The Sweetheart Racket (16 page)

T
he only place not covered in alien spaceship white light was the backyard. Taryn darted past Caleb's rusty car and into the half mowed grass, half weedy patch between the two houses. Rick briefly lost her in the darkness as his eyes adjusted from the spotlight to night vision.

“Here,” she hissed from behind a patch of daylilies at the back of the next-door neighbor's garden. Rick joined her, crouching out of sight. This proved difficult for him, as the flowers were only about two and a half feet tall.

They waited for a couple of minutes for the cops to discover them. When that didn't happen, Rick shifted up to his knees and looked around.

“See anything?” she whispered. It was hard to hear over her racing heart. With all the running she'd been doing lately, she considered taking up jogging for better fitness. What could it hurt? Sitting in her car all day watching hotels wasn't doing anything positive for her butt.

“A bare patch of dirt and what looks like piles of aging dog crap,” Rick said.

“Are you sure?”

“It's too dark to confirm, but I think so.” He squinted. “Otherwise they have one hell of a mole population.”

Taryn started to get up to investigate when a pale yellow back porch light flicked on. She dropped back and Rick slid silently down beside her. The light flickered and sizzled like the bulb was going out. Poo-poo-gate would wait. She held her breath as the screen door popped open and a figure in a ratty nightgown appeared with a dog at her side.

“Hurry up and do your business!” The voice was harsh and female. “I don't have all day to wait.” A pause, then, “Sweet'ums! Go!”

Doggie toenails tapped down wooden stairs to the backyard and headed out about a dozen feet, the dog's nose to the ground. Taryn and Rick each made surprised faces at each other. Could it be this easy? Would the dog get close enough to snatch? Should she call Karen for approval to nab the dog?

The woman backed inside and let the door slam shut behind her. Evidently, she wasn't worried about Sweet'ums wandering out of the unfenced yard.

Taryn and Rick got to their knees and peered through the daylilies. Shadowed along the fenceline of the house on the opposite side was a small dog shape intently sniffing along the grassy edge, as if looking for something gross to roll in.

“What should we do?” Rick said.

“I'll try and call her over. You catch her.” Taryn let out a low whistle. The dog went ballistic. Darting across the yard, she stopped six feet away and released a shrill round of barking. From her shape and size, they wouldn't have trouble carting her off.

From inside the house, a male voice yelled, “Shut up, you stupid dog!”

“Well, that wasn't nice,” Taryn said, but the dog went silent and sat. When no further activity came from inside, she whistled again. The dog stayed where she was. “Come, Sweet'ums.”

Nothing.

“Hand me my camera bag.” Rick obliged. Taryn dug around for something to entice the mutt. She pulled out a package of beef jerky. Rick's brow lifted. “They taste funky but kill hunger during long stakeouts.”

She peeled the plastic wrapper back and broke off a piece. She tossed it toward the dog, and the mutt took a sniff. And sat back down. In the shadow, her skinny body quivered.

“I don't have caviar, mutt.” She rifled in the bag and found an old half-eaten and dried-out string cheese chunk. Nope. She tossed it behind her. A pack of Skittles, a piece of gum, and a nail file all got set aside. “Shoot.”

“I could make a run for her,” Rick said.

“Yes, and get us caught. I'm still looking.” Finally, her hand closed around an unopened package of peanut butter crackers. She held it up like she'd found the Holy Grail. “This should work.” She ripped it open and broke a cracker in half, then threw it to the dog.

Sweet'ums, stood, walked over, sniffed, lifted her leg, and piddled on the treat. Taryn gasped.

“I suspect Sweet'ums is a boy.” Rick chuckled. “And he doesn't like crackers.”

“This is not funny,” she said, laughing quietly beside him. “We're never going to retrieve him before that woman comes back.” She was running out of ideas.

“Let me try.” He cleared his throat. “Come, dumbass!” he said in a tone stern and low. The dog stood. “Come, stupid!”

Sweet'ums trotted over. Rick snatched him, clamping a hand around his nose to cut off a strangled bark. The dog went crazy, fighting to get free.

“Let's go!” He jumped to his feet, Taryn bolting after him. They made it between the two houses before a shout went up.

“Sweet'ums! Hey! Where are you, you dumb mutt!”

Rick and Taryn raced to the sidewalk and took off toward the bike. Once there, he spun and shoved the dog and his jacket at her. She pressed Sweet'ums to her chest with one hand and jammed her free arm into the jacket. In seconds, she and the dog were zipped inside and on the bike. Rick didn't bother with helmets as he fired up the bike and took off, just as the dognapper and his accomplice rounded the house.

