The Perfect Match

by Kimberly Cates

  “I know I’m brilliant, but I can’t take the credit. Charlie came up with this one all on her own—whatever this one is. I’m not quite clear about specifics. She had Mac in the corner whispering away the minute they came in from the bus, then out they go to Mac’s playhouse. Tight as two ticks on a dog all evening. Even begged me to let Mac sleep in her room with her. Figured it couldn’t hurt. Charlie’s got that extra twin bed in there. Hope it’s all right with you.”

  “No. I mean, yes. That’s fine.”

  “It’s a hell of a lot better than fine. It’s a goddamned miracle if you ask me. Checked on ’em an hour ago and they were sleeping like angels. Charlie even insisted on leaving the window wide open so Mac could see the stars.”

  “Did she?” Cash felt a stirring of hope. One of the things Cash had hated most in the past two years was how his girls had grown apart. Charlie played with her sister out of duty now instead of love. Nothing could hide the wall that had grown between the girls or the fact that Charlie would far rather be alone.

  “So they’re playing together,” Cash said. “That’s good, right? So what’s worrying you?”

  “Nothing. Just wanted to give you the heads up. Had to swear in blood not to set foot in the playhouse or it would ruin the surprise.”

  “So why didn’t you sneak out back before you hit the couch and see what they’re up to?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Vinny’s dead seriousness made Cash crack a smile. “That cross your heart, hope to die bit is serious stuff. You want to stick a needle in your eye? No sir, Deputy Lawless. I don’t think so.”

  “I see what you mean. But I didn’t swear, so maybe as soon as I get home, I’ll phone in to the Sheriff’s office, have them stake out the playhouse.”

  “Might be a good idea.”

  He could hear Vinny yawn. The nights Mr. Google stayed over to watch the girls had to be hard on the older man. Stubborn cuss insisted on sacking out on the couch instead of using Cash’s bed. Vinny said the couch kept him from getting too soft.

  “Go to sleep, old man.” Cash said with gruff affection. “I’m awake now.”

  “Good. I’m heading in to check on them one last time right now. Their father is a real pain, you know.”

  Cash heard the hall floorboards creak.

  “Hey, Cash?”

  “What?”

  “It was fun watching the girls today. All that bustling back and forth, bowls and plates of food and such. Don’t be eating any donuts on your way home. Probably have a heck of a tea party out there before they’ll let you go to sleep. The works, you know? Stale bread and grape jelly and a bottle of pickles.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “It’ll do your heart good to see them…happy, you know?”

  Happy…

  That was one emotion that had been in short supply at the Lawless house for quite awhile.

  Hell, Cash didn’t care if they’d used up a week’s worth of peanut butter sandwiches and he had to take a handful of Tums to tamp down the heartburn he’d get from eating all those pickles. If he could just see his little girls smile…

  The way they had before their whole world had shattered.

  The way they had before they’d learned the truth. That their daddy couldn’t protect them from the ugly things out there in the world. That their mommy wouldn’t always be there to tuck them in at night.

  Sometimes there really were monsters under the bed.

  And even daddies could be afraid.

  “Listen, buddy,” Cash said. “I’m going to sign off now.”

  Cash heard Charlie’s bedroom door squeak, and put oiling the hinges at the top of his to do list.

  “See you when you get home,” Vinny whispered. “Charlie kicked the covers off again. They’re lying in a heap by her—sonofabitch!”

  In a heartbeat, the world on the other end of the phone erupted. Vinny roared, a bloodcurdling cry of pain, the girls’ startled screaming buried in the sounds of a horrific crash.

  Cash’s belly turned to ice.

  “Vinny?” Cash yelled into the phone. “Vinny! Talk to me! What the hell’s going on?”

  Vinny didn’t answer.

  The cell went dead.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CASH’S TIRES SQUEALED as he turned down Briarwood Lane, his radio spitting static. He’d tried three times to connect to the house by the land line as he’d sped across town, but the relentless busy signal had ratcheted up his alarm.

  “Got a 9-1-1 from your house, Cash,” his radio warned through bursts of static. “Can’t get much out of Charlie—she’s hysterical—some kind of intruder. Cash, Vinny’s down.”

  “Shots fired?”

  “Not that we can tell. Help’s on the way. Wait for backup.”

  “Like hell I will! My kids are in there.”

  He swerved into the driveway and slammed on his brakes. He was out of the squad a heartbeat later, sprinting up the stairs to the front door.

  He tried the door. Locked tight. Not the point of entry. But hadn’t Vinny said Charlie’s bedroom window was open? Cut the screen, then—bingo—an intruder was in. He keyed the lock, opened the door, making no sound, but the living room was empty. Whatever was going on, the action had moved deeper into the house, where he couldn’t see it.

  He clenched his teeth against the sound of Mac’s panicked wails, along with the scream of the sirens in the distance. Sounds he’d heard on instant replay in his worst nightmares. He crushed the instinct to rush to his daughter, knowing surprise was his best weapon.

