After Love (24 page)

The crowd applauded and cheered. Several of them had their cellphones out, snapping photos or videos.

“Thank you for your help,” Nick called out. He hopped down, then loaded Harley in the backseat, jumped in, and drove away.

“Good boy, Harley,” Nick told him, and turned the air conditioner on full blast. All that exercise in the heat had worked up a sweat. His phone rang, and he saw it was Larry. “Did you get him?”

“On his way to APD even as we speak.”

“Good. Paperwork is all yours. And don't forget to back me up with Bobbi. She's going to bitch at my truck repairs.”

“Thanks, Nick. Great job.”

“Any time.” Nick glanced back at the kennelful of puppies. Labrador retrievers, he guessed. And he knew exactly where he'd take them: to Jamie. It would give him a great excuse to see her and maybe pass on some of his newfound knowledge about love and life.

As he headed south so he could circle downtown and avoid most of the traffic, it occurred to him that a month ago he would have probably gone for the collar and not stopped for the puppies. The pun made him smile, but he also realized that he was glad his priorities had changed. Maybe the old Nick wasn't too far gone after all.

Nick had just turned off the main road onto Jamie's long driveway when his phone rang. Bobbi's name popped up on the caller ID. “Archer.”

“Do you have any idea what you did today?”

Nick thought for a moment before answering. “I helped Larry make a drug bust. He told me he had talked to you about it.”

“He did,” Bobbi fumed. “But it was supposed to be a simple, quiet affair. It wasn't supposed to make the fucking five o'clock news.”

“It was a good arrest. The guy was dealing ketamine to kids.”

“The arrest was great. The adorable video of my best undercover agent chasing after a shitload of puppies was not. Cellphone videos! All over the local channels! Hell, Nick, you and Harley went viral.”

Nick shrugged it off. At least they didn't know who he was. He gave Harley a thumbs-up.

“Why did you talk to those reporters?”

“Talk? I didn't talk to anyone except to thank the drivers for helping. No one knew who I was.”

“Wrong! Everyone knows who you are. You're a hero.” She paused to take an angry breath.

“Well, I have no idea how they got my name, but fuck, Bobbi, what would you have done? I slowed the guy down, then Larry took over. Those puppies would have been slaughtered.”

“That stupid dog has ruined you, Nick,” she blurted out. “I never should have set this whole thing up.”

“Put your paws over your ears, Harley,” Nick said. “She doesn't know what she's saying.”

“In my office first thing tomorrow, Nick…and leave Harley in the truck….I wouldn't want to make him feel bad when his master gets disciplined,” she said without pity.

Nick shut his phone off. “No worries, Harley. She loves us. That's just her way of showing it.”

Nick backed up as close as he could get to the gate leading to the kennel. He parked the truck and let Harley out the back door. He had just lowered the tailgate when Jamie came out of the kennel. When she saw it was him, her steps faltered and a frown darkened her face.

“You're the last person I—” she started.

Nick interrupted midsentence. “—wanted to see today, right?”

“Well, no…Yes, actually.”

“I found these guys on 130 today. Their kennel tumbled out of the back of a perp's SUV. They escaped and were running all over the road. It was pretty crazy, but we caught them all.”

Jamie walked to the back of the truck and peered at the kennelful of chubby black Labs, who were pushing and shoving in their eagerness to get out of the small cage. “Oh my gosh…they're gorgeous. But why did you bring them here?”

Nick tried to ignore how glad he was just to be that close to her. “I didn't know where else to take them where they would be able to stay together. They're part of a case, so you'll be paid for their care.” Nick tore his gaze away from her. Somehow he knew it wasn't the right time to talk to her about Grammy's theory about love. “I know you don't want me around, so if someone can help me get this off my truck, I'll take off.”

“It's not that I don't want…,” she started to say, then turned around and called toward the kennels, “Hey, Rick and Kaley.”

Two bright-eyed teens stepped out of the kennel. “Did you need—” Kaley started to say, but Rick interrupted her.

“It's him! It's the guy who saved all those puppies,” Rick exclaimed.

“Are those the dogs?” Kaley asked as she raced to the back of the truck. “They're so cute! And this is Harley?” She leaned down and petted him. “Those videos on YouTube of him carrying the puppy are so cool.”

“What's going on?” Jamie asked.