They were still confused over the missing dog. Taryn gave the pair a salute as they sped by, clueing them to what had happened to Sweet'ums. Caleb wasn't as dumb as she'd been led to believe.

Swearing followed. Taryn's laughter drowned it out. She buried her face in the open neck of the jacket and made soft cooing noises. The dog shook, terrified. “It's okay, baby. We'll get you home to your mommy.”

* * *

After a stop at a closed gas station to call Karen, who unfortunately wasn't home, Taryn left a message and gave Rick instructions to get them to her house from there. He shoved the helmet on her head and donned his before heading off again.

They arrived at the house. All was quiet from next door, except for lights on in what she assumed were late-night study sessions in bedrooms. Her porch was boy and assassin free.

A first.

Rick pulled up the driveway and shut off the bike. He helped her remove her helmet so she wouldn't drop the dog. Sweet'ums let out a low growl deep in his battered bomber jacket, clearly unforgiving of the earlier manhandling.

“It's okay, precious. I won't let the big bad man hurt you,” Taryn said and patted the dog through the coat as Rick hooked both helmets onto the bike. “He's just a meanie.”

“I don't think it's me who's the bad guy here,” Rick countered. “I'd be surly too if my owner had named me Sweet'ums. It's emasculating.” He helped her off the bike.

Taryn assured the dog that he was the manliest dog ever born, despite his name, and headed for the house. Once inside, she walked through to the kitchen table and flicked on the light. The house was quiet and there was no sign of grilling in the backyard or Alvin sharpening the cutlery for her assassination. So far, so good.

“Alvin is either sleeping or out,” she said, as Rick joined her at the table.

She couldn't imagine where Alvin would go. He didn't know anyone in town. But she wasn't his babysitter and his life was his own. He'd show up eventually. The dog was the priority.

“Let's see what a fancy show dog looks like, Sweet'ums.” She unzipped the coat and the dog tumbled out in a tangle of legs and paws.

She went still with shock.

“Good God, what is that?” Rick said and put his hand on his gun. “Step back, the dog has mange.”

The entirety of his gray fur was located on his head and tail, with a few tufts between his toes. His eyes were watery and bulging and his lower jaw was not aligned with the upper, so his tongue hung out and to the right. A few upper teeth appeared to be missing and the lowers were crooked. His skin was a grayish color with a few black spots.

Rick clicked off the safety. Taryn stepped between them.

“Stop it. He isn't sick.” She examined the dog as it wagged its bald stick of a tail. “I've seen these online. It's a Chinese something or another. They win ugly dog contests.”

Scowling, he flicked on the safety and returned the gun to his waistband. He didn't appear convinced. “This is a breed? Someone mates them together on purpose?”

She reached out to run her hand down Sweet'ums's smooth bald back. He was pretty soft. “Don't be rude. He can't help the way he looks. All dogs need love.”

In response, the dog gave her wrist a lick. “Aren't you precious? Yes, you are.” She scooped him up and he laid his head on her shoulder. “Are you hungry? I think I have a can of cat food in the cupboard from when my parents visited with Fluffy and Bob.”

The dog let out a low growl at Rick. She turned her head to see dog and man lock eyes, the latter making the sign of the cross over his metal band t-shirt.

“Pay no attention to him, Sweet'ums.” She rubbed his bald neck. “We'll find you some food and wait until your mommy comes to get you.”

Rick grunted. Sweet'ums growled again. Then he laid his head on her shoulder and sighed.

He was the ugliest thing on four legs, but he was sweet. More to her amusement, he hated Rick, so that alone was worth something. It was fun to watch the big bad biker unsettled by a fifteen-pound dog.

After scrounging for a can of Friskies, she fed the dog from a bowl on the floor. As Sweet'ums happily devoured fish-flavored shreds, she stood watch over him, concerned about the look in Rick's eyes. He'd grumbled under his breath the entire time it took to feed the dog. She'd heard everything.

“Sweet'ums does not need an exorcism,” she said when he took a breath. “And a holy water bath will not cure what ails him. Don't be a meanie.”

“I'm just being proactive. You don't want to unleash the hound from hell on this house. Demon spirits are hard to eject, once they've crossed the threshold. I know. I've seen several exorcism movies.”

