Laying Down the Paw
Page 29
“Are you kidding me?” Dub said. “You expect me to work on homework in the hospital?”
“Yes,” she’d said firmly. “I do.”
She was pushing him. He kind of liked her for that.
“There’s something else you and I need to discuss,” she said.
“What is it?”
“You and Jenna.”
He felt his face heat up. Megan looked a little embarrassed, too.
“You’ve been through enough already,” she said. “I know what happened between you two. Be careful, okay? Don’t screw up your life and hers, too.”
“I won’t,” he promised. And he meant it.
It was ten in the morning on his third day in the hospital when a knock sounded at the open door of his room. He looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway.
“Hi, Wade.” She walked slowly up to his bed. “You … um … you look like you’re healing up real good.”
It was true. He was doing well with the physical injuries. His emotional injuries, though? He’d need way more time to deal with those.
“How about you?” he asked.
“I’m … okay.” She sat down on the end of his bed and looked down at the covers. “I never should have gotten back with Andro.”
Ya think? He didn’t say the words out loud. He wanted to lash out at his mother for what she’d done, but what good would that do? If he’d figured anything out over the last few days, it was that his mother was one hot mess. His feelings had been all over the place. He’d gone from wanting to protect her, to hating her, and now, to pitying her. Whatever connection he’d had to her, whatever obligation he’d felt, whatever hopes he’d had that one day she’d act like a real mother, all of that was gone now. In an odd way, it was a relief to finally accept that reality, to break the chains that had bound him.
Katrina took the edge of the sheet in her hand and worked it nervously between her fingers. “I’m going to rehab. I leave this afternoon.”
“Good luck. I hope it works this time.” He meant it. For her sake.
She looked at him with eyes full of pain and sorrow and shame and regret. “I’m sorry, Wade. I really am.”
You know what? He believed her.
She stood and walked to the head of his bed, bending down to give him a soft kiss on the forehead. “I love you, Wade.”
He offered her a soft smile. “Back at ya, Mom.”
His mother had been gone only a few minutes when Officer Luz and Brigit came to the room. “Knock-knock.”
Dub raised a hand to wave them inside. “Come on in.”
Megan stepped up beside the bed. “I was just on the phone with your defense attorney and the prosecutor. Looks like things are finally sorted out. You won’t be facing any charges.”
He exhaled a long breath. “Good to know.”
“And as far as where you go from here,” she hiked a thumb toward the door, where Trent and Wes now stood. “These two gluttons for punishment say they’d be happy to take you back so long as you’re fitted with a tracking device.”
Dub’s laugh made his ribs twinge. As much as he’d wanted a mother, these two men weren’t a bad substitute. Besides, Wes had man boobs. That kind of made him a mom, right?
Trent came into the room first, a bag in his hands. “Hey, there, Dub.”
“Hey.”
“Surprise!” Wes seesawed the plastic food container in his hands. “I made your favorite lasagna.”
“Great,” Dub lied. The only good thing about running away was that he hadn’t had to eat that horrible lasagna.
Wes set the food container down on the table next to Dub’s laptop and leaned both ways, looked at Dub’s bandages and bruises and stitches. He opened his mouth several times as if wanting to say something, but closed it each time as if he couldn’t find the right words. Finally, he just reached out, took Dub’s hand in his, and gave it a squeeze.
Trent stepped up to put a reassuring hand on Wes’s shoulder. When he let go, he pulled a small foam basketball and a plastic over-the-door hoop from the bag in his hands. “You up for shooting some hoops, Dub?”
SIXTY-FOUR
PUPPY LOVE
Megan
It was a busy week.
While Dub recovered from his injuries, Leandro Silva was treated for fractures in both his radius and ulna, as well as several broken fingers, and taken to jail.
The remnant of chain on Silva’s wallet was found to match the section extracted from the neck of Brian Keith Samuelson. Multiple individually bagged hits of meth were found in Silva’s Subaru, which was discovered parked down the street from Meemaw’s Day Care. Fingerprint analysis indicated that Samuelson had touched each of the bags in Silva’s possession. This evidence told us that Silva had killed Samuelson for his meth stash.
