Paw Enforcement 02 - Paw and Order (38 page)

I called Brigit off the woman, and Bustamente and I bent down to cuff her.

“Help!” she screamed, flailing about on the ground. “Police brutality!”

“Be still!” I ordered, grabbing for her arm.

She was still struggling, still fighting, but between the two of us Bustamente and I finally managed to get her shackled.

“On your feet,” the detective said.

She responded by turning onto her back and kicking out at him.

Swish, whap!
One stroke of encouragement from my baton was all it took to settle her down.

“Okay! Okay!” she cried. “I'll do what you say!”

We dragged her to her feet. She cursed the entire way as we led her back to her apartment, directing some of the slurs at us, others at the world in general.

Back in her apartment, I pointed my baton at the couch. “Sit down. And don't move or my dog will tear you to bits.”

As if to add credence to my threat, Brigit offered a growl and bared her teeth.

Bustamente put his hands on his knees and bent down to look Amber Lynn in the face. “You want to talk? Tell us where you hid the jewelry and stuff?”

She responded only with a glare.

Detective Bustamente and I left Amber Lynn Hood sitting on her couch with Brigit keeping watch as we searched her unit, starting with the bedroom.

“You take the closet,” Bustamente said. “I'll start on the dresser.”

I opened the closet and began pulling boxes of accessories off the shelves to look through them.

Back in the breakfast nook, Crystal had totally given up by then, willing to accept whatever fate might have in store for her. She simply sat at the dinette table and cried, wiping her eyes with a paper towel. “Why'd you do it, Li'l Sis?” she said finally. “Why'd you kill that man? Why'd you drag me and Heather into all of this?”

Bustamente and I exchanged glances.

He stepped to the bedroom door and looked out at Crystal. “Who's Heather?”

“Our other sister,” she responded between sobs.

He pulled his radio from his belt. “She the other one who used the pillowcase to rob those two women?”

Crystal nodded.

“Where is she now?” he asked.

“At home. At our parents' house.”

“She have her gun with her?”

Crystal shook her head. “She never had a gun. They used lipstick.”

So I'd been right to think the circular bruises on Lisa and Dominique had been too small for a gun barrel.

Bustamente radioed dispatch and asked them to send officers out to the trailer to arrest Heather.

We continued our search, painstakingly going through clothing, shoes, suitcases, and bedding, looking for the stolen jewelry or cash. Although we found nothing that belonged to Sam Gunderson, Bustamente found the stolen marquise diamond ring taped inside an A/C vent. Looked like Amber Lynn had decided to keep that piece for herself.

We'd just finished our search and called for another officer to transport Amber Lynn Hood to police headquarters for booking, when a knock sounded on the door to the apartment.

“I'll get it.” I flipped on the porch light and opened the door to find an attractive Asian guy standing there, a bouquet of pink roses in his hand.

While Amber Lynn had stoically seethed since we'd nabbed her, on seeing the guy with the flowers she broke down with an ungodly wail, tears streaming down her face, her shoulders shaking with emotion.

“Uhhh…” said the guy, looking from me, to Detective Bustamente, to Brigit, to Amber Lynn. “Is this a bad time?”

 

FIFTY-NINE

THIS DOG DONE GOOD

Brigit

Brigit could tell that Megan was pleased with her performance. Her partner fed her seven liver treats. Totally worth that loud noise that still had her ears ringing.

Following the woman who'd escaped out her window had been easy. Her flowery cologne marked her trail for Brigit like spotlights would for a human.

Yep, Brigit was pleased with herself, pleased with the way things had gone here tonight. She'd be happier, though, if it hadn't been so long since she'd seen Blast.

She laid her head on her paws and sighed.

I miss that dog.

 

SIXTY

DRESSED TO THE NINES

Amber Lynn

She was booked, stripped, and deloused, though it hardly seemed fair to call it a delousing when there were no louses present in the first place.

