“What does she think of you helping all the animals you bring to the shelter?”
“She thinks it’s good I’m ‘finding my passion,’ whatever that means. I think she’s just happy I’m not on drugs or running with the gangs getting all the kids around here to join up.”
“Gangs?”
“Forget I said that. I’m not a narc. Not this guy.” He pointed both thumbs at his chest. “But I can tell you that Bandit’s owner seemed a little sad to see him go. He petted the dog a lot and kissed Bandit’s head.” Christian paused. “Then he said something I didn’t understand.”
“What did it sound like?”
“I dunno. I don’t speak Russian.”
“Russian? You’re sure?”
“I think so. My best friend’s cousin is from St. Petersburg, and he taught me how to curse in Russian.” Christian shared several phrases with her.
“I’d be impressed if I understood. And no, I don’t need a translation.”
That had him laughing.
She continued, “But I’d really appreciate it if you’d come with me to the police station to—” At the vehement shake of his head, she sighed. “Never mind. How about if we go over the details of you rescuing Bandit again? And this time I’ll write everything down.”
“Yeah. Okay, but…”
“What?”
“Could I get another cookie?”
“I don’t know where you put it all, but sure.”
He grinned. “I’m a real CI. I need my energy so I can keep giving the FBI tips. And maybe you can put me and my mom in witness protection or something like that. Do I get to pick a new name?”
She just looked at him.
“Hey, I know the deal. I’m street savvy.”
“Street savvy, huh?” She grinned at him. “I think we can safely say you don’t need a new identity just yet. But sure, consider yourself my newest CI. That means I’m going to be checking in with you from time to time. So stay out of trouble.”
He crossed his heart and did some weird move with his fingers. “Swear.” He held out his pinkie.
She shook it with her own.
And jotted down the beginning of her hunt for a killer.
Chapter 11
Jane pickedup Detective Ryan at 08:30 on the dot. And like the great guy he was, he handed her a coffee and rattled a bag of sugary perfection as he settled next to her in the car.
“What’s in the bag?” she asked as she started toward Sherry Duvall’s home in New Holly.
“Life.”
They shared a grin.
“I got us some goodies. Nothing with powdered sugar though. Gotta keep our clothes clean.” He looked official in his dark suit and tie, while she wore a sport coat over her short-sleeve blouse with dark, breathable trousers.
“Smart.”
“Got the goods from Top Pot. A few apple fritters, some cake donuts, and of course, an assortment of Pot Holes for you.”