After days in ICU, Mr. Prentiss rallied and was released from the hospital, expected to eventually make a full recovery from his gunshot wounds. He and his wife positively identified Leandro Silva in a lineup. When I learned that Silva had worked as a baggage handler at DFW airport, I passed this information on to Mr. and Mrs. Prentiss. Turns out they’d loaned their pricey Moncler suitcase to their daughter, who hadn’t removed their address label from the bag before checking it for her flight. Silva had evidently picked his burglary victims based on both the location of their homes and the quality of their luggage. Of course he hadn’t realized when he’d ripped the address label from the bag that it wasn’t Mr. and Mrs. Prentiss who’d boarded the flight, but their daughter. Moreover, the gun Silva had used in both the Prentiss burglary and the invasion at Meemaw’s Day Care was identified by the Harringtons as one of the firearms stolen from their garage. With so much evidence against him, Leandro Silva was looking at a life sentence and then some.
The fourth looter was located and brought in after his girlfriend, who lived at the same apartment complex as Gallegos and Duong, placed a call to police. That would teach Marquise Polk to step out on his woman.
All in all, it was a good week for law enforcement.
Late Saturday morning, Seth, Blast, Brigit, and I set off for Wes and Trent’s house in Fairmount with a surprise for Dub. That surprise currently stood in the backseat of Seth’s Nova, her tail wagging tentatively as she looked out the window, her furry brow furrowed, trying to figure out where she was being taken.
“It’s okay, girl,” I reassured her, adding a scratch under the chin as well. “We’ve got a surprise for you.”
I’d gone to the animal shelter earlier in the week to see if they had adoption records for Velvet, the dog who’d been seized years ago when Dub had been arrested for buying meth for Andro. The staff had provided me with the name, address, and phone number of the man who’d adopted her. Though I’d merely hoped the new owner would allow Dub a visit with the dog, the man had hinted that he’d be willing to hand over the dog if Dub could take her.
“I have a new job and travel extensively,” the man said. “It’s not fair for Velvet to spend so much time at the kennel.”
I’d checked with Trent and Wes, who were thrilled with the idea of reuniting Dub with his beloved pet.
Trent, Wes, and Dub were shooting baskets in their driveway when we pulled up. I was glad Dub felt up to having some fun. He deserved to enjoy what was left of his childhood.
Jenna sat on the front steps with a book. Looked like her parents had relented and let her date Dub now that he’d proved himself a hero.
Dub glanced over at the car, a quizzical look on his face. Amazing how much younger he looked with a clean-shaven face and the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders.
I climbed out of the passenger seat, opened the back door, and took Velvet’s leash in my hand. She hopped down to the curb.
Dub took a few slow steps toward the car, his eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Velvet?” When he realized that, no, his eyes were not playing tricks on him, he tossed the basketball aside and ran all-out toward the dog, dropping to his k
nees in front of her. “Velvet! It’s you!”
Recognizing the boy she’d once called her own, Velvet pounced on him, licking his face from ear to ear, her body wriggling with unfettered glee.
Wes scurried up and fluttered his hands. “Careful, Dub! Careful! You’re not all healed yet!”
The laughter coming from Dub’s mouth said his injuries were no longer an issue.
Once Wes was convinced the dog’s rambunctious affection posed no risk to Dub, he turned his attention to me and Seth. “Would you two like to stay for lunch?”
The bladed hands Trent waved side to side behind Wes told us that the best course of action would be to decline. If the smell of the lasagna Wes had brought to the hospital was any indication, he wasn’t in line to be America’s next Top Chef.
“Thanks,” I said, “but we’ve already made other plans.”
When Dub and the dog concluded their raucous reunion, Dub stood and looked me in the eye. “Thanks,” he said. “For … everything.”
“Anytime,” I reached out and ruffled his curls, “kid.”
* * *
Seth and I took the dogs for playtime at the dog park. They tussled with their usual buddies, introduced themselves to a few dogs they hadn’t met before, and played a dozen games of fetch with a tennis ball. Once they’d burned off their excess energy, we loaded them back into the car and returned to my new home.
Inside, I stuck my head into the hallway. The door to Frankie’s room stood open. Dressed in her Fort Worth Whoop-Ass uniform, she scurried around inside, rounding up her skates, helmet, and pads, and packing them into a bag. Zoe attempted to climb into the bag, too, and Frankie had to shoo her out of it. “Scram, cat.”
As much as I’d wanted a place to myself, I had to admit that having a roommate had its benefits. Frankie left the porch light on for me. She vacuumed the fur off the futon. She’d even done our grocery shopping after her shift ended early Friday morning. Making lunch was the least I could do in return.
“Hey,” I called to my roommate. “Want something to eat before you h-head off to your bout?”
“Depends.” Her nose scrunched. “Is it going to have tofu or quinoa or flaxseed in it?”