A seasoned, white-haired female guard handed Amber Lynn an orange jumpsuit. At least it was new rather than secondhand. Amber Lynn decided that maybe she should start being happy for small favors.

Amber Lynn slid into the jumpsuit.

“Look at you,” the guard said, “dressed to the nines.”

Actually, according to the number on the chest of her uniform, Amber Lynn was dressed to the 9384652s.

After Kevin Trang had left Amber Lynn's apartment, the detective had told her that Sam Gunderson had died of alcohol poisoning, not suffocation. The pillow she'd put over his face had nothing to do with his death. Amber Lynn found herself feeling something far beyond mere relief. She found herself realizing that fate had given her another chance.

Maybe fate isn't so unfair, after all.

The defense attorney she'd been assigned gave her more reason to hope.

“Your sisters will only get probation,” he assured her. “You'll get some time for the thefts, but the knee to the groin and the cattle prod? We can claim self-defense there.”

He'd made sure that the photographer on duty took pictures of the yellowish-green bruise that encircled Amber Lynn's wrist.

She'd never liked secondhand clothes, but she did like second chances. She planned to make the most of this one she'd been given. As she sat in the holding cell, waiting for the police to transport her to the county jail, she thought things over. Maybe she'd look into going to college, after all. She was only twenty-one. It wasn't too late. Heck, she'd always been a good speller. Maybe she'd major in English, write a book someday. She had no idea what she might write about, but she knew it wouldn't feature a woman just sitting around, waiting for her Prince Charming. She also knew the story would have a happy ending.

 

SIXTY-ONE

OLD FLAMES

Megan

Bustamente had nailed Amber Lynn Hood to a T. She was exactly what he'd predicted. A girl who'd grown up poor and had a chip on her shoulder. I could only hope that someday I'd be as adept as he was at analyzing clues and profiling suspects. He'd suggested some books on criminal psychology for me to read, and I'd immediately hopped online to order them.

After Amber Lynn had been taken to the station, I continued on to the stock show grounds to complete my shift. As Brigit and I patrolled, I spotted Clint sitting on Jack outside one of the barns, chatting up yet another rodeo groupie, this one a tall brunette in leather pants. He smiled down at her, laughed at something she said, nudged her in the butt with his toe.

Been there, done that.

Though I supposed I should've felt jealous, I didn't this time. I guess I'd known on some level that Clint and I would be nothing more than a passing thing, a bit of fun to enjoy for a while before moving on.

Not like me and Seth.

For better or worse, Seth and I seemed to have some type of necessary connection, loose as it might be. And given how upset he'd become over me seeing Clint, I figured he might be more attached to me than he wanted to admit, to me or even to himself. We just needed to figure out how to make things work between us.

*   *   *

Saturday night, I was back at the rodeo with Brigit, standing at the gate, waiting for Clint to take his ride. Assorted groupies hung nearby, some of them the same young women and men I'd seen before, while others were new faces.

As I watched a bareback rider do his best to stay on his horse, Brigit stood up next to me and turned around, her tail whipping back and forth in excitement. She barked, too, an excited
arf-arf-arf!
that could barely be heard above the din of the cheering crowd.

I turned to see what had her so worked up.

Blast.
He wore his vest identifying him as a member of the Fort Worth Fire Department. No doubt the vest had gotten the dog into the event, but it had also probably freaked out a portion of the attendees who realized he was an explosive-sniffing dog. Oh, well. It was the last night of the stock show and rodeo. All of the tickets that were going to be sold had been already.

The bareback rider was thrown from his horse and the crowd quieted down as they waited for the next rider to get ready. According to the schedule in my hand, that rider would be Clint.

Blast trotted up the ramp on the end of a leash grasped in Seth's hand.

My eyes traveled upward from the dog to meet Seth's gaze. He appeared unsure but hopeful, a half smile on his mouth as he seemed to wait to see what kind of reception he'd get from me.

“Hey,” I said, as he stepped up. I looked into his green eyes. “It's good to see you.”

