Paw Enforcement 02 - Paw and Order (2 page)

I'd expected something typical, like perfume or a nice pair of gloves or jewelry. But instead there was a book inside. The latest offering from David Sedaris in hardback, an autographed copy no less.

No one, not even my parents, had ever bought me a more perfect gift.

How had he known?

My question must have been written on my face.

“I figured you must like his work,” Seth said. “I noticed you had a few of his earlier books at your apartment.”

Seth had noticed my books? Wow, that was pretty damn flattering. In my experience, guys tended only to notice things like exposed cleavage and neon beer signs.

“You don't have that book already, do you?” he asked. “I can exchange it.”

“No, I don't have it.” I'd been waiting for the cheaper paperback to come out next year. Rookie cops aren't exactly rolling in dough. “This was very n-nice of you, Seth.”

Blurgh.
My stutter was rearing its ugly head.

He made a motion with his hand. “There's a card inside.”

I opened the book and removed a small white envelope containing a card with a cartoon poodle on the front. Inside Seth had scrawled
I screwed the pooch.

Hmm.
It was more of an acknowledgment than an outright apology, though I supposed the sentiment implied remorse. Still, as nice as it was for him to admit his mistake, I'd hoped for more. Was he simply trying to rid himself of guilt? Is that what this meeting and the book were about? I looked up at him, but he'd turned again to stare out the window. I wasn't sure what to say, so I said nothing.

When he finally spoke, he appeared to be addressing the pickup truck parked outside. “You think maybe we could pick up where we left off?”

I swallowed the lump of raw emotion that had formed in my throat. “We left off with you telling me it wasn't going to work out.”

He hesitated a moment before offering a mirthless chuckle and turning back to look at me. “I meant before that. When we were having fun.”

It was my turn to hesitate now, my turn to look out the window. As much as I'd wanted him to come crawling back to me, as much as I'd like to see where things between the two of us might lead, there'd be no sense in setting myself up for more heartache. I'd put up with more from Seth than I should have, having no expectations, making no demands, accepting attention when and if he decided to give it to me. In retrospect, that had been a mistake. A mistake I'd made because I'd sensed something bruised, or perhaps even broken, in him.

Seth had served as an army explosive ordnance disposal specialist in Afghanistan, returning with his skin scarred from metal shrapnel, his heart scarred from emotional shrapnel. Though he'd been back home for two years, he'd enlisted in the reserves and spent one weekend a month on duty. Clearly he was still working through things. Whatever he was suffering, I'd hoped to alleviate his pain through caring and compassion and patience.

Still, though I preferred to consider myself a martyr, it would be wrong to attribute my behavior totally to altruistic reasons. Part of why I'd accepted his sporadic attention was because I'd been desperately lonely, willing to take whatever time he'd give me. But, thanks to my K-9 partner, I wasn't nearly so lonely anymore. Brigit had proven herself to be a loyal friend, always there when I needed her. I no longer felt inclined to put up with a relationship that didn't give me what I needed, to settle for whatever scraps might be tossed my way.

I forced myself to turn back to Seth. He was still watching me. Though his posture was rigid and his expression stoic, his green eyes seemed to be pleading with me.

What should I do?

The fact that he'd stuck with me last night and carefully selected this book said he harbored some feelings for me, but obviously he stunk at relationships. Did I really want to date someone who blew hot and cold? Who didn't seem to know what he wanted? Who left me feeling confused and frustrated, and more alone and lonely than ever? On the other hand, if I couldn't show him some understanding, offer forgiveness and reconciliation, what kind of person would that make me? And did I even know what I wanted from him? Was I looking for a serious relationship? Or did I just want to have some fun?

Conflicted, I sighed inwardly.
Why did relationships have to be so difficult?

“C'mon,” he said, his mouth pleading now, too, along with his eyes. “I never got to see you twirl your fire batons.”

He'd spotted the batons in my apartment but had yet to see me perform with them. My routine had been a big hit back on the high school football fields years ago.

