Burn, Baby, Burn

by RJ Blain

  Both cops grinned, and the older one replied, “It’s refreshing to meet a safe driver. Take your time. We’ll wait if you fall behind. The roads should be quiet tonight.”

  I left Perkette to fend for herself, claiming the keys to the rental on my way out of the club. The snow had worsened, and I wondered how I’d make the drive without shaking to pieces or otherwise making an idiot of myself. Damn it, why couldn’t I drive like a normal person?

  My lack of experience driving in the snow took most of the blame while my fear of disappointing Quinn accounted for the rest. If I drove through the snow like a normal person without hitting anything, he’d be happy.

  My husband really needed to raise his standards a little.

  In what I could only classify as a miracle, I made it to the police station without incident. Snow drifted into absurd piles in the station’s parking lot, promising we’d need the shovel the rental company had stashed in the trunk at Perkette’s request if we lingered for too long. I took the spot near the dumpster, which was somewhat protected from the wind. Drawing a cleansing breath, I killed the engine and slid out of the vehicle.

  Nearby, an animal whined, and as cats meowed and I didn’t want to know what racoons sounded like, I assumed a dog had taken shelter near the bins. Stray dogs got me in trouble. Before Quinn, I’d hated myself for ignoring a dog in need. Quinn had changed everything.

  Since marrying him, I’d been treated for rabies seven times, a city-wide record. Maybe if I stopped getting bitten or slobbered on by the strays I rescued, I wouldn’t need to be treated for rabies so often. Quinn would mourn my lack of self-preservation skills, but I couldn’t leave a dog to freeze in the snow.

  Quinn would forgive me. He always did.

  I checked around the dumpsters without locating the source of the whining.

  Well, shit. I’d have to go dumpster diving again.

  Yippee.

  “Ma’am? Is everything okay?”

  I gave it two months before the green recruit lost his enthusiasm, realizing he’d signed up for an exhausting job and that people like me, who courted trouble at every turn, existed. Since he’d hover if I didn’t answer him, I replied, “There’s a dog in the dumpster. It’s too cold out here.” I dropped my purse, jumped, and scrambled over the metal ledge to peek inside. A squirming, snow-covered bag guided me to the source of the whining. Fuckers. I hated people who dumped animals, especially in the sort of thick plastic bags they’d ultimately suffocate in without help. Teetering on the dumpster’s edge, I stretched and snatched the bag.

  It weighed a startling amount, heavy enough I strained to move it.

  Why wasn’t I allowed to transform and light animal abusers on fire? Wiggling out of the dumpster with my bag full of unhappy dog, I retrieved my purse and carried the wiggling plastic bag into the station. I claimed the nearest plastic chair in the lobby, set the animal on my lap, and freed it from its plastic prison.

  A single white puppy cried its distress, staring at me with one pale blue eye and one emerald eye.

  Perkette wouldn’t mind the addition of a puppy on our road trip, would she?

  “Another one?” the young cop sighed. “That’s the fifth one dumped here this week.”

  Stupid, heartless animal abusers. I couldn’t just add myself to the list of people who’d abandoned the poor thing. “How long does it take to book a brassaulter?”

  The cops exchanged looks, and I bet they believed I’d lost my mind. I probably had.

  “I’d like to take the puppy to a vet while you deal with her.”

  The older cop relaxed, and he grinned. “How long do you want us to keep her, ma’am?”

  “Long enough for me to take my new puppy to the vet.”

  Both cops laughed, and the older one pointed at the door. “The 24-hour vet is next door. Turn right when you reach the sidewalk. The building looks just like ours, but they have the better sign. We figure whoever is dumping the unwanted pets here can’t tell the difference between a police station and a veterinarian. I’ll dispose of that bag for you.”

  “Thanks. Give Perkette a hard time for me, but I’d really appreciate if you kept her charges to misdemeanors.”

  They laughed, and I left the station to take the puppy to the vet and learn if we needed to be treated for rabies. Quinn would love if I needed to be treated for rabies again.