“They're watching YouTube when they're supposed to be working.” Nick ratted them out with a grin.

“Well…I'll look into that.” Jamie looked around uncomfortably as if she didn't know what to do next.

Nick climbed into the bed of the truck. Rick and Kaley scrambled up after him, and together they were able to drag the kennel to the edge, then hop down. Rick ran off and returned with a small flatbed wagon. Once they had lowered the kennel onto the wagon, Rick and Kaley were able to keep the crate steady as they pulled it toward the kennel.

“Call me if you need anything,” Nick said.

“I won't.” She shook her head with certainty.

Did she mean she wouldn't need anything or that she wouldn't call him? But he already knew it was both. “See ya.” He barely was able to force a nonchalant smile as he loaded Harley into the backseat. He didn't look back as he stepped into the driver's side and started the engine. He waved to the kids and generally in Jamie's direction and drove off.

He looked down at his hands and noticed that his palms were sweaty. “I don't know about you, but I need a good, stiff drink,” Nick told Harley as they headed home.

Bobbi was seated at her desk, studying something on her laptop screen, when Harley trotted in and sat down in front of her desk and stared at her. She rolled back in her desk chair.

“What the fuck, Har—…Nick?” she shouted. “I told you to leave that dog in the truck. He doesn't like me.”

Nick entered her office and plopped down on one of the chairs in front of the desk. “I know you did, and I know you're mad. But it's hot out there, and it's illegal to leave a dog in a vehicle. I wouldn't want to break the law.”

“Oh, right! The old Nick Archer would not only have left a dog in a car, but he would have rolled the windows up and turned on the heater.”

“That's harsh.” Nick was a little shocked that someone thought that about him. “I've always liked animals.”

“You like to crush criminals even more. Or, at least, the old Nick did. He was one of best special agents I've ever worked with. You could go so deep that even I didn't recognize you.” Bobbi shook her head in disgust and disappointment. “Now your name and face are all over the Internet because of that stunt yesterday. You're useless to the agency…and to me.”

Harley whined and placed his paw on Nick's leg. He could sense the tension in the room and wanted to help Nick relax. It was part of his PTSD training.

Nick swallowed hard, barely able to speak around the lump in his throat. He'd screwed up before, and Bobbi had reamed him a new one. But this time it was different. There was a quiet anger that went deeper than a simple reprimand. This time he might have gone too far. “This will all blow over. You know how quickly people forget.”

“Not when there are goddamn puppies. That clip will live forever on YouTube.” Bobbi sighed and leaned back in her chair. Today she was wearing a simple pantsuit with a doghouse pinned to her lapel.

Nick tried not to read too much into that.

“I read Larry's report,” Bobbi continued. “Where's yours? Exactly what happened?”

“Larry's report is the official one. I read it over last night, and it was complete. I have nothing to add.”

Bobbie pulled her screen closer and scrolled back to the top of the document. “Larry said you tried to ram the Suburban with your truck to slow it down so he could catch the dealer. True?”

“I didn't
try
to ram it. I
did
ram it…twice. So that's mostly true.”

“Then he said that the dealer had a wire kennel in his vehicle that fell out and busted open, and that you jumped out to rescue the puppies. True?”

“With some onlookers' and Harley's help, we got them all. So, true.”

“Why, Nick? The old Nick would have driven around the puppies, beaten Larry to the dealer, dragged him out of his vehicle by his balls, and beat the shit out of him before arresting him. Where is
that
Nick, Nick?”

Nick stood and walked over to the window before answering. He stared out at the streets that he loved. It was oddly ironic that this whole episode had started with a dog he didn't want and ended with some puppies he couldn't allow to be roadkill. It was interesting that she had used the phrase
the old Nick
when just this morning he'd thought exactly the same thing. Had he lost his edge?

He felt compelled to make Bobbi understand what was going on in his head…and his heart, even though he wasn't completely sure he knew. Maybe if he talked it out, it would help clarify it for both of them. “When I started with the DEA, I learned that fast decisions and actions without regard for other people's feelings got me collars, longer sentences, and, yes”—Nick turned to look at her—“more power. It was all about getting the bad guys, no matter what it took. I was determined to be the best.”

“And your point is?”