  Cold sweat broke out on Cash’s body as he edged his way toward the hall, his pistol drawn, held at the ready.

  The noise was coming from Charlie’s room. He crept toward it, back against the wall. Just outside his goal, he paused, readying himself to wheel into the doorway, draw a bead on whatever lowlife scum was in there.

  His trigger finger itched, fury and fear warring in his belly as he counted in his head. One, two…three.

  Ten years of instinct and combat training kicked in as he swung around, filling the door.

  “Freeze! Police!” He shouted. His pistol barrel swept the room. Glimpses of Charlie, Mac, Vinny flashed past.

  Vinny’s leg bent at a gut-churning angle where it should have been straight. Broken, Cash assessed with a combat vet’s skill. Charlie huddled in a ball, her back against the bed. God, no. Had she been hit? Sonofabitch, Cash would kill the rotten bastard.

  “Cash!” Vinny’s voice, woozy as hell. “Put that damn pistol away. You’re scaring the kids.”

  “The perp—” Cash snarled, everything feral in him wanting blood. “Where is he?”

  Was Vinny actually smiling? A sick smile, a weak one. “Under the bed.”

  Hell, Vinny was right. The surface of Charlie’s twin bed tilted wildly askew, even the headboard off the floor. It was moving…

  Did the jerk have a gun pointed out at the room? Was that why the kid was shrunk up so tight in the corner?

  Cash approached the suspect, every sense on alert. “You—scum bag—slide out from under there,” he ordered. He kicked the teetering bed savagely with his boot. “You mess with my kids, I’d as soon shoot you as look at you.”

  “No!” Charlie shrilled, diving between Cash and the suspect.

  Cash blanched, his daughter suddenly lined up in his pistol sights. He swung his pistol upward, so it was pointing at the ceiling. “Charlotte! Get out of the way!”

  “Don’t shoot, Daddy! It’s my fault!” she screeched wildly.

  His gaze locked on his daughter, Charlie’s face splotched red and white, soaked with tears, her whole body shaking under her Monkey Shines pajamas.

  Mac wailed, scrabbling toward him across the floor, flinging her arms around his leg. “Pick me up, Daddy! Pick me up! Charlie sneaked—”

  Sirens blared to a halt in front of the house. Backup, arriving at last.

  “Damn it,” Cash ordered the perp again. “Get out from under that bed before I forge
t I’m a cop!”

  The bed shuddered, the intruder still blocked from view by fallen comforters, scattered stuffed animals and Charlie’s quivering form. “Hands where I can see ’em.”

  “He can’t put his hands up,” Mac said. “He doesn’t got any.”

  The front door slammed open, the rush of footsteps thundering toward them.

  “What?” Cash asked.

  “The bad guy gots paws.”

  “Paws?” Cash echoed, bewildered as his fellow officers stormed in.

  “Lawless,” Evander’s voice broke in. “Where’s your perp?”

  The mass of covers twisted, a face nosing its way out into the open through the loop of Charlie’s arms.

  “Holy shit!” Evander swore as the perp dropped his weapon of choice. A chewed-up football plopped out of his mouth. “Is that who I think it is?”

  “Destroyer,” Cash growled. He holstered his gun as the Newfoundland peered up at him with shame-filled eyes.

  THERE WAS NO DENYING IT any longer. Clancy was gone.

  Rowena sank into her desk chair and buried her face in her hands. She’d searched everywhere, scouring the streets from the moment she’d realized the Newfoundland had somehow escaped her fenced-in yard. She’d been so sure she’d find him—or that his stomach would win out over the adventure of wandering at will and he’d show up at her door, his pink tongue hanging out, his tail wagging and that sorrowful expression he got when he’d done something he knew was wrong. Head drooping, peering up from under his eyelashes as if begging forgiveness.

  But two days had passed and hope was running thin.

  “Maybe I should call Animal Control,” she thought, then canned the idea of asking them outright. Surely Mindy, the girl Rowena channeled her rescues through, would recognize Clancy even without scanning for his microchip. Mindy would call her, and then…

  Then what? Wouldn’t the humane society have to enter in their logs somewhere that Clancy had, once again, darkened their doorstep? And what if they weren’t the people who picked Clancy up? What if a patrol car saw him “running at large” and nabbed him? Cash Lawless had warned Rowena at the Sheriff’s office that first day that if Clancy got one more strike against him, he’d be out.

  Rowena swallowed a lump in her throat.

  God, why had she taken Clancy with her to the Lawless house? Let the dog see Charlie again? Ever since that day, the Newfoundland hadn’t been himself. He’d carried his mangled football with him everywhere, barely putting it down to eat. An anxiety behavior if Rowena had ever seen one. She’d worked so hard to obliterate those from Clancy’s repertoire. But for some reason, Clancy’s encounter with Charlie had brought the dog’s insecurities flooding back.

  Restless, whining, never settling down, Clancy behaved as if he knew as well as Rowena did how wrong things were with the solemn-eyed little girl and felt as if he should fix them.