Before I could respond, the waitress returned with our coffee, plunking two steaming mugs down in front of us. She pulled a pencil from behind her ear and a pad from the pocket of her apron. She looked to me. “Ready to order?”

“I'll have the German pancakes.” Starting off the new year with so much sugar was probably not the most auspicious beginning, especially for a health-conscious person like me, but after nearly losing my life last night I deserved to live a little, right? I angled my head to indicate Brigit. “My partner will have a side of bacon and a side of sausage.”

“Links or patties?”

“Both, please.”

Seth handed the woman his menu. “Same for us guys.”

As soon as the waitress left, Seth picked the conversation back up. This time, he leaned forward across the table and looked straight into my eyes. “Look. I acted like an ass. I know that.”

My mind went back to the day in question. When I'd pulled up to his house to see if he wanted to go to lunch, I'd witnessed a disturbing exchange between Seth and the grandfather he lived with, an exchange that concluded with his grandfather calling him a dumb bastard. Seth had clearly been hurt by the words. When I'd later tried to discuss the matter with him, hoping I could learn something about him and maybe soothe his hurt feelings, Seth had shut me down instantly, refusing to let me in, refusing to talk. Instead, he'd turned on me, telling me we were through. No good deed goes unpunished, huh?

Seth stretched a hand across the table as if reaching for me, but he pulled it back when I failed to respond. “I'm sorry, Megan. I should've just…”

Again he let his words trail off. But this time I filled in the blank for him.

“Talked to me? Opened up a little? T-trusted me?”

He wrapped both hands around his coffee mug and looked down into it. “Yeah,” he said finally. “That's exactly what I should have done.”

We were both quiet a moment. He cast furtive, almost desperate, glances at me between sips of steaming coffee. His eyes communicated what he couldn't bring his mouth to say.
He'd missed me. He wanted me back in his life. I was the most intelligent, most gorgeous creature he'd ever seen.
Okay, maybe I'd just wanted to flatter myself with that last part, but he could have been thinking it.

“Look, Seth,” I said finally. “I'd be willing to give you a second chance.”

His face brightened.

“But it'll have to be on my terms.”

He cocked his head, his smile now wary. “Such as?”

“If I ask you questions, you have to give me answers.”

It wasn't like I planned to extensively interrogate the guy. After all, he'd been very tight-lipped about his family so far and, other than asking about his grandfather, I hadn't pushed the issue. Having grown up with a stuttering problem, I wasn't much of a talker myself. But if we were going to have any kind of real relationship there would have to be at least a minimum of openness and honesty between us.

He stared at me for a long moment before looking down into his coffee mug again. “Okay.”

“Here's question number one.” I watched him closely as I tested these new waters. “What's up with your grandfather?”

Seth began to shrug, but slowly lowered his shoulders as if realizing a shrug was not an answer. At least not one I'd be satisfied with. “He's got … problems.”

“Problems,” I repeated. “You mean health problems? Is that why he uses the oxygen tank?” I'd noticed the old man pulling one behind him that day at the house.

“Yes,” Seth said. “He's got breathing problems, among other things.” Evidently realizing that answer was vague, too, Seth added, “He's belligerent. Withdrawn. Paranoid, sometimes. My grandmother used to tell me that he hadn't always been that way, that he used to be a nice, happy person, but as long as I've known him he's been like this. It got worse after she died.”

“Any idea what caused it?”

“Oh, I know exactly what caused it,” Seth said.

“What was it?”

“Vietnam.”

His gaze locked on mine, his eyes full of pain and grief and knowledge. A knowledge of things no one should ever have to learn. A knowledge of things, once learned, that can never be forgotten, no matter how hard someone might try to forget.

I realized that Seth's grandfather must be suffering from PTSD. Given the ease with which Seth recognized his grandfather's symptoms, Seth likely suffered from it, too. This revelation gave rise to so many more questions in my mind, but I could tell from the expression on Seth's face that he already felt too exposed. I wouldn't push him further now.

