Paw Enforcement (A Paw Enforcement Novel)

by Kelly, Diane

  My mind went woozy. Whether it was from fear or from the fact that I’d stopped breathing I wasn’t sure. I only knew I couldn’t seem to hold my head up straight anymore. It lolled about on my limp neck, rolling from one shoulder to the other.

  Seth’s voice broke through the fog in my head: “Hang on, Megan! I’m almost there.”

  With only seconds remaining, Seth was inside the bomb now, separating the fuse from the ignition source. He took a deep breath and gingerly eased the fuse from the casing.

  When no KABOOM followed, he released a breath of warm air that steamed the inside of his helmet and his body visibly relaxed. He looked up at me. “You’re safe now.”

  My lungs gasped for air as I looked down at the timer. Only three seconds remained, yet Seth hadn’t abandoned me even when facing his own possible death. The guy was either a hero or nuts. Maybe both.

  Seth stood, removed his helmet, and shouted, “All clear!”

  He reached up now and attempted to untie my arms but had no luck with the tight knots. He turned and hollered to his fellow firefighters at the door, “Someone bring me a pocketknife!”

  One of the men ran over and handed him a small switchblade. Seth sawed at the rope and freed my hands, then moved down to cut away the bindings on my legs.

  “We’ve got to get to Billy Bob’s!” I said, jumping down from the horse. “Now!”

  We ran to his car, Blast pounding the pavement alongside us. Tires squealing, we peeled away from the curb in Seth’s Nova. He put the pedal to the metal to my apartment, where I grabbed my ballistic vest, sneakers, and tool belt and rounded up Brigit. She had somehow moved the cage away from the closet door and chewed on my rubber rain boots, but no way would I leave my partner out of this bust, not after she’d taken a nail to the hip. Heck, her shaved fur had only recently grown back. She deserved to be a part of this.

  We streaked up Northside Drive and hooked a quick turn onto Main. Brigit and Blast slid across the backseat as the car fishtailed.

  It was a mere three minutes before midnight when we pulled up to the parking lot of Billy Bob’s. Two fire trucks and a dozen police cruisers had surrounded the lot, their lights flashing and spinning on top of their cars, lighting up the night as if this were some kind of party. Officers hunkered down behind their automobiles, guns drawn and aimed at Randy, who stood in the center of the parking lot, an enormous bomb strapped to his own chest now. The bright-red LED display indicated two minutes and fifty-seven seconds remained before the bomb would detonate.

  Seth pulled to the curb and the two of us slipped out of his car, bringing our dogs with us. Crouching low for safety, we scurried over behind the open door of the Big Dick’s cruiser and took places next to him.

  His gun aimed at Randy over his hood, Derek glanced my way. “I hope you’ve been saving up,” he said, “because I’m going for the blackened buffalo rib eye at Reata.”

  “And I hope you’re ready to turn your balls over to me,” I spat back.

  Seth’s lip quirked. “Am I missing something here?”

  A negotiator stood near the chief and Detective Jackson. He spoke in a soothing voice through a bullhorn, urging Randy to disable his bomb and give himself up. “Remove your bomb, Randy, and let’s talk. It’s not too late. You haven’t killed anyone yet.”

  Randy merely laughed and raised his middle finger. “Yes, I have! Didn’t you hear? I got that dumb bitch cop at the mall! Blew her ass to bits!”

  Not quite.

  Of course Randy hadn’t noticed me yet. For all he knew I was now nothing more than a bloody splatter covering the mall’s carousel. If not for Seth, I would have been.

  As the readout ticked down to 2:13, Randy stalked toward a line of cruisers to our right. The officers scrambled backward away from their vehicles rather than firing at Randy. There was no way of knowing whether the bomb would detonate if they shot him or how much protection their ballistic vests would provide against an explosive of this size.

  “Chickens!” Randy hollered, rocking back on his heels, flapping imaginary wings, and cackling with laughter. “Squawk-squawk!”