“Shhh.” She bit her twitching bottom lip. “You'll hurt his feelings. Dogs are sensitive.”

“With a name like his, he's probably heard worse on the doggie playground.”

The dog dribbled a few bits of food out of the side of his crooked mouth. “Poor baby. He really could use dental work.”

She dropped onto a kitchen chair. A prickle of a thought came into her head. “Hold up.” She pushed some papers aside and reached for her laptop lying on the table, which also served as her desk when she was home.

“What's up?” Rick took a seat beside her.

“One second.” She opened her emails to all the links Summer had forwarded to her about Brinkman and Honey. She scrolled through the headers and clicked on one email.

Honey's inactive profile picture popped up. She scanned it and grinned. “I think Sweet'ums just cracked this case.”

R
ick stared at the screen. “I don't see what you're seeing.”

Taryn touched the photo. In the background on the Match-Mate page, and to the right of the smiling Honey, was half of a fluffy white dog sitting on a pillow in the screened porch behind her. Most of the background had been cropped out, leaving Honey and her, um, sizeable assets as the focal point(s) of the picture.

“So? Honey likes dogs.”

“No.” Taryn turned to him. Excitement filled her face. “Don't you get it? Dogs, especially small, high-maintenance dogs, require frequent grooming, and vet care.” She pointed at Sweet'ums. “The way to find our missing lovebirds might be through her dog.”

She was right. His mother once had a Pomeranian and it required a lot of grooming. The ladies at her local Cut and Fluff knew them like old friends. “If Sweet'ums leads us to Honey, I may develop a grudging appreciation for the hell hound.” He had a higher, and not at all grudging, appreciation for his PI.

“I knew I hired you for a reason,” he said. She was one hell of an investigator. “And it wasn't for the way you fill out your jeans.”

Her eyes danced. “Are you hitting on me, Special Agent Silva?”

“Only if you want me to.”

Those same eyes indicated she was game for a kiss. He leaned in. Sweet'ums growled. Rick swore and glanced down. The mutt had his rump on her foot and was staring up at him with its upper lip curled back from its crooked teeth. He couldn't tell if it was surly or smiling. Either way, the dog had won the battle for the damsel.

The moment was lost. There'd be no kissing while her watchdog was around. “I saved you, mutt. Show a little gratitude.”

Taryn laughed and scooped up the dog. “Come, baby. We'll find you a place to sleep for tonight. I'm sure your mommy will call in the morning.”

They left the kitchen. Rick took the opportunity to call his mother with an update. She liked to stay up late watching QVC so he wouldn't be waking her up.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Rick, honey, what's wrong?”

Always surprised by how easily she could read him, Rick leaned back on the chair. He wanted to confess his transgressions with Taryn and ask for advice, but held back. He should be working the case and the case only. Not playing around with his PI. Not that his mom wouldn't like the thought of him in a relationship.

“Nothing. I just got bested by the devil.”

“Do I want to know what that means?” She took a deep breath. “Have you been drinking?”

“I haven't been drinking.” His father, Ed, had been a weekend drunk. He'd started on Friday after work and stopped at bedtime on Sunday. Although he'd been nonviolent and a jovial drunk, he'd nonetheless killed off his liver and died at age fifty-two, devastating his wife and kids. “Have you heard from Ryan lately?”

“He's still in the Middle East somewhere. That's all I know. I wish he'd stop re-upping and come home.”

“Me too.” There was nothing he could say to comfort a mother who worried about her Special Forces son in a war zone, so he changed the subject. “I hired a PI to help with your case. We've worked some leads, but no Brinkman yet.”

There was a lengthy silence. Although Brinkman had screwed her over, Rick knew his mother had loved him. Or rather the man she thought he was. She was still hurting.

He wanted to crush the con man.

Instead, he filled her in on the hunt, leaving out the shooting and kissing parts. “Tomorrow we're looking into vets and groomers. Hopefully, we'll get a lead.”

“This Taryn sounds like a competent PI. Is she cute?”

“Mom.”

“What? I'm just curious. Is it wrong to want to see my son happy?”

Happy in Joyce Silva's mind was him married to a nice woman, settled in a house next door to her, and his wife pregnant with quintuplets. The idea of that made him shudder.

“Moving on.” He loved his mother, but she had her own plans for her sons. Those plans made her trouble. The one time she fixed him up was a surprise home-cooked dinner with a woman who had “childbearing hips.” He'd fled before dessert and spent five years working undercover out of state. “I'll call you if this dog thing pans out.”