As much as my heart ached for Seth, as much as I wanted to be a source of comfort to him, I couldn't put all my eggs in one basket. At least not yet. Seth would have to earn back my trust before I could consider getting serious about him. Besides, before I got in too deep, I wanted to know exactly what I was getting myself into. As attracted as I might be to him, it was clear any relationship with him could be fraught with emotional landmines.

“Let's take things slow,” I said. “See how it goes. No obligations, no commitments.”

“Agreed,” Seth said. But, really, why wouldn't he? A no-strings-attached relationship was every guy's fantasy, right?

I skewered him with a look. “You realize this means no sex, right?”

The two of us had yet to be intimate. Though I found Seth sexy as hell, there was no way I'd consider fooling around outside a meaningful, monogamous relationship.

“No sex?” He threw his head back and groaned. “Why not?”

“Because we're keeping it casual.”

“Ever heard of ‘casual sex'?” He eyed me, raising a hopeful brow. “It was invented specifically for this type of situation.”

I shook my head. “Not my style.”

“Catholic guilt?”

“Not entirely, though that's probably part of it.”

“I thought the new pope threw all the rules out the window.”

“It's not quite that simple.”

Another groan, followed by a roguish grin as he began to relax. “I think we should negotiate on this. Like maybe I can touch you over your clothes?”

I shook my head.

“Above the waist only?”

I shook my head again.

“What if I only use one hand? That's a fair compromise.”

“Nope.”

“What if you bend over to pick something up? Can I at least peek down your shirt?”

I shrugged. “Guess that's fair.”

He proceeded to reach out and push my spoon off the table. It hit the floor with a resounding ping. A grin tugged at his lips. “Better get that.”

I reached across the table and snatched his spoon instead. “Nah. I'm all set.”

“Damn. I'd forgotten how smart you are.”

Maybe I should've indulged the poor guy. After all, he was putting himself on the line here and, besides, he wouldn't get much of a glimpse given the sweatshirt I wore.

I sat back against the booth. “That's my offer,” I said with more forced nonchalance. “Take it or leave it.”

Seth sat back against his booth, too, and tilted his head first one way, then the other as he appeared to be considering. He nailed me with a look so sexy and sensuous I felt naked despite the sweatshirt and pants. “Do I still get to play with your hair?”

A warm flush rushed to my cheeks. “Sure.”

He stretched his right hand across the table. “It's a deal.”

 

TWO

MEAT AND GREET

Fort Worth PD K-9 Sergeant Brigit

Brigit lifted her nose to the air, sniffing as the woman who'd brought her partner coffee approached with two loaded platters of bacon and sausage.
Is she bringing it to our table? Dare a dog from the streets hope for such a feast?

She stood on the vinyl seat, licking her chops as drool pooled in her mouth and drops of saliva fell from her jowls to the tabletop.

The woman stopped at the end of their booth and slid one platter into place in front of Blast, another in front of Brigit.

Score!

 

THREE

SUGAR DADDY

Robin Hood

She woke with a dry mouth, a pounding headache, and not a stitch of clothing on. All that champagne last night had been a bad idea. But she hadn't been about to turn down a free glass of Dom Pérignon.

Or two.

Or seven.

What a New Year's Eve party it had been! She had never seen anything like it in her twenty-one years on earth. An open bar with bottle after bottle of high-end spirits and liqueurs—none of that cheap, off-brand crap she drank at home—as well as a professional bartender to serve the guests. Waiters circulating through the crowd, bearing silver trays laden with crab puffs, caviar, and diamond-shaped mushroom-polenta hors d'oeuvres topped with roasted red peppers and mascarpone. She had no idea what polenta or mascarpone were, but that hadn't stopped her from sampling several of the delicious appetizers. A dessert table with dozens of tortes, tarts, and pastries, each painstakingly prepared and topped with fancy icing, chocolate shavings, or whipped cream. It was the kind of event she'd only read about in the newspaper society pages.