“Yesterday I woke up in my old bedroom and, like you, I wondered where the old Nick was. But not the one you were talking about. Not the one who didn't mind disappearing from the real world for a year at a time. Not the one who would lie, cheat, steal, or kill…anything to get an arrest. The Nick I missed was the one who could strip off all his clothes and jump in the lake…or take the day off to go fishing with my grandmother…or carry a box of colored pencils into the woods and draw pictures of leaves or squirrels or whatever shit caught my eye. The old Nick knew how to have fun. This Nick has forgotten how.”

Bobbi's forehead crinkled into a confused frown. “You're an artist?”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Is that all you got out of that?”

“I guess it's about priorities, and apparently yours have changed. First you risk your job by running off to Mexico on a wild-goose chase, and now you've blown your cover and everything you've worked for…for puppies?”

“I didn't get up yesterday and make a plan to fuck it all up. It just happened. Blame it on cellphones or the Internet. Or, better yet, on assholes that sell drugs to kids in parks.”

“In other words, blame everyone else?”

Nick gave her a sharp look. “Absolutely not. It was all my decision to stop traffic and keep from having ten little black smudges on the road. I consider rescuing innocent creatures, human or animal, part of my job. I'm sorry if you don't agree, but I feel good about saving those dogs.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “And even though you won't admit it right now, I think you'd have done exactly the same thing.”

“You're wrong. I've worked damn hard to get where I am, and I would do anything to stay here.”

“You know what they say: it's lonely at the top. Maybe you should get a dog.” Nick crossed the room in long strides. He paused in the doorway. “Do what you have to do, Bobbi. I'm good with where I'm at and where I'm going.”

“And where is that, Nick?”

“I'm going to stop that guy who is killing those kids. That's my job. Come on, Harley.”

Harley jumped to his feet and ran out of the office, catching up with Nick at the elevator bank. Nick punched the button repeatedly, but when the doors didn't immediately open, he pivoted, escaped through the exit door, and galloped down the four flights of stairs to the street level with Harley following close behind.

Nick's head was spinning. He was pissed that he couldn't get a break in the loosie-goosey case. He was concerned about losing his job because in most ways he loved it. Last but certainly not least, he was worried about not being able to convince Jamie he was worth the risk. Although if he lost his job, it might solve his problem with her. But his job was so important to him, and it would crush him to leave it.

Harley, with his favorite knotted rope toy in his mouth, stuck his head between the front bucket seats. Nick glanced over at him and nodded. “I agree. We need a little fresh air and playtime.” He made a turn at the next light and headed toward the park near his house.

It was Saturday and the weather was perfect, so of course the park was crowded, but Nick was able to find an empty bench in a shady area as far as possible from the playground equipment. He risked letting Harley off the leash since they were in an isolated corner.

Harley dropped his toy at Nick's feet and looked up with sparkling eyes.

Nick tossed the large, brightly colored rope twenty yards away, and Harley charged after it.

The game went on until the heat got to Harley and he stretched out on the cool grass in the shade. Nick took a bottle of water and a small collapsible bowl out of the backpack he always carried on their walks. He pushed the bowl closer to Harley, who raised up enough to get a drink, then lay back down.

Nick took out his notepad and meant to study his notes. Instead he started sketching Harley. His fingers moved slowly, tentatively at first. It had been so long since they'd done anything so frivolous…other than when they explored Jamie's enticing curves. That memory distracted him, and his pencil strokes became more relaxed as his hand moved on its own, capturing the bold lines of Harley's head, the noble curve of his ears, alert even in sleep, and the lean, muscular body. He shaded in the darker color of the dog's saddle and mask and was working on getting the hair right without making him look fluffy when his phone rang, playing the first few bars of “Stayin' Alive.”

“Hi, Grammy,” he answered, recognizing the ringtone.

“I saw you on YouTube. Those puppies are so cute.”

“Yeah, you and four million other people. At the rate I'm going, I'll be out of undercover work and into the high school career-day circuit.”

Grammy chuckled. “It's not that bad, Nicky.”

“No, it's probably worse. Don't rent out my old bedroom. I might be moving back in.” There was a moment of quiet, and Nick was afraid that even his grandmother was going to reject him. It was that kind of day.

“What are you doing this evening?” Grammy asked, seeming to change the subject.

“Uh…Harley and I will probably call out for pizza and catch a game on TV. Why?”

“Why don't you come out here for dinner…say, around eight?”