  Thanks to the invention of neutralizer, rabies treatments no longer involved a series of wretched needles. Guzzling an obscene amount of pink, sparkling fluid wasn’t my idea of a good time, and I’d have to do the guzzling twice a day for a week, but I’d emerge hale and hearty—assuming the neutralizer didn’t send my immune system packing again.

  So far, it hadn’t, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath. Quinn could handle a lot, but he freaked if I contracted even a mild case of the sniffles. My hospitalization with every plague known to man and pneumonia had something to do with that.

  Personally, I wouldn’t mind a visit from the various Quinn models. I still hadn’t gotten the sneaky bastard to wear a suit for me yet, but I’d caught him in his dress uniform a few times. The dress uniform caused us both problems. I developed a severe case of lust, and he developed a severe case of not wanting to leave for work.

  The first three times I’d made him late for work because he’d been wearing his dress uniform had resulted in him leaving with his dress uniform in a bag so I wouldn’t be tempted into stripping him out of it.

  Sometimes, I was a bad wife.

  The puppy handled the walk to the vet better than anticipated, although the poor thing shivered and kept trying to bury its head under my arm. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ve got this easy. You get one treatment and you’re done.”

  The storm ensured sane people stayed indoors, resulting in an empty clinic. The older man behind the front desk cocked a brow when I strode towards him.

  “I found this puppy in a dumpster. I’m betting ten bucks it’s rabid, but half the dogs I’ve dug out of a dumpster in the past two months have been rabid, so if we could start with the rabies test and the neutralizer torture, that’d be great. I’m paying cash, and I’d like the full assortment of vaccines. Also, I’m going to need all the basics for a puppy, an idea of what its breed and gender are, and a really good excuse to give my husband.”

  “Rabies has been rampant lately. We’ll assume a positive result and treat you both.”

  Score. Quinn would be so happy when I called him. “I’ve been treated before, and I’m CDC certified, so I can administer the treatment myself. I’ll just buy the neutralizer supply from you. My license is in my purse.”

  “It’s easy to treat a dog, and if you have the certification for human-level treatment, we can show you how it’s done if you pick up any other strays you think might have rabies.”

  Double score. That would save me a lot of time and hassle. “That would be marvelous, thank you. What’s this going to ding me?”

  “The treatment for rabies takes an hour and costs six hundred. The first round of vaccinations will cost you seventy-five. The exam fee is waived since you’re doing a rabies treatment.”

  Ouch. My wallet already whimpered, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. “Okay. How much for everything else? Do you sell collars and leashes?”

  He chuckled. “We have everything you need, don’t worry. For food and all the extras, it’ll be a few hundred dollars. In good news, you’re saving a few hours and one-fifty avoiding the rabies test.”

  “With my luck, it’s definitely rabid.”

  “Four of five rescues lately have been. There’s concern a feral cat colony or dog pack is spreading the virus; domestic pets are all vaccinated, but the feral colonies can spread rabies horrifically quick, and there’s just too many of them to vaccinate. So far, it doesn’t seem to have hit the wild deer populations hard, but it’s only a matter of time.” The old man, with his salt and pepper hair falling into his eyes, reached for his phone and pressed a button. “Dr. S
ennets to reception: we’ve got a probable rabies case.”

  “I should tell my husband I’ll be frothing at the mouth within a month. Hey, do you do hooves and claws here?”

  “Of course, ma’am. What animals would need to be groomed?”

  “Me. I transform, and my claws and hooves could use a look. If you have a bored groomer…”

  He laughed. “We do. Let’s get your puppy treated first, and then we can take care of your hooves and claws. We need to decontaminate your clothing anyway, so if you transform, that’ll give us a chance to make sure the virus doesn’t spread.”

  “You’re a lifesaver.”

  A startling young woman in a doctor’s coat and armed with elbow-length gloves strode to the desk. Smiling, she took my puppy from my arms. “I’ll bring your puppy back to you in an hour or two.”

  “Can I pay you extra for grooming?”