  The commanding officer on-site attempted to establish a larger perimeter to allow officers the potential to get a clean shot at Randy without the risk that the bomb would cause extensive injuries to law enforcement. Unfortunately, Randy seemed to know such would be the strategy. As the officers moved back he moved right with them, maintaining a spread of only ten feet.

  Much too close for comfort.

  As the readout hit one minute, the negotiator issued a final plea to Randy. “You don’t really want to die, Randy. Turn that timer off. We’ll get you some help.”

  “Help?” Randy shrieked. “I’m not the one who needs help!” He pointed his index finger and made a broad sweep of his arm to indicate everyone gathered about. “You are the ones who need help!”

  The negotiator lowered the bullhorn. There was nothing else to be done. Randy was intent on blowing himself up and taking as many cops as he could with him.

  Randy looked down at the timer on his bomb, then looked back up, his eyes catching mine though the window of Derek’s cruiser. Surprise registered on Randy’s face. Obviously, he hadn’t expected to see me here. Well, he’d thought wrong, hadn’t he?

  “Ten!” he cried, beginning the countdown to both the new year and the inevitable explosion.

  His gaze still locked on me, he took a step in my direction. “Nine!”

  A group of rowdy, drunken cowboys and their dates stood behind one of the sawhorses the police had set up to keep the crowds back. They raised beer bottles and began to count down with Randy as if this were some kind of party. The officers nearby ordered them back, but they didn’t listen.

  Randy stalked toward me. “Eight! Seven!”

  As he approached Derek’s police cruiser officers scattered like ants from a mound. The Big Dick turned and scrambled between cars parked on the street. Seth and I followed suit, our canine partners scrambling along with us.

  “Six!”

  At this point, Randy reached Mackey’s cruiser and hopped onto the hood.

  “Five! Four!”

  He stepped onto the roof of the patrol car now, the flashing lights at his feet illuminating him standing tall while everyone else cowered. Crouching next to me, Brigit growled: Grrr.

  “Three!” Randy and the drunk cowboys yelled. “Two!”

  Seth, still dressed in his bomb squad uniform, pushed me up against the car for safety and covered me with his body.

  I peeked out from under Seth’s chin to watch Randy. Despite everything that had happened over the last few months, I still somehow couldn’t believe it had come to this.

  “One!”

  The countdown complete, Randy spread his legs and threw his hands in the air.

  Instinctively I covered my face with my hands, as much to protect myself as to block out the image of a deranged young man blowing himself to bits.

  But the explosion never came.

  A moment later I opened my eyes to see Randy looking down at the bomb on his chest. He made a fist and beat it against the device.

  Nothing.

  He glanced up now.

  “Holy shit,” Seth said on a breath. “It’s a dud!”

  That was all the Big Dick, Brigit, and I needed to hear. The three of us ran out from behind the car we’d used for cover and rushed the Rattler. A bold move, sure, but there was a rib eye and rubber testicles at stake.

  Footsteps and jingling from behind told me that Seth and Blast had joined in our chase.

  Randy’s eyes popped wide when he saw two armed cops, two dogs, and a bomb squad officer hurtling toward him. He turned and leaped from the top of the patrol car. He landed first on the hood of the cruiser, which gave in a few inches with a resounding kadunk! His second leap took him to the ground.

  He took off in the other direction. The cops on that side were unaware the bomb was a dud and ran off to the sides, clearing a way through. The five
of us ran after Randy. I found it ironic that he was running for his life now when he’d been so willing to end it only a moment ago. Evidently he’d wanted to go out on his own terms.

  Well, tough shit.

  He’d be going down on mine.

  Despite breaking my own personal speed record, Derek and Brigit were gaining on Randy and leaving me behind. I know I’d said I wanted Brigit to be involved in the bust, but I didn’t say I wanted her to actually take Randy down. No, after getting screwed in the ass and humiliated on the Internet, I think I deserved that privilege.

