Paw Enforcement 02 - Paw and Order (6 page)

As she made her way back to the door, she spotted Evan's platinum-accented Montblanc pen lying near the edge of his credenza. Those designer pens didn't come cheap. The thing must have cost four or five hundred dollars new. She'd love to have a beautiful pen like that, but she'd probably never make enough money to afford one. Just like she'd never be able to afford a fancy car or a luxurious apartment or any of the other things she was entitled to.

A quick look over her shoulder confirmed that Evan and the accountant were absorbed in their numbers. In a swift, smooth move, she scooped the pen up and into the front pocket of her blazer.
Robin Hood strikes again.

If fate wouldn't give her what she deserved, she'd just have to take it.

This pen was a nice start …

 

SEVEN

LUNCH AND LIVESTOCK

Megan

Seth phoned late Saturday morning. “How about lunch?”

I glanced at the clock. “It'll have to be somewhere near the rodeo grounds. I go on duty at two.”

“How about Dos Gringos?”

“Perfect.” Their chalupas were among my favorites.

We met at the restaurant at noon. Seth had left Blast at home today. Brigit seemed disappointed, lying on the floor under the table with her head between her paws. That is, until her chicken fajitas arrived. Then all thoughts of her canine lover were replaced by carnivorous desires.

Seth and I had been like ships in the night since we'd reconciled on New Year's Day, our erratic work schedules preventing us from spending much time together other than quick meet-ups for meals. Nice, but not exactly the fun-filled, romantic evenings a girl dreams about.

Seth dug into his enchiladas, while I took a crunchy bite of my chalupa, savoring the spicy salsa.

When he'd swallowed his bite he asked, “How do you like working the stock show? Sounds like more fun than street patrol.”

I supposed it would to some, but I'd never been big on crowds. Too many people in a confined space gave me a sense of claustrophobia, not to mention the constant aroma of bovine manure. Still, yesterday hadn't been all bad. Meeting Clint had been fun.

At the thought of Clint, my gut rippled with guilt. Ridiculous, since Clint and I had only gone so far as harmless flirtation. I supposed I had no real reason to feel guilty. After all, Seth and I had agreed we could date other people and, for all I knew, Seth could have a dozen girls on the side. Something told me he didn't, though.

Seth took a sip of his soda. “I haven't been to the stock show in years. How about I get a ticket this afternoon? As long as I don't get in your way it won't be a problem, right?”

I took another bite of my chalupa, buying myself time to think through my feelings and come up with a response. Did I want Seth to come to the stock show? Part of me thought it could be a nice way to spend more time together. Another part of me thought I might not get that ride Clint had promised me if Seth were tagging along. Another part of me thought that wanting two men was cheap and wrong. Another part of me thought it might be fun to be cheap and wrong. Another part of me was ashamed I'd had that thought. Another part of me thought too many parts were chiming in and maybe they should all shut up.

“Okay,” I told Seth. “Come to the show. But don't blame me if you go home smelling like cow poop.”

*   *   *

At half past two that afternoon, I led Brigit into one of the exhibit halls with Seth following along beside me. I'd suggested we go inside mostly to avoid the cold outdoor temperatures but, admittedly, I'd also thought we'd have less chance of crossing paths with Clint if we stayed indoors.

On our way into the building, my eyes spotted a head topped with rust-orange hair cut in a short burr sticking up among the cowboy hats up ahead.

Blurgh. Say it isn't so.

Damn. It was
so.

Out from the crowd emerged Derek Mackey, who headed toward us, evidently on his way out of the building. He wore his uniform, meaning he was on duty. He also wore his typical condescending, smug expression, meaning he'd experienced no sudden improvement in personality.

As he approached, my thoughts tumbled out of my mouth before I could rein them in. “What are
you
doing here?”

I supposed I shouldn't be so rude. After all, it was Derek who'd discovered me tied to the carousel horse with the bomb on my chest. If he hadn't happened by the mall that evening, I'd be dead. Still, I knew his finding me had been mere coincidence and luck. It's not like he'd set out to rescue me.