The half smile doubled to a full. “I figured I'd come out and see your performance. You doing some tricks with Brigit?”

I was flattered that he remembered I'd be performing tonight. “Nope. I'll be twirling my fire batons.”

His eyes sparkled. “Seriously? Are you going to wear a skimpy costume?”

I'd debated that very thing, but when I tried on my majorette uniform from high school I feared if I wore it I would split the seams. I'd filled out a bit since then. The last thing I needed was a Janet Jackson–style wardrobe malfunction in front of this crowd. “No. No costume. Just my police uniform.”

“Okay if I visualize you in something that barely covers your ass?”

Seth was as bad as Bustamente and his fishnets and stilettos. “Have at it. All I ask is that it have black sequins.”

“Done.”

He squeezed into the space next to me and the announcer's voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Ladies and gentlemen, next up is everyone's favorite deputy, Clint McCutcheon!”

The crowd roared, and several of the groupies around us squealed and jumped up and down, clapping their hands.

Seth cut a glance my way. “Is this your guy?” he called over the din.

“No.” I nudged him in the ribs. “
This
is my guy.”

A fresh smile tugged at his lips.

We turned our attention to the arena as the gate flew open with a resounding clang.

The gray horse Clint rode burst out of the chute, bucking like the ground was on fire. The crowd cheered Clint on as he spurred, one hand moving up and back over his head in a surprisingly graceful motion. He got his eight seconds, and swung himself off the horse, landing on his feet in the soft dirt of the arena floor, sending up a poof of dust as he circled his hat over his head.

“He sure knows how to ride a pony,” Seth said. “I'll give him that.”

We watched until the event was nearly over. “Can you watch Brigit for me?” I asked. “I need to get my batons and warm up.”

Seth agreed to babysit my dog. I scurried to the police office in the tower, retrieved my batons, then hurried to the area where the contestants and performers waited for their turn in the arena.

Clint strode around the space like a peacock, giving and receiving high fives and butt slaps from the other riders. When he spotted me practicing at the far end of the space, he ambled over.

“Holy cow!” His face tilted upward as his eyes followed one of my spinning batons forty feet into the air. “If it's this impressive now, I can only imagine what this will be like when they're on fire.”

“You're about to find out.”

The show manager rounded me up and put me in line near the entrance behind a teenage girl who rode a trick horse. “You're on after them.”

I watched from the shadows. The trick horse was impressive, performing a sideways grapevine maneuver, walking several steps on its hind legs, even putting one leg out in front of itself to take a bow at the end.

When the applause settled down, the announcer introduced me. “Folks, we've got a first tonight here at the Stock Show and Rodeo. Let's give a warm welcome to tonight's
hottest
act, Fort Worth police officer Megan Luz and her flaming fire batons!”

I waved the three batons over my head and trotted out to the center of the arena. Using a cheap plastic lighter, I set the ends of each baton aflame. The lighter safely in my pocket, I signaled the sound crew to cue up “Deep in the Heart of Texas,” a song I'd performed to years ago with the band.

I started slow, twirling one baton, then amped things up, twirling faster. I added in the second and third batons, twirling them for a moment as one, and again increased the speed of rotation. As the song launched into its first refrain—
“The stars at night, are big and bright!”
—I sent the first of the batons sailing high into the air. The crowd cheered and clapped and sang along with the music.
“Deep in the heart of Texas!”

I continued on, performing an aerial, spinning around in the dust, dropping to one knee and bouncing up again, all the while twirling my batons and sending them into the air like oversized sparklers. As I turned first one way, then the other, I spotted Clint watching me from the entrance, with Seth positioned directly across from him on the other side of the arena.

When the song wrapped up, I grabbed my batons out of the air, held them up together one last time like the Olympic torch, then blew out the flames with a flourish. After a curtsy to each side of the stadium, I waved good-bye to the crowd and returned to the backstage area.

Clint waited in the doorway, leaning sideways against the wall, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “That was rockin'!”