Protect and Serve Don't Need A Hero (7 page)

“Where did you get this?”

“An illegal fence operation.” Apollo shrugged but I could tell the fences had been selling more than just inanimate objects, probably kids. His frown was haunted. “We shut them down.”

I told him about the… sculpture. “I know that one. It was in my house, growing up.”

Apollo’s frowned became puzzled. “But it’s a Miko. She was an internationally known local artist. This was hers. I’ve always wanted to know more about her.”

Suddenly, I hated the statue. “That she was a selfish bitch.”

* * *

I’ve never been happier than I’ve been these last few weeks. I have a partner even better that Jeff could ever imagine. Pete cooks as well as I do and will threaten me with my own whisk when I touch her culinary efforts.

Last week she ran the chop saw while I assembled the restoration of an Andy Warhol-era entertainment stand, then she carved an inlaid compass rose. I’m in awe and in love.

Yeah, I said it. Mr. Solitary has finally found the queen of my dreams. She just happens to not be another Florida Panther.

Now that little Mikey is out of the hospital, we babysit two active Rottweiler puppies in human form and love every minute of it. I can chase Angelina around Dustin’s estate while Mikey “makes auntie Pete rest.”

Today is the final hearing on the bank robbery that brought us together. The posthumous conviction of that nutball bank robber ties the last bow on the whole incident. We’ll never know whose bullet struck Mikey. It was too distorted, and no one gave a damn anyway. So, we cops go back to work on Monday, pending no surprises at the hearing.

I’ve got a surprise of my own for Pete. Sometimes I find much more than merely furniture. I surreptitiously patted the little, satin-lined box.

I hardly recognized Pete when she got out of the taxi at the courthouse steps. Those mile long legs and strong body were hidden behind some pink dress that made her look like candy. I certainly wanted a bite. She marched up the steps slowly, in deference to the still-healing foot. Her smile was nervous and tight. “I’ve never been in the courthouse before, much less a courtroom. And I’ve never been escorted into a courtroom by a cop in uniform.” She batted her big blue eyes and popped her gum nervously.

The security arches just inside the doors had a short line of people shuffling through, presided over by a bored guard in body armor.

I stepped through easily and nodded to the guard. He lifted his stunner an inch or so when he saw my identification on his screens.

Pete stepped forward, clearly eager to be done with security. The arc flashed briefly, and the barrier snapped up blocking Pete’s way. No alarms blared and the guard sighed. “Huh? This can’t be right.” He peered at the arc screen. “Champion Petra Delight of Oakton?”

Pete popped her gum and tried to sound like a tough alley cat. I knew better. It was all an act to hide her fancy roots. “Yeah, what? How do you know my real name?”

The guard blinked, then nodded. “Ma’am, you were chipped as a kid. For some reason, the chip was flagged. There’s a request for you to see the clerk of the court.” He waved down the hall and released the barrier.

“What?” Pete seemed frozen in place.

I yanked her forward and out of the way. “Rich kids and pedigreed pets are chipped so they can return home.” I caressed the nape of her neck, where the chip likely was. “There’s an electronic chip back there with your kitty ID embedded in it.” I hustled her down the hall and through the door to the clerk of the court.

The receptionist at the counter smiled up at Pete. “Ms. Oakes, please go right in. Room B is on the right. Mr. Bennett will explain.”

Pete glanced at her wrist, unit. “I… I don’t have a lot of time. I’m due to testify in courtroom 317 at 1300.”

“This won’t take long, ma’am.” The receptionist smiled vacantly at everyone still waiting for their turn and ignored the filthy looks some shot her for jumping someone over the line.

The clerk at the desk of room B had that weary-eyed look of clerks throughout history, but his smile and courtesy offering Pete a seat was all old-world. “I won’t waste your valuable time.” He opened a slim data pad. Beside his data pad was a sealed silicate envelope. “You’re the only known beneficiary since…” He studied the file a moment. “The canine Beau was never found.”

“Beau is dead.” Pete’s voice was flat and emotionless. “He didn’t survive our abandonment.”

Now the clerk frowned. “My apologies and condolences. Be that as it may, here are your tax records and the names of the legal firm in charge of your estate.” He slid over a data stick. “It’s all inside.”

“Estate? Huh?” Pete was genuinely puzzled, judging by her frown and baffled look.”

