North and Shaw Out of Office - Gregory Ashe Page 0,24

was kind of cute,” Shaw said. “I talked to her about it later. I told her all about your history. She completely understood then; we talked about it and we agreed it was really kind of cute.”

North felt his jaw drop. “You talked to her about my . . . history?”

Shaw swooped in, kissed the side of North’s neck, and broke into a run, laughing as he pulled ahead. North watched him go, fighting another smile, thinking of just exactly how he was going to put Shaw Aldrich back in his fucking britches. It wasn’t exactly a thing of beauty, watching him run; Shaw’s thin frame moved with a lot of flapping arms and at an uneven, loping stride. But it didn’t matter. Shaw could get himself caught in a mousetrap and somehow he’d make it so fucking endearing that North’s heart would probably explode.

When North reached the lake house, an idea was beginning to form—the little shit wanted to pretend North had never seen grass before, and North had an idea about that—but North forgot his plan when his eyes adjusted to the house’s cool shadows. Quentin lay on the floor, his face bruised and bloodied, his paisley dressing gown ripped down the front; Shaw knelt next to him, cleaning the blood with a wet cloth.

“Donovan paid him a visit,” Shaw said.

6

HE WANTS THE BUSINESS,” Quentin said when they finally cleaned him up and got him calmed enough to talk. “Löwchen.”

“Is that one of those noodle places on south Grand?” North said.

Shaw elbowed him. “It’s a dog.”

“This is really about the dog?” North said.

Nodding, Shaw said, “Löwchen are some of the most expensive dogs in the world if you acquire them from a breeder. They’re companion dogs. My mom and dad had one.”

“Of course they did,” North said.

Shaw blushed and shrugged.

“Are they big dogs?” North said.

“No,” Quentin said, his hands picking restlessly at the dressing gown. “They’re classified as toy dogs by some organizations. But they’re quite intelligent. And very trainable. And of course, they’re absolutely committed. So loyal and loving. You couldn’t ask for a better companion.”

“Do they try to be wiseacres all the time?” North said.

“What?”

“Ignore him,” Shaw said.

“Do they try to be smart?” North asked.

“He’s working through some of his own issues,” Shaw said.

“Even though they were the ones who got a 63% on the poetic devices test?”

“I don’t understand,” Quentin said stiffly, drawing himself upright as best he could. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“That’s what I ask myself every time I wake up,” North said.

Shaw elbowed him again. Harder. “Where might Donovan be? He wasn’t at the A-frame, but we know he’s close by, using a golf cart to get around the area.”

Quentin shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. We don’t own the cabin; some friends are letting me use it for the weekend. It was supposed to be an escape. Donovan must have been . . . he must have been following me. There’s no way he could have known I’d be out here.”

“And these Lo Mein dogs?” North said.

Shaw covered his face. “Löwchen.”

“That’s a business?”

“Yes. We breed them. All the paperwork is in my name, though; I started the business before Donovan and I got married. Now he’s trying to get the whole thing. He’s absolutely insane. And I think he’s hurting . . . I think he’s hurting Brickle.” This last statement dissolved into sobs.

“That’s the dog,” North said. “Told you he wasn’t diabetic.”

“Just because it’s the puppy’s name,” Shaw said, “doesn’