  “That’s already included in the price, ma’am. It’s part of the rabies treatment. Austin, if you’d handle her clothing, please?”

  “Before you go, do you know what breed it is?”

  “He’s a husky, ma’am. Possibly a purebred. I’d have run a DNA test to be certain, but those eyes scream husky, as does his build. He’s probably around three months old, but I’ll know more when I do a proper examination.”

  “How much for the DNA test?”

  “Fifty. We have a basic machine here, and it doesn’t take long to do the scan. It won’t tell me more than if he’s a purebred and base breed, but it’s sensitive enough to identify a purebred. If he’s a purebred, I can write up a certificate for you.”

  “Add it to my bill, please.”

  She nodded, smiled again, and walked away with my puppy.

  “If you’ll come with me, ma’am?” The receptionist rose from his seat. “We’ll handle the required paperwork after we’re certain you can’t spread the virus.”

  I grinned. “I can’t wait to tell my husband about this.”

  He’d be thrilled. Not. Unfortunately for him, when it came to puppies, dumpsters, and contracting rabies, I refused to be sorry.

  Quinn

  Most of the time, very little of my wife’s emotions bled through our bracelets, but a flash of anger caught my attention before it ebbed to soothing glee. Glee could mean many things. What, I wasn’t sure.

  No, I knew.

  Trouble.

  Glee plus Bailey equaled trouble, always.

  I gave in to the inevitable and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Perkins eyed the package sitting on the kitchen counter, a gift wrapped in red and green. He eyed me, lifted the box, and frowned. The way he carried it implied it had some heft to it, and he carried it to the living room before setting it down and resuming his circling.

  As I found his odd investigation of my gift amusing, I let him examine it some more. I’d get to opening it eventually.

  He sighed, nudging the box with his toe. “I don’t have any idea what this could be. She gave you coal. That’s my final guess.”

  She would just so I’d feed it to her. “Something annoyed Bailey, but now she’s alarmingly happy. While I’m happy she’s happy, she—”

  My phone rang, and Bailey’s new number greeted me. I grinned and answered, “Hello, my beautiful.”

  “I got rabies again!”

  For fuck’s sake. “Really?”

  “And possibly tetanus, the black plague, and whatever else I can contract while dumpster diving. This time, you can’t stop me.”

  My eyes widened. When Bailey went dumpster diving, she did so for one reason: a dog or cat needed her help. I twisted around to gape at Sunny, who slept on her new bed covered with Bailey’s favorite throw blanket. No matter what I said, I lost. I could earn some affection, gratitude, and a dog’s lifetime of work with one choice.

  One choice that wasn’t even a choice at all, not when she sounded so excited and had gathered the courage to be assertive.

  Damnit.

  I’d have to beg Falhavert to train a second dog.

  “Okay. I love you. Please be properly treated for rabies and any other disease you picked up while dumpster diving. What breed?”

  “Rabid.”

  I sighed, wondering what good yet terrible deeds I’d done in some previous life to deserve Bailey. “Bailey.”

  “Soon to be not rabid.”

  “That’s a little better,” I conceded, although I worried about her reasons for evading my question.

  “My puppy is white, and he has one blue eye and one green eye.”

  The husky commentary began to make alarming sense, as I was willing to bet one of my nosy relatives had been snooping into the future again. “All right. Since you’re getting a puppy for Christmas, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “A favor? From me? What do you need?”

  “Your asshole boss is transferring you, I’ve known for too long, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  Perkins sighed, shook his head, and shot me a look promising that I’d just created a disaster on par with my wife’s troubles.

  “I’m being transferred?”

  “In good news, the transfer comes with a huge raise.”

  Bailey sucked in a breath. “I’m getting a raise?”

  “You are,” I purred to her, grateful I wasn’t quite human. “You’re also getting a good work schedule that will closely match mine.” By closely I meant exactly, but I wasn’t going to tell her that yet.

  She squealed. “No more shit schedules where we don’t see each other for days sometimes?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I can get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep?”