Those were items I’d put on our list. Her contributions had included Zingers, potato chips, and Dr. Pepper.
“Eating a vegetable won’t kill you.”
She unscrunched her nose and chuckled. “Count me in. The only thing I hate more than health food is cooking. Ugh.”
Seth and I went to the kitchen. While he unleashed the dogs, refilled Brigit’s water bowl, and poured drinks, I grabbed a loaf of French bread from the pantry, cut it in half lengthwise, and loaded it with fresh veggies and deli mustard. I cut the oversized veggie sub into thirds and put each piece on a plate, adding a handful of potato chips on the side. Uh-oh. Looked like Frankie’s bad habits were rubbing off on me.
While the three of us ate together at the dinette, Frankie filled us in on the rules of roller derby. “You ever want to give it a try,” she told me, “just say the word.”
“I might take you up on that.” After all, I’d taken down a cold-blooded killer. Roller derby would be a cinch compared to that, right?
We finished lunch and Frankie grabbed her things to go. I wasn’t sure what the appropriate terminology was for wishing her and her team success. Break a leg? Break a wheel? Bust a kneecap? I settled for “Good luck,” hoping it didn’t jinx her.
Once she’d gone, Seth and I went out back. The dogs lay down side by side to nap on the sun-warmed patio, while Seth and I climbed into the hammock together. He wrapped his arm around my back and I settled my head on his strong, firm shoulder. We lay there for a long time in silence, the hammock swaying softly, the shadows of the clouds playing over us.
As relieved as I was that Leandro Silva was behind bars and Dub was in a safe, nurturing home, I would’ve been much happier had the tragedies of the past few days never occurred at all. But the battle of good versus evil had been going on since the dawn of time, and it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. I could only hope that I’d continue to play some small part in making the world a better place.
Seth toyed with my hair. “You okay?” he asked softly.
After everything he’d been through himself, both as an explosives specialist in Afghanistan and a fireman here, he must have sensed my emotional turmoil. I might not understand why people felt compelled to do the bad things they did, but if I’d taken anything away from this investigation it was that we should appreciate those who care for us and treat them with love and respect and kindness. We should seize the moments of happiness we are offered, hang on to them with all our might, squeeze every last bit of joy we can from life. Given these epiphanies, there was no sense in postponing the chance to share some pleasure with the man I was falling for, right?
“I will be okay,” I told Seth. “As soon as you kiss me.”
“Is that an order, officer?”
“Yes,” I said. “If you don’t obey I’ll have to cuff you.”
His green eyes flashed and a grin tugged at his lips. “That could be fun.”
He gave me a deep, warm kiss, leaving me wanting more when he pulled away.
“Let’s go inside.” I slid off the hammock and took his hand. “It’s time for that sleepover.”
Don’t miss the first two novels in the K-9 mystery series by
Diane Kelly
PAW ENFORCEMENT
PAW AND ORDER
Available from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Diane Kelly is a former CPA and tax attorney, who had several brushes with white-collar criminals during her career. When she realized her experiences made excellent fodder for novels, her fingers hit the keyboard and thus began her Special Agent Tara Holloway romantic mystery series. A recipient of the 2009 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award for Best Novel with Strong Romantic Elements, she has received more than two dozen RWA chapter awards. Diane’s fiction, tax, and humor pieces have appeared in True Love Magazine, Writer’s Digest Yearbook, Romance Writers Report, Byline Magazine, and other publications. She is also a proud graduate of the Mansfield, Texas Citizen Police Academy.
For more information, visit her web site at
www.dianekelly.com. You can also find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/dianekellybooks, or follow her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/dianekellybooks. You can sign up for email updates here.
ST. MARTIN'S PAPERBACKS TITLES
BY DIANE KELLY
Paw Enforcement
Paw and Order
Laying Down the Paw
THE TARA HOLLOWAY NOVELS
Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure
Death, Taxes, and a Skinny No-Whip Latte
Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray
Death, Taxes, and a Sequined Clutch (an e-original novella)
Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria
Death, Taxes, and Hot-Pink Leg Warmers
Death, Taxes, and Green Tea Ice Cream
Death, Taxes, and Mistletoe Mayhem (an e-original novella)
Death, Taxes, and Silver Spurs
Death, Taxes, and Cheap Sunglasses
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
About the Author
Also by Diane Kelly
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
LAYING DOWN THE PAW
Copyright © 2015 by Diane Kelly.