. His concern for Stray’s wellbeing had taken her totally by surprise.
No sooner had she stepped out of the truck than the midmorning heat and oppressive humidity slammed into her. She opened the rear door, and Stray leaped out, charging to the dog run’s fence. Her golden-brown body wriggled as she stood on her hind legs and rested her front paws on the top rail.
Andi readjusted her leather shoulder bag then joined Stray at the fence. She ruffled the hair on the dog’s head and massaged her soft ears. Stray groaned in obvious pleasure, leaning into her hand. She didn’t know who got more out of these moments, her or the dog. There was something so soothing about petting a dog.
Stray barked and pushed her wet nose against Andi’s hand.
“Okay, okay, girl.” She laughed. “Go play with your friends.”
The second she’d opened the inner gate to the run, Stray took off like a shot and bolted after the other dogs.
Back outside the gates, Andi joined two of her customers, Frank Feldman and Meera Devine. Frank owned Penny, the Schnauzer, while Scottie, the Bouvier, belonged to Meera.
Frank was a nice-looking man, around forty-five and with only a touch of gray in his hair. He was absolutely crazy about dogs and the DPC’s broccoli rabe and pulled pork panini with a side of mac ’n’ cheese. Meera was around the same age as Frank and worked part-time as a secretary. Despite the woman being ten years her senior, Andi enjoyed the many chats they’d had since the restaurant opened.
“Morning, Frank. Morning, Meera.”
“Morning, Andi,” they replied in unison.
“Stray is certainly full of energy today.” Meera nodded to where Stray ran circles around the other dogs.
“That she is.” Whereas Andi felt positively drained.
When she glanced at the other woman, she couldn’t miss how close Frank stood to Meera or how their shoulders remained in constant contact.
Hmm, sweet. The possibility that the DPC had brought two of her favorite customers together added a touch of much-needed brightness to what had begun as a depressingly awful morning.
She smiled inwardly. Frank and Meera were perfect for each other. “I’d better get inside before the lunch rush kicks in.” More importantly, she suspected they were still in the “puppy love” stage and would prefer being alone.
After exchanging goodbyes, she headed to the cafe’s rear entrance and pulled open the door that led directly into the kitchen to find Marty Machatto, her head chef, leaning over to inspect something in the panini press.
“’Bout time you showed up.” He lifted the lid of the panini press and slid out an expertly toasted sandwich, complete with perfect golden-brown grill lines. He placed it on a cutting board and made quick work of cutting it into four squares. “It’s my new invention.”
“Ingredients?” She didn’t know which happened first, her mouth watering or her stomach growling.
He grabbed a napkin, then handed her a piece of the sandwich. “Smoked turkey, avocado, homemade mozzarella with a pine-nut pesto spread, on potato-dill bread.”
“Sounds delicious.” She bit into the crusty sandwich, then chewed slowly. The garlicky pesto hit her taste buds first, followed by the mozzarella and all the other fresh ingredients that blended harmoniously on her tongue. Closing her eyes, she swallowed, then sighed her approval. “Chef, you’ve outdone yourself. It’s orgasmic. Start it out as a special, and we’ll see if everyone else loves it as much as I do.”
“Hoped you’d say that.” He was about to bite into one of the other pieces of sandwich when Tess McTavish, the DPC’s manager, flew into the kitchen, her long, curly red hair bouncing. “Here.” He handed her a wedge. “Try this and tell me if you don’t think it’s the best panini you ever had. This one’s vegetarian. Just for you.”
“Hey, Andi.” Tess’s green eyes sparkled as she smiled in a bubbly way that lit up any room. With her dangly crystal earrings, multicolored tie-dyed tank tucked into cut-off jeans, and Birkenstocks, she was a throwback to hippie-Woodstock days. The woman was only five foot two, but no one would ever overlook her.
“Thanks, Marty.” She accepted the sandwich and was about to take a bite when she gave Andi another look and frowned. “You okay?”
“Rough morning.” And then some. “Fill you in later. Cappuccino first.”
Along with being the manager, Tess had also become Andi’s best friend, and every morning before the lunch rush they gabbed over coffee, and no topic was off-limits. Movies, makeup…and men, of course.
Andi stowed her bag in a locker against the wall then began scooping espresso into the stainless-steel Gaggia.
“Wow,” Tess mumbled between chews then pointed to the plate with the remaining two pieces of panini. “Can I take these out to Kara and Zoe?�
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“Sure.” Marty handed her the plate, and she disappeared out the door to share the panini with the senior waitresses. As if twenty-five could be considered senior.
The espresso machine began dripping into two ceramic cups, and Andi started foaming milk. Minutes later, she was sitting at the gleaming, square wooden bar next to Tess, watching Kara wipe down the dozen or so beer taps until they gleamed. Zoe busied herself setting one of the twenty rustic wood tables situated around the dining area.
Andi pivoted on her stool, taking in the earthy decor. Between the tables and bar seating, the café’s legal seating capacity maxed out at about a hundred, less since she’d removed several tables to accommodate a small black piano. To bring in more business, she’d booked a musician for two weeks from this Saturday.
Funny how Joe had shared her love of music and food, but not dogs. He’d hidden that fact at first. That should have been her first clue that not only wasn’t he the right man for her, but he was capable of concealing things from her. Important things.
Next, she gazed fondly at her favorite part of the DPC. The Wall of Dog.
On the south side of the dining room, covering nearly every inch of wall space, were framed photos of dogs, some posing with their owners, some without. It was a decor idea she’d come up with, and her customers loved it. After spending a hundred dollars at the DPC, a customer could hang one framed photo of their pooch. The only exceptions were photos of the stray dogs she’d found homes for and a copy of the photo on the bureau in Joe’s bedroom. The same one Sgt. Houston had said she and Joe looked “pretty cozy” in.
She couldn’t stop her lips from lifting. Since Joe didn’t like dogs, he hadn’t appreciated being tacked to the center of a wall surrounded by canines. She’d hung it there as a joke, intending to take it down right after he’d seen it. Then it had grown on her, and she’d left it there for posterity.