  Ah-ha. Mystery solved. “Would my beautiful like some more sleep? Your wish is granted.” I smirked. “Most nights.”

  “I won’t be a mooch?”

  I rolled my eyes at that. “You’re not a mooch, Mrs. Millionaire. Really. But you’ll find your salary rather comparable to mine.”

  Her squeal almost ruptured my eardrum. “Salary?!”

  “You won’t be working for the CDC anymore, but you’ll still classify as a specialist and retain your certifications. Your bastard boss figured out how to transfer you without consulting you about it. I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

  “But what will I do? I know how to make coffee and deal with toxic magical bullshit,” she whispered.

  “I have another confession,” I admitted.

  “What is it?”

  “While I didn’t get her from a dumpster, there’s a puppy in our living room, and she’s sleeping with your favorite throw. I’m bad at following instructions. I interpreted your list to mean ‘I want a puppy.’ So, when a puppy crossed my path, I surrendered without a fight. Her name is Sunny, and I’ve been told she’ll always love you more than she loves me.”

  Bailey sucked in a breath. “But I got one, too.”

  “We can keep both,” I promised. “You wanted one badly enough to risk rabies again, and I already broke the no-puppy rule, so we’re even.”

  There was a long moment of silence, and then my wife whispered, “Can I get you a kitten if I can find one?”

  When Bailey had discovered I loved cats, a secret passion I’d made certain no one knew about to avoid the ruthless teasing of my officers, she’d gotten a wistful expression on her face.

  She loved animals.

  I smiled. “Okay, Bailey. Why not? When are you coming home?”

  “I don’t know. I left Perkette to be booked for brassault. It’ll take two hours for the vet to finish with my puppy, and they do hooves and claws here. I’m getting groomed!”

  “Just make sure your new puppy can tolerate fire-breathing unicorns.”

  “I will.”

  “Call me if you have any problems,” I ordered.

  “What’s my new job?”

  “You’ll find out when you come home, Mrs. Chief Quinn.”

  “A hint?”

  I smirked, as I’d already given
her one. “You’ll find out soon, I’m sure. If you’re not home by morning, I’m going to chase and catch you, and I’ll enjoy every minute of it. Please run with your puppy.”

  Perkins choked on his laughter.

  “Can you take a picture of Sunny for me, please?”

  “Of course. Every day until you surrender and meet her,” I replied. “Just be careful, okay? If any gorgons bother you, pop one of your pills, torch them, and claim their whelps.”

  “Quinn!”

  “What?”

  “That’s illegal.”

  “Actually, it’s not. You’re my bride, and if any gorgon other than me tries to touch you, you’re within your legal rights to torch them. And you get first crack at any whelps.”

  Her sigh implied she’d reached the end of her rope. “Quinn.”

  One more tug wouldn’t hurt. “It’s true. As you’re my bride, a queen as far as I’m concerned, should a gorgon try anything, self-defense is legal. Gorgon law states a threatened bride may defend herself. Death—theirs—is perfectly acceptable.”

  Bailey laughed. “You’re a terrible cop.”

  “Sometimes.” I relaxed for the first time since finding out the Dover hive had their sights on her. “So. I take it Tiffany’s keeping you for the night.”

  “Maybe.” She drawled out the word.

  “Enjoy yourself, and know if you’re not home by noon, I’ll be coming for you. I fully intend to enjoy every minute of the chase. I don’t have to go back to work until January, so I have all the time in the world.” As I knew how much she enjoyed my growl, I catered to her. “Mrs. Quinn.”

  “Mr. Chief Quinn,” she growled back. “Catch me if you can.”

  “Oh, I will,” I promised. “You have until noon unless you wish to surrender now.”

  “Like hell I’ll surrender,” my wife hissed. “I’ll call you tomorrow and mock your failure to catch me.”

  She hung up, and I laughed.

  Perkins coughed. “Dare I ask?”

  “She’s going to call me tomorrow and mock me for failing to catch her.”

  He sighed. “She’s getting carried away.”

  “Like we aren’t?”