“I feel bad that you're missing your vacation to do this. You should be on a beach somewhere.”

His mind flashed to Taryn in a bikini. Maybe he'd suggest a trip after this was over, as a thank-you for all her hard work. Seeing her in a swimsuit would be his reward.

“You know I wouldn't do this if I didn't want to.” He listened to the quiet of the house. The place was old and worn, but it suited Taryn. He yawned. “Listen, it's getting late. I have to go. I'll call you again soon.”

“I love you, honey.”

“Love you, too, Mom. Night.”

He shoved the phone into his pocket. To hell with her guard dog. Somewhere in the house was the woman who made him crazy and he wanted to know if he could steal another kiss before he went back to his lonely motel.

A quick sweep left him confident she wasn't downstairs. So he took the steps up two at a time. The second floor had several bedrooms, and two bathrooms, all of them empty. In the biggest room at the end of the hallway, he found Taryn.

She was curled up fully clothed on the bed, with the dog wrapped in her arms, sleeping. Well,
she
was sleeping. Devil dog gave him the evil eye as he entered her bedroom. Rick frowned. He was too damn tired to fight with the mutt. He ignored Sweet'ums and focused on Taryn.

Damn. She was beautiful. Her lashes fanned out to cover her eyes and her mouth parted slightly as she breathed. He knew he should go, but discovered that the idea of sleeping alone tonight didn't appeal to him, nor did leaving her alone with Alvin the assassin and the mangy mutt. And knowing that she'd probably kick his butt for taking advantage didn't stop him from taking off his boots, placing his Glock on the nightstand, and climbing in beside her.

Sweet'ums growled. Rick glared. The dog looked away first.

Satisfied with the win, Rick snuggled up behind her and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Something odd brought Taryn awake. Surprisingly, it wasn't finding Rick spooned up against her back with a sleep erection that caused her discomfort, though it should, or the glow of her phone with a text from Tim. Nor was it the low grumble coming from the dog. No, it was an unfamiliar creak in the house that caused her to tense up on the bed. After almost three years of living here, she knew the place intimately.

The energy in the house was wrong. It was an unfamiliar creak on the stairs that kicked up an alarm.

She awkwardly turned on the bed, dislodging the dog from the crook of her knees and rousing Rick. She clamped a hand over his mouth. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Someone is in the house.”

Taryn released him.

“Are you sure?” he whispered back. “It's probably your killer.”

“It isn't Alvin,” she assured him. “He has a thudding and lumbering gait. This one is lighter.”

A protesting stair confirmed a presence. Whoever the intruder was, he was unfamiliar with the old bones of the house. Not even stealth helped him avoid making noise on protesting stairs.

Rick reached for his gun, as Taryn silently rolled from the bed and went for hers. The feel of the weapon in her hand gave her confidence. She'd never had to use it, but was well trained with years of practice behind her.

“Follow me and we'll sneak up on him,” she whispered.

She left the room in stocking feet and stayed to the left of the hall, where the boards didn't creak. Rick was silent behind her. There was no need for lights to guide them. She could get from her room to the kitchen and back for a midnight snack without flicking on a single light.

They just about made it to the top of the stairs, when a clatter of toenails raced past them, followed by high-pitched barking. “Sweet-'ums, no!” Taryn cried.

“Shit!” came a voice, followed by the sound of a man run-stumbling down the stairs.

The dog went nuts. Rick rounded her and gave chase. Taryn dove for the hallway light switch. Unfortunately, the intruder had a head start and was already out the open front door before the illumination could clue them to his identity.

She bolted after the two men and out onto the porch.

The street was quiet but for a chorus of crickets and Sweet'ums's barking from the open doorway. Taryn could see Rick's outline and headed that way. He darted between two houses across the street and vanished. She caught up with him on the next street over, gun in his hand, barefoot, and spinning to look for the suspect.

“Where is he?” she asked and came to a stop beside him.

“I have no idea.” The streetlights were bright enough to be seen from Mars but there was no sign of the burglar. “Damn. He's gone.”

They wandered up and down the street to the end of each block for another ten minutes without success. “Whoever he was, he had his escape well planned,” Rick said, when they reconvened on the corner.

She nodded. “I'm now convinced the shooting was connected to this. This is the second strange occurrence since I took this case. I'm not one for coincidences.

“I agree.” He tucked his Glock into his waistband. “Our sweetheart con may have upgraded from swindler to killer.”