Mackey grunted. “
What am I doing here?
What does it look like, Einstein? I'm working.” With that, he continued on past us and out the door.

It wasn't too surprising the chief would ask Mackey to work the event. If he wanted to beef up the police presence, what better way to do it than with one of the beefier officers? Derek's biceps and pecs were nearly as big as his ego. Still, his presence here meant I wouldn't be getting the reprieve I'd hoped for.

A sheep show was under way in the hall's arena. Seth and I stopped at the fence and rested our arms on it, watching the goings-on. Breeders paraded Dorper, Dorset, and Rambouillet sheep around a pen. Not that I knew anything about the breeds, but the announcer identified them as such. Judges with clipboards circled the animals, groping them through their woolly coats and feeling up and down their legs like some kind of perverts.

“Cute sheep, huh?” Seth said.

I shrugged. “Honestly, they kind of look like those British barristers to me. You know, the ones that wear those goofy white wigs?”

Seth cut me a glance, an amused twinkle in his eye. “You have an odd way of looking at the world, Megan.”

“I'm just perceptive,” I argued. “That's a good trait for a cop.”

“Point taken,” Seth replied. He lowered his voice and leaned his head in to mine. “If you're so perceptive, can you tell how bad I want to get you alone and kiss you?”

Though I was flattered and just as eager to put my lips on his, this was neither the time nor place. I gave him a gentle jab with my elbow. “Hush.”

“C'mon, Megan. Nobody would notice if we hid out in one of these empty stalls.” He cocked his head to indicate an empty space behind us. “Look. That one's already full of hay. We could go for a roll in it.”

Before I could respond, a man and woman with three children in tow stepped up to me. All five wore jeans, boots, and straw cowboy hats. Given that their apparel looked new, they'd probably bought it specifically to wear to the stock show. Only a small percentage of north Texans actually lived on farms or ranches, but at rodeo time every local liked to get their cowboy or cowgirl on.

“Are you the officer who took down the bomber at Billy Bob's?” the wife asked, her eyes gleaming as if she'd just met a big celebrity.

“Yes, that's me.” I forced a smile. Frankly, I didn't like being in the proverbial spotlight. It was too much pressure, trying to live up to some glorified, heroic image. I put my pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else. Heck, I often had to wrestle with Brigit to get the pants leg out of her mouth.

“Wow!” the woman gushed. “I can't believe it!” She put a hand to her chest as if to calm her pounding heart.

“Mind if we take a picture?” her husband asked.

I reminded myself that I was here both to perform my usual duties and on a PR mission. “Not at all.” If I had a nickel for each person who'd asked to take my photo over the last few days I'd be able to buy one of those overpriced funnel cakes by now.

Seth offered to snap the shot so the entire family could be in the picture. I ordered Brigit to sit at my feet, then turned to look at Seth.

“Everybody say cheese!” he called.

“Cheeeeese!” cried the three kids.

Brigit looked up at them, smacking her jowls.

Flash!

The husband and wife thanked me, rounded up their children, and moved on.

Seth and I continued on, too, leaving the sheep fondlers behind and stepping back outside.

“Walk ahead of me,” I said to Seth. “We can't look like we're together out here.”

In the crowded exhibit hall, a cop could be expected to be in close quarters with those attending the stock show. But outside it would be best if we maintained some distance so it wouldn't look as if I were goofing off. Of course a secondary benefit was that I wouldn't appear to be with Seth should Clint happen to spot us.

As we strolled across the grounds, a black blur appeared in my peripheral vision. I turned my head to see Clint and Jack trotting past on the main drive. Luckily, the deputy seemed to have a destination in mind and was watching the path ahead of him. He continued on out of sight without noticing me.

In another minute or two, Seth and I reached the noisy midway. Seth stopped in front of the dart game. “I'm going to win you one of those.” He gestured to a stuffed brown dog with a felt tongue hanging out of its mouth and a red bandana around its neck.

He set his money on the counter. The carnie reached under the counter, pulled out three darts, and handed them to Seth.

