the hairy beast didn’t slobber all over me. He had a lot in common with Vince.
Traffic moved like treacle, and with tired eyes I watched the taxi’s meter tick steadily upwards. Although I’d promised myself to go through my notes one more time on the ride over, the heater was making me sleepy.
I jolted awake when the taxi jerked to a stop outside Vince’s apartment, and I staggered out, bleary-eyed, without having read a single page.
Predictably, the dogs were delirious with excitement, and bounded around like they were on springs. Tap whined and cried, telling me what a terrible night she’d had worrying about Vince.
“Me, too,” I sighed as I let them out to do their business. “I’ve hardly slept, but with a pinch of luck and a great attorney—that would be me—your dad will be home soon. Just hang on in there, sweet pea.”
I filled their food bowls according to Vince’s detailed instructions, Zeus’s bowl toy-sized next to Tyson’s trough.
While they wolfed down their food, I stepped into Vince’s bedroom, my nerves jangling. I don’t know what I’d expected to find—a mirrored ceiling, whips and bondage implements, silk sheets, framed photographs of himself—but it was all very single-man-about-town normal. Except, perhaps, for the three dog beds next to his, arranged by size.
The only photographs on his dresser were of the dogs. I’d expected to see a legacy wall of Vince’s time in the fashion industry, but the walls were bare and painted a soft, dove gray. Realizing I was dawdling, I opened the door to his walk-in closet … his enormous walk-in closet filled with dozens of beautiful, hand-crafted suits in fine wools, cottons, linens and even silk. I half expected a blaze of holy light and angels to start singing, it was that incredible.
I found his passport at the back of his closet, shoved into his underwear drawer with a roll of twenty-pound notes thick enough to choke a Vince. Tempting.
Starting my day searching Vince’s underwear drawer hadn’t been on my to-do list. Ever.
Then had five minutes playtime before I had to get going. The traffic wouldn’t have gotten any lighter in the last half-hour.
Once again, Tap tried to come with me, and once again I felt like a worm as I pushed her gently back inside.
I tried not to wince when I saw the triple figures on the taxi’s meter, especially since I couldn’t bill it anywhere. Oh well, this would be my good deed … for the rest of the year.
I arrived at court early, and sat waiting for Rick to arrive. I prayed that Vince looked presentable, rather than like the kind of idiot who thought rescuing 17 dogs with no onward plan was a good idea.
I changed into my pumps and stowed my faithful Uggs, then studied the notes, making sure I knew exactly what I was going to say to the judge (as little as possible), and what Vince would say to the judge (less than that).
When I felt a dark presence looming over me, I glanced up.
“Thank goodness you’re here, Rick!”
I gave him the quick, awkward, one-armed hug that seemed appropriate for the boyfriend of my best friend, then upgraded with a quick kiss on his cheek, seeing as he was now Cady’s fiancé and had strayed into uncharted but ‘trusted male’ territory.
The only other man I kissed on the cheek was my dad.
“I brought my credit card,” he sighed. “I can’t believe the dickhead has done this. What was he thinking?”
“Vince? Thinking? I know not of what you speak.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, that’s the problem. How serious is this?”
“Worst case scenario would involve a custodial sentence, but as it’s a first offense, I’m confident to plea-bargain down to court-ordered community service and a fine. I just need Vince to not speak, and we should be okay.”
“Shall I offer to thump him?” Rick asked earnestly.
“Tempting, but no. Because then I’ll have both of you before the judge, plus a seriously pissed-off Cady, and no one wants that.”
We sat in silence watching the comings and goings of suited attorneys, uniformed police and other state officials including a game warden (or conservation officer as they were now designated in Minnesota), and a wide mix of clientele.
Just before court was in session, ushers led us into Courtroom Three. Rick sat near the back and I joined the bench with a weary bunch of state-appointed defenders.
Judge Herschel was a woman in her late fifties, with dark, all-knowing eyes—the kind that stared right through you. She reminded me