I bit my lip. I had an idea, based on my research, but I haven’t had a chance to work it into a conversation yet. She was so bitter. Call me a coward, not a hero.

“Ms. Oakton, please call the legal firm for more details.” The clerk stood, clearly ending the conversation. “My apologies for flagging your identification, but we had been unable to locate you by the usual means.”

Pete put the data stick in her pocket. Trust my girl not to have a purse like a normal female. Her face was a set mask like she always wore when the subject of her past came up. She nodded and regally left the room as if going to her coronation.

We made it to the hearing, and after Pete’s testimony and the dash cam videos, the jury took less than five minutes to reach the expected verdict -- guilty. We were done by 3 p.m.

I thought Pete had forgotten about the data stick but in the parking garage, Pete pulled it out of her pocket and dropped it atop a pile in the trash bin. She kept walking as if she’d thrown away a wad of used gum rather than millions of credits.

I scooped the little silver stick out of the trash behind her and fingered a sequence on my badge communication unit. Naturally I’d made my testimony in uniform, so my patrol vehicle blinked its lights to acknowledge my approach. One small red dot on the dashboard confirmed my signal.

I caught up with Pete just in front of my car. “Hey, Pete! You dropped this.” I held up the stick.

“No, I did not fucking drop it. I threw it away.” She turned and faced me. “I don’t want to deal with those lawyers.”

Bingo! Just what I’d hoped she’d say. This was too easy. “So, should I contact the law firm for you?”

My kitten shrugged. “Sure. I don’t care. Just as long as I don’t have to touch it, you can do what you like.”

I keyed in the door code sequence to let her sit in Jeff’s seat. He wouldn’t need it for another few weeks, and I promised her a safe ride back to Marissa’s for some babysitting. I had what I wanted, so I would let Mikey and Angelina distract her.

Chapter Nine

Fuck me running if I wasn’t relieved to put the trial behind me. This kitty girl needed some hard work and sweat, but with my bum foot and Rat in fucking Dubai, I was stuck behind the general contractor’s desk. “Am I enjoying my manager’s stint? Yeah ah… No, not really. Screw you, Rat! Get your tail-wagging ass home!” Trying to hold a conversation with Rat when the cell service made reception snowier than a Christmas morning in Denver frustrated the shit out of me.

“Sorry for the (static) but I’ll be back in a (static) weeks.” Rat’s voice was so far away I had to restrain myself from shouting into the phone for fear he wouldn’t hear me.

“Working a schedule board for one project drives me bat crap, much less six. Why can’t you manage it yourself from there?” So what if I was whining? Desperate times call for desperate measures. I knew the answer, but I had to make the point.

“Reception sucks, that’s why!” Amazingly, that line came through loud and clear. Worse, Rat was shouting loud enough to make my ears ring. “Suck it up until I get back, girlfriend.” Then the line went dead. Crappy reception! You’d think a bunch of wealthy Arabs would have decent cell towers and satellite.

I put a data stick in the file cabinet, slammed the drawer, and gave the digital screen one last tweak before shutting it down. “Thank God it’s Friday!”

“I can agree with that.” My favorite cop lounged in the doorway of Rat’s office, all slinky panther grace. He was already out of uniform, wearing a classic pair of khakis and an open-throated camp shirt. Yummy! We had a date to check out a property off Mill Creek, in a formerly exclusive island community, complete with bridge.

I practically ran -- okay, hobbled in a hurry -- to his car, but “sucked it up” and didn’t bitch on the ride. We crossed onto the island in no time. As soon as he turned into the formerly gated community, I got a weird sense of déjà vu.

The red sides of a fake covered bridge had faded, making it even more rustic than its designers had originally intended. The inside of the bridge was dark, but mercifully short. Yeah, like it was so difficult to cross a creek so small a man could jump it, but apparently the residents had felt they needed their road pass over said creek. Weirdos.

Apollo kept right on driving, maneuvering his patrol car around road debris, a fallen tree, and the creeping vegetation slowly taking over the road. His truck was sturdy enough to power over the vegetation creeping over what had been a paved road. “Damned kudzu,” he muttered.

Each house sat on its own seven or so acres, each private estate of overgrown lawns where the normally unwelcome native flora and fauna now held sway. The wealthy owners and gardeners were long gone, and good riddance. Most of the houses were falling down, and many looked like the next hurricane would blow them apart like a pile of matchsticks.