Seth put the tip of the darts to his finger. “These are dull, buddy. Give me some sharp ones.”

The darts may have been dull, but the look the carnie sent Seth was so pointed he could've performed acupuncture with it.

I sent the man an equally pointed look right back. “You're not pulling a fast one, are you?”

“No,” the man spat. “These darts are old is all.” He reached under a different part of the counter this time and pulled out three different darts, exchanging them for the ones in Seth's hand.

Seth felt the tips. “That's more like it.”

Seth raised the first dart and eyed the balloons tacked to the board, picking his air-filled victim. He drew his hand back and sent the dart flying.
Pop!
A pink balloon met its death. He raised the second dart, aimed, and threw it.
Pop!
This time a blue balloon bit the dust. He raised the final dart, eyed the board, and sent it on its way.
Pop!
Stretchy pieces of red balloon exploded into the air.

“Congratulations.” The carnie reached up, pulled one of the brown dogs down from the wall, and handed it to Seth.

Seth, in turn, handed it to me. Brigit sniffed the dog, grabbed it by the floppy ear, and yanked it out of my hands, shaking it back and forth as if trying to break its neck.

The carnie snorted. “That dog sure is one vicious bitch.”

Couldn't argue with him on that one. I'd seen her in action, seen her tear out after a suspect, grab him with her sharp teeth and refuse to let go. I might be her handler, but I still found her scary sometimes.

We continued on, Brigit carrying her new toy in her mouth as we walked.

Seth consulted the schedule he'd obtained from the ticket booth when we'd arrived. “There's a goat-milking contest in fifteen minutes. We can't miss that.”

I followed ten steps behind Seth as he entered the other hall, and paused for a moment inside the door as, up ahead, he scouted a good vantage point for watching the competition. Attendees walked past, some giving me a nod or a “Hello, Officer.” Others cut their eyes to Brigit and timidly scurried on as if she were a ferocious beast.

Seth raised his hand and issued a discreet signal, letting me know he'd found a good spot. As casually as I could, I made my way through the horde, glancing left and right to ensure everyone was on good behavior.

Two skinny adolescent boys had climbed halfway up the slats of the enclosure to sit on the fence. There probably wasn't much chance of them getting hurt, even if they accidentally fell into the arena. Goat milking was a rather tame event compared to the bull riding and calf roping that would take place later tonight at the rodeo. Nonetheless it would set a bad precedent. Might as well put them on alert that no rule breaking would be tolerated.

I gave a soft tweet of my whistle to get their attention, motioning with my hand when they turned my way. “Get down, boys! Keep your boots on the ground.”

With sullen looks, they dropped to the floor of the hall
Thump, thump.
I gave them a thumbs-up and continued on, slipping into a place at the fence two feet away from Seth. A teenage girl stepped into the space between us, resting her elbows on the fence. Three hefty rednecks stepped up to the fence on my right.

As we watched, the contestants lifted their goats onto low platforms with a metal frame of bars at the end. Some of the goats were brown, others black, with a single cream-colored one in the bunch. Their horizontal pupils always struck me as odd, but I knew from elementary school field trips to petting zoos that the unusual eyes gave the goats superior peripheral vision, a definite plus when you had to keep an eye out for wolves or coyotes while grazing.

The contestants urged the animals forward until the goats' heads were immobilized between the bars. The goats ready, the contestants slid buckets underneath their udders and positioned themselves on stools or benches alongside their animals.

A woman wearing an official stock show shirt stepped to the head of the group. She raised a bullhorn in one hand, a stopwatch in the other, her index finger poised to hit the start button. “On your mark!” she called.

The contestants leaned toward their goats.

“Get set!”

Two dozen hands reached for two dozen goat udders.

“Go!”

The air filled with cheers from the audience and the tinny sound of pressurized liquid hitting the sides of the metal buckets. For the most part the goats seemed to tolerate the situation, though one doe kept twisting her head, trying to back it out of the bars. The contestants' forearms moved up and down, up and down, their muscles flexing, as they milked their goats. When the time had elapsed, the official hollered, “Stop!”