  I yanked my baton from my belt and flicked my wrist. With a crisp SNAP, the baton extended to its full, glorious length. Raising my arm, I pulled my baton back over my head and hurled it with every ounce of strength I could muster, sending it spinning end over end toward Randy’s skull.

  Swish-swish-swish-swish.

  The baton sailed over Brigit and past Derek, finally meeting its target.

  Whack!

  Randy’s head snapped forward, then back. His body went limp, momentum carrying him forward several more feet as he crumpled to the cold asphalt like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

  Those of us in pursuit were on him in an instant. Brigit yanked at the back of his collar. The Big Dick and I bent over him, shouldering each other aside as each tried to be the one to cuff the Rattler. Seth stood at Randy’s head, his fists clenching and unclenching as he seemed to be fighting the urge to pound the guy’s face into the pavement. Blast circled and lunged around the perimeter, barking.

  “Who’s the dumb bitch now?” I yelled at the prone man at my feet. A moot point. The guy had been rendered unconscious by my baton and thus would be offering no response.

  Men might have better upper-body strength, but women had some pretty powerful bones and muscles just below our waists. I hip-checked Derek, sending him careening off balance to the side. He scowled as he struggled to regain his footing. When he did, he simply stood rather than jumping back into the fray. A wise choice. I’d recovered my baton and would be more than happy to use it again.

  I brandished the stick at him. “Do I get your balls?”

  Derek shoved my baton away and let out a long, resigned breath. “Yeah, Luz. You got my balls.”

  “Okay, then.” I backed away from Randy and put the end of my baton in the palm of my left hand, pushing it closed. “He’s all yours now.”

  * * *

  On New Year’s Day, in the parking lot of the W1 station, in front of a dozen witnesses, Derek “the Big Dick” Mackey removed his rubber testicles from his pickup truck and attached them to the rear axle of my smart car. To both my surprise and relief, the car did not fall over backward.

  The assistant DA who’d been assigned to prosecute Randy’s case was among the spectators. He’d swung by the station after a quick meeting with Randy and his attorney at the hospital. Though Randy’s attorney hinted he’d be going for some type of insanity defense, the DA assured us it would never fly. “Multiple explosives? Serious bodily harm? Attempted murder? This guy’s going away for fifty to life.”

  Sounded like a great plan to me. Maybe Randy could complete his philosophy degree in the pen or start up a theater group, revise his role as the male lead in The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. I could only imagine the inmates who’d be willing to play the female prostitutes.

  I climbed into my car and drove off, dragging my newly acquired balls behind me.

  So where was I headed? To a pancake house to meet Seth. After the bust last night, he’d said he wanted to talk and asked if we could meet for brunch. Heck, I was never one to turn down a free meal.

  As far as Seth goes, we’ll see.…

  ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES

  BY DIANE KELLY

  Paw Enforcement

  THE TARA HOLLOWAY NOVELS

  Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure

  Death, Taxes, and a Skinny No-Whip Latte

  Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray

  Death, Taxes, and a Sequined Clutch

  (an e-original novella)

  Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria

  Death, Taxes, and Hot Pink Leg Warmers

  Death, Taxes, and Green Tea Ice Cream

  Death, Taxes, and Mistletoe Mayhem

  (an e-original novella)

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Diane Kelly is a former CPA and tax attorney, who had several brushes with white-collar criminals during her career. When she realized her experiences made excellent fodder for novels, her fingers hit the keyboard and thus began her Special Agent Tara Holloway romantic mystery series. A recipient of the 2009 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award for Best Novel with Strong Romantic Elements, she has received more than two dozen RWA chapter awards. Diane’s fiction, tax, and humor pieces have appeared in True Love Magazine, Writer’s Digest Yearbook, Romance Writers Report, Byline Magazine, and other publications.

  For more information, visit her web site at www.dianekelly.com. You can also find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/dianekellybooks, or follow her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/dianekellybooks.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  PAW ENFORCEMENT

  Copyright © 2014 by Diane Kelly.

  All rights reserved.

  For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

  eISBN: 9781466849150

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / June 2014

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.