“You want a house here?” I looked out the window and shuddered. The carpenter in me itched to get my hands on the houses and save them. I wondered if I did a title search, maybe I could buy up the land for cheap. Note to self: buy the island. I hadn’t confessed to Apollo how rich Beans was making me. I didn’t want to be a wealthy rural socialite, anyway. However, Three Amigos Construction had made me rich, and Beans was doing a good job of making me filthy fucking rich.

“Just one in particular.” Apollo turned the truck down a barely discernible driveway between two pillars. “The owner actually owns the entire island, but her rental properties are… Um…”

“Let’s call them unoccupied.” I grinned at him and pointed at a small herd of mule deer in the clearing. “Sort of unoccupied. Why this place?”

“Location, location, location. It’s close enough for me to work, but far enough for the riffraff to be negligible. Besides…”

He didn’t need to explain more. Around a bend in the drive, a magnificent house I knew well appeared from behind a stand of live oaks. My home. Unlike all the other houses, the palmetto scrub had no claim on the lawn or wraparound porch. It stood in pristine glory, a gracious Victorian old lady waiting in serene silence with a fresh coat of paint.

I wasn’t sure how I felt now that I was staring right at it. Part of me wanted to tear it apart, and part of me wanted to go sit on the porch swing and relax in someone’s lap. Like I’d come home. Then I saw a small, granite memorial to the side of the drive. I swallowed a sob and tried to get the car door open, forgetting I was in a cop car. The damn door refused to open until Apollo slammed into park. I stumbled to the granite memorial and read the words aloud. “Beau the golden retriever. His faith and loyalty never wavered. Heroes are made of those traits.”

Apollo knelt in the grass next to me. In his hands were a rawhide bone and some dog treats. He grinned sheepishly at me and laid the gifts on Beau’s grave. “I figured he’d like these a lot better than flowers.”

I sniffled like a sap and caressed the bas-relief of the golden retriever. “The sculpture Mina created was better looking, but this fits Beau better. It’s simple and loving, just like him.” I would not cry. I would not cry. Maybe if I told myself that often enough, I could stop crying inside. I missed that fucking mutt.

Eventually Apollo stood and tugged on my hand. “Come see the rest.”

Talk about mixed feelings! I wanted to burn the place down but only after I spent a few hours traveling down memory lane. I trembled like my muscles had been tense too long. Still, I limped up the porch steps and to the massive front doors behind Apollo.

The forest green paint still had that faint “new” chemical smell, and the doorknocker had been polished to a gleam. The sidelight glass I had jumped through in my terror had been replaced.

The place was pristine like no one had ever left, except for a big-ass pile of stuff covered with a tarp in the middle of the octagon-shaped hall. From the thick layer of dust covering it, Mina had left this last bit. I wondered how big of a bonfire it would make.

Some pieces of furniture looked vaguely familiar, and some I knew quite well. Apollo’s place must have been emptied of every antique that could be moved. Just to be sure, I peeked in the kitchen. Yep, he’d upgraded to the latest chef toys until I drooled on my shoes. Did this mean he wanted to live here?

Shit, now I was really, really conflicted. I damn sure couldn’t burn the place down with his shit inside. Then again, I was relieved I didn’t have to burn it down anymore. Yeah, I’d have those days playing “lap fungus” on the porch swing with Super Cop, if he’d let me get cat hair on his uniforms. I’d buy the biggest fucking grill and set it in an outdoor kitchen to die for. I still grilled out better than he did, though he stomped my ass into the dirt when it came to inside cooking.

Apollo’s arms slid around me from behind, interrupting my daydream. “You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?”

Ask? Like he had to ask? “Fuck yeah, I’m moving in with you!” I whirled around and jumped into his arms. “I don’t know how you persuaded Mina to let you have the lease on the joint, but I’ll bet you got it for a song, considering the lack of other tenants.” I’d make a discreet call to Beans and see if he could track the bitch down. I wanted to buy the whole damn island for sure, now.

“Not quite the question I had in mind, but I’ll take that answer.” He purred into my hair and rubbed his cheek all over my head. “But, you’re laboring under a misconception, Fur-Baby. Mina doesn’t own this island anymore, and hasn’t for ten years.” He lifted me up and walked backward until we stood next to the dusty tarp.