Page 18 of Armed ’N’ Ready

Andi paused with the cup midway to her mouth. Where did that come from? While she didn’t want to pry, it sounded disturbingly like Tess had experience in these matters, and that couldn’t be good.

“I’ll let you know if Joe calls. I promise.” Tess squeezed Andi’s shoulder, then her face suddenly brightened. “Your plumber called and said the work on your house is done and you can move back in.”

“Thank God.” That meant she could move out of Joe’s after work.

Since police and federal agents had been crawling through the house and her personal things, she hadn’t relished the idea of sleeping there again. Maybe because Sgt. Houston touched everything in my suitcase. Including the lacy bra and panties she currently wore.

The memory of her panties clinging irreverently to his gun, and his long fingers tossing them onto the bed while a distinct blush crept up his neck and chiseled jaw, nearly had her laughing.

Forget it. Forget him.

She and Tess finished their cappuccinos, then got down to reviewing the weekly specials Marty had left on the bar. But her mind still wasn’t totally focused on business. The tally of evidence against Joe had become too high to ignore. Her heart might be in denial, but her gut knew the truth.

Joe really is laundering money for a gunrunner.

At four thirty that afternoon, Andi took a break before the dinner rush and headed back to Joe’s place to collect her things. As she drove up the driveway, she was reminded of how, not six hours ago, it had been jammed with police vehicles.

She got out of the truck and was headed for the front door when something on the front step caught her eye. A cigarette butt. She hadn’t noticed it earlier. She wrinkled her nose. Using the tip of her sandal, she kicked it into the adjacent flower bed, being careful not touch it with her bare toes. “Disgusting habit.” Odd, but she hadn’t smelled smoke while everyone had been there. Then again, she’d been so freaked out she could easily have missed it.

She pulled Joe’s house key from her shorts pocket and was about to insert it into the lock when she froze. The paint on the doorjamb next to the lock was scratched and scuffed. She distinctly remembered putting the key into the lock that morning to turn the deadbolt, and those marks hadn’t been there.

So who did this? And when?

The back of her neck prickled. She whipped around, expecting to get hit over the head, but no one was there. Her heart rate kicked up, and she tiptoed off the front porch, peeking around the corner to look into the backyard.

Nothing. Empty. Aside from grass.

Her pulse slowed, and she began making her way back to the front door, checking over her shoulder several times along the way. She took a deep breath. The plan was to take a quick look, and if anything was out of place, she’d get the hell out of there.

Her hand trembled as she inserted the key into the lock and turned it. Slowly, she pushed open the door and peeked inside. For a moment she stood there, unable to move as she took it all in.

Oh my God.

She yanked the door shut with enough force that she stumbled backward, nearly falling off the front step. With her heart hammering, she bolted to her truck.

Chapter Four

Nick wiped the sweat from his brow then reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a beer and one of the dinosaur-size, double-cut rib eyes he’d bought yesterday.

The first things he normally did when he got home were to let Saxon have some dog time in his fenced-in backyard, then peel off his uniform before uncapping a beer. Today he was so hot, tired, and thirsty that the beer took priority. He twisted off the cap and took a long slug. In the corner of the kitchen, Saxon slurped noisily at the fresh water Nick had set out for him.

After leaving Myer’s house, he and Cox had gone back to the FBI office and tried calling Myer on Andi’s cell phone again, but he never answered. Then Nick and Saxon hit the streets, talking to every informant he could find, trying to dig up information on where Myer was hiding out, or whether the guy was already dead. But he’d come up empty. Either everyone was lying their asses off, or nobody knew where he was.

Nick was certain the guy would reach out to Andi. The only question was when. And he worried that if he returned the phone to her, she couldn’t be trusted to notify them when Myer called—unless he was around when it happened. If AUSA Bennett approved of Nick’s plan, he’d start first thing in the morning.

Knowing his grill’s ignition switch was on the fritz, he dug into a kitchen drawer and found a butane lighter on top of a strip of photos he’d tossed in there a few years ago. He stared at the photos without picking them up. Tanya had convinced him to snuggle up in one of those curtained photo booths in the middle of a shopping mall.

Better times. Before three miscarriages killed Tanya’s soul.

No matter how much he’d tried to help her, nothing did. Each miscarriage chipped away at her self-worth until there was nothing left of the woman he’d fallen in love with.

By the time Tanya had died, their marriage was long over, and both of them knew it. It had taken years for him to admit that without feeling any guilt or pain, but the healing process had taken its toll. Since then, he’d frozen himself off from attachments that could make him experience any real feelings. It was easier that way. Easier than going through the pain again of losing someone he loved.

Saxon’s presence kept him grounded. His dog’s claws clicked on the tile as he came to stand in front of Nick, looking up at him with an intensity that told him his dog knew he was upset. That was the thing about dogs—they picked up on human behavior and emotion, and K-9s were probably even more attuned to their partners. Emotions traveled up and down the leash, so when Nick was bothered, so was his dog and vice versa.

He set the beer on the counter and patted his chest. “Up.” Slowly, Saxon rose on his hind legs and planted his front paws on Nick’s chest, allowing him to bear-hug the dog and bury his face in Saxon’s soft ruff. “Thanks, buddy,” he said after a minute, looking down into his dog’s sympathetic golden eyes. “I needed that. Now let’s get outside and grill us a big-ass steak.”

Snorting in agreement, Saxon dropped his front paws and followed Nick out the back door onto the deck. He watched the dog bound down the stairs and leap from the third step onto the yard before charging across the freshly cut grass. The yard was entirely enclosed by four-foot high picket fencing, although Saxon could easily jump the fence anytime he chose.