Nick wasn't really in the mood for company tonight. It was a good time to get shit-faced and fall asleep on the couch in his underwear. “Nah, I've had a shitty day. But I'll be there tomorrow.”

There was another long moment of silence, then Grammy admitted, “Jamie will be here.”

That sweetened the pot. “How do you know?”

“Because I invited her.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Two reasons…One is that she's bringing over a dog she picked up at the pound. They were about to put him to sleep because no one adopted him. He's ten years old, and I guess most people want younger dogs. But Jamie thought we two old farts would be good for each other.”

“That's cool. I think you'll enjoy the company. And the other reason?”

“Because if I leave it up to you boys, I'll never have any more great-grandkids. I don't know where I went wrong. All of you boys are smart and handsome…yet none of you can hang on to a good woman.”

“I don't need help with my love life.”

“Apparently you do. Be here at eight. And bring some ice. My ice maker is on the blink.”

The phone went dead, leaving him no option but to wake Harley up and head home. If he was going to see Jamie, he wanted to take a shower and wash all the failure off.

An hour later he and Harley were out of Austin and heading west. Clouds blocked the sun, tantalizing with the promise of rain. In the distance he could see the thunderheads building and occasional streaks of lightning splitting the air. They were too far away to hear the thunder, but it looked like they were coming this way.

Nick loved the smell of rain, so he left the windows open, and Harley did the dog thing with his nose in the air, sampling the plethora of scents while his lips flapped in the wind.

It was late enough that the traffic had thinned. This was a main artery out of Austin, so he wasn't alarmed that a silver BMW had been right behind him since they left downtown. Nick's mind was formulating exactly what he should say to Jamie, and he didn't notice that the traffic light had turned yellow until he was already in the intersection. He glanced quickly both ways and, since no one was coming, he accelerated rather than slam on the brakes.

Behind him the BMW sped up and ran the light even though it was clearly red by then. “Asshole,” Nick muttered, wondering where the small-town cops were. Writing tickets wasn't part of his job, so he blew it off and let his thoughts swing back to Jamie.

“Almost there, boy,” Nick told Harley as they headed toward the last bridge before the turnoff to Grammy's farm. He noticed the BMW speeding up and assumed it was going to pass. A second later, when the silver luxury car had drawn even with Nick's truck, he looked over in time to see the passenger's-side window roll down and a big, black nine-millimeter automatic point at him.

“Fuck! Hang on, Harley,” Nick yelled as he simultaneously ducked, slammed on the brakes, and jerked the wheel to the right. A bullet zipped through the air, just missing his head, seconds before the BMW took a hard right and rammed into the side of Nick's truck. Because the truck was already at an angle, the blow was enough to send it into a spin. The bridge flashed into his line of vision, then he felt the truck slam into the metal rail. There was a deafening screech of metal against metal, and then the truck tilted. It teetered for a second, much too briefly for Nick to react, before it rolled down the incline leading to a shallow creek below.

Nick didn't know how many times they rolled. He heard Harley yelp as the dog's body slammed into the ceiling, then back to the seat. It wasn't a very deep creek bed, but it felt like the roll lasted forever, with everything shifting to slow motion. Nick saw his phone float up, then fly out the window. All the change he kept in the cup holder in his console pelted him on one of the upside-down revolutions. The litter from his floorboard tumbled around the cab like clothes in a dryer.

Finally they came to a stop, the truck resting on its roof. It took Nick a few seconds to realize he was hanging by his seatbelt. He released it and collapsed onto the ceiling. Harley whimpered in the backseat, but he seemed to be okay. Nick crawled out the open window and Harley scrambled out after him. They both just lay there on the river rocks and tufts of weeds, trying to catch their breath and gather their wits.

On the road above, he heard voices and hoped someone had called 9-1-1. Pebbles and dirt tumbled down in a delayed reaction from the truck disturbing them—and loosened by two pairs of feet that were half sliding and half walking down the slope. Nick tried to see who they were, but the setting sun was behind them, casting the two men in silhouette. But the sun also was reflecting off the pistol the shorter man in back was carrying.

Nick tried to get up, but he grimaced in pain. He knew he'd broken either his leg or his pelvis. Either way, he wasn't going to be running away anytime soon. His fingers fumbled with his own gun, which miraculously was still stuffed into the back of his waistband.