Protect and Serve Don't Need A Hero (8 page)

My eyes lit up. So, I could burn that shit under the tarp? Yeah, baby! Bonfire in the backyard, grilled tuna and beer party coming up! Then, my inner calendar caught up with my emotions. I’d been on my own for ten years. She’d sold the place the same time she’d dumped Beau and me outside. My fingers itched for a matchstick. I really, seriously needed some revenge. Had she sold us as part of the package deal? I didn’t even try to stop the hiss I made at the pile. “Get this shit out of our house!” Something snapped inside me, and all the misery of that first year came back.

Apollo’s arms became steel bands before I could wriggle out from them and start tossing the contents out the door. “Wait! Before you do that, you’d better hear the truth of what happened.”

“She abandoned us! That loyal fucking dog died because he didn’t know how to stop loving and believing in them!” I fought like a hellcat, determined to have some small measure of revenge.

“He was right.” Apollo’s quiet affirmation stunned me long enough for him to reach out and yank the tarp off the pile.

Two large boxes supported a myriad of smaller boxes, but the labels hadn’t faded. I read the words aloud. “Princess Petra’s bed and toys” and “Beau’s bed and toys.” On top of those boxes were two carriers, one small pink one and one large one the same gold as Beau’s fur. On top of those were two collars and leashes. Taped to my carrier was a note with a simple message:

“Madam, you can get your own pets ready for the move. I quit! Lucy.”

My knees went weak. The maid was supposed to have put us in the carriers, but instead she’d let us out into the yard and left, deliberately abandoning us. “Why didn’t Mina come back for us?” My voice came out as a squeaky whine, and I bitched myself out for showing any weakness.

“Because she was already dead.” Apollo’s arms loosened enough where I could breathe. “A riot of the have-nots on I-295. The car had been overloaded and too slow to get out. The rioters turned the car over and burned enough fuel around it to cook them alive inside. Mina and her husband Sam died before rescue could douse the flames and get them out. They’d already changed their address, so no one thought to check back at the old house for you or Beau.”

Shit. My whole body shuddered while the truth seeped its way through years of hate and misery. Hate given for no damn good reason, it seemed. I stood in that musty, spacious hallway staring at the evidence of how we’d not been abandoned. She’d intended to come back for us and take us with her, but the one person Mama had trusted had betrayed her.

No, two people had betrayed her. First, the maid Lucy. She’d be on my list of people to look up, later. Second was me. I hadn’t believed. “Beau was right.”

“Yeah. Dogs are like that, I guess.” Apollo gathered me to him. “Love and loyalty all wrapped up in slobber and a complete lack of dignity. Fucking mutts are born to be heroes.”

My lips twitched. I guess he couldn’t see the irony of his statement. My big, bad panther was also a hero, but it’s just not wise to tell a kitty when they’re doing something cool. Feline perversity dictates we must do the opposite of what is expected and approved. It’s in the Feline Handbook. Trust me. “I won’t mention to Rat and Beans what you just said. They might take exception.”

“Good idea. The world needs heroes, but you never tell them what they are.” My big bad cop cuddled me to his chest. “So, are you going to let me lease the house?”

“Nope. Mine.” My lips twitched. “But… if I remember correctly, Mama’s bed was huge and super soft. Wanna go check it out?”

“Great idea.” He swept me up into one of those romantic carry holds like something out of a cheap novel. I ignored the way my heart fluttered. “I guess this means I’ve adopted a cop.”

We all need our heroes. I’d found mine.

Lena Austin

Lena Austin has been and done a few things that the statute of limitations hasn’t run out upon yet, but she combines her memories with an active imagination. When she’s not being a professional liar (her term for writer), she’s a customer service rep in a call center -- and sometimes both simultaneously. Writing keeps her off tall buildings with high-powered rifles.