  Surely it wasn’t possible that the dog…what? Rowena brought herself up sharply. Logged on to Map Quest when she wasn’t looking and found Charlie Lawless’s address? Then had Shakespeare the cat boost him up over the fence so he could navigate the streets of Whitewater and knock on Charlie’s door?

  Right, Rowena. Get real. There was no way Clancy could find the place, even if he wanted to.

  And yet, it was as if the 175-pound dog had just vanished in a puff of smoke.

  But she couldn’t spend another day trolling the streets, looking for him. She had a shop full of other animals that needed to be cared for. A business that had to be open if it was going to bring in any money. And, as Rowena often told the pets who clamored for her attention when she needed to be restocking shelves and such—dog biscuits weren’t free.

  Rowena crossed to the nearby sink and splashed cold water onto her face. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and tried to paste on a smile to fool any customer that happened by.

  Not that she had been able to fool her mother into thinking everything in Whitewater was going as smoothly as Auntie Maeve had predicted the last time Rowena and Nadine Brown had stopped by the hospital room before the Irishwoman had died.

  Rowena winced, remembering her mother’s reaction, one that had only grown fiercer than ever since Rowena had moved to the town where her godmother had predicted her soul mate was waiting for her. Whitewater, Illinois… Maeve had said, pointing to a River Road tourist pamphlet someone had left in a magazine. Rowena, that is where you will find him….

  Nadine Brown had blustered her protest the whole way home, and in the months that followed. My God, Rowena, Maeve believes in fairies and the banshee and—and Santa Claus, for all I know! Building your whole future on the ramblings of a senile old woman is insane, no matter how much you love her!

  But how could anyone as logical as Nadine Brown understand the connection between Rowena and Maeve? Or how completely Rowena trusted her godmother?

  When Nadine Brown had made the visit Rowena dreaded, the reserved doctor had gotten so quiet it shook Rowena to the core.

  Your eye. I suppose some stray did that to you? Or did you fall off a ladder fixing this place up?

  This place has a name, Mom. It’s called Open Arms. Couldn’t you just look around a little? Rowena had been hoping for some sort of approval. Just a sliver of reaction to show her mother would eventually be reconciled to Rowena’s decision as long as her daughter was happy.

  Nadine had given a cursory glance to the bright colors, the shiny cages. It’s very cheerful, dear. But you won’t be able to see it if you damaged your vision when you got that black eye. I know you didn’t have a doctor look at it.

  I didn’t need to. My eye is fine, Mom. And so is my life here.

  Her mother had examined the bruise, shone a light into her eye. At last Nadine Brown had put the flashlight away. I know you’re a grown woman and you think I’m trying to interfere in your life. But you’re still my daughter, Rowena. I’m worried about you.

  Rowena hadn’t been able to resist the wistfulness in her mother’s eyes. I love you, too, Mom, she had said, giving her mother a hug. Dr. Brown patted her back, then disengaged. Rowena let her, knowing her mother always felt uncomfortable with public displays of affection.

  By the time Rowena had waved goodbye, she’d been relieved to see her mother leave and yet a little sad. She had wanted the visit to be different. But then, she was sure her mother had felt the same way.

  Luckily Rowena had had the perfect antidote to her mood right at her fingertips. She’d given Clancy a bath. And no one could help but laugh at the Newfie’s delight as he tried to bite the stream of water from the garden hose.

  The memory of the irrepressible Clancy drew her back to the present with a sharp wrench of pain. She’d work in the shop today, she reasoned. Then as soon as she closed up, she’d start looking again and hope like hell she wouldn’t find Clancy hit by a car on some highway or shut up in the backseat of Deputy Lawless’s patrol car.

  True, she didn’t think of Cash as a dog-hating Attila the Hun any longer, but the man had made a pretty daunting list of Clancy’s past transgressions and still considered the Newfie a danger to the people Cash was sworn to protect.

  She knew now, as she hadn’t before, just how seriously the deputy took his responsibilities.

  A knock sounded at the shop’s front door. Rowena glanced at the clock. Still ten minutes before she was scheduled to open. Swiping a brush through her hair, she grabbed a hand towel and scrubbed her face dry as she made her way to the front of the store.

  She’d almost reached the glass door when her vision cleared enough to see who stood on the other side. Her breath clutched as she glimpsed broad shoulders, short, dark hair and the grimmest expression she’d ever seen on a man.

  Cash.

  Her heart slammed against her ribs, panic choking her. Oh, God. Had he found Clancy dead by the side of the road? Was he coming to tell her…

  But the instant she turned the deadbolt in the door to let him in, she saw something cowering be
hind him. Something big. Black. Furry.

  “Clancy!”

  She cried out the dog’s name as she flung open the door, then hurled herself at the Newfie, clutching the dog in her arms.

  “Oh, thank God! Thank God!”

  Cash hadn’t taken the dog to the pound the way he’d threatened, Rowena thought, more grateful than he’d ever imagine. He’d brought Clancy back to her.

  And yet, the dog shrank back, looking so dejected after his little escapade, Rowena couldn’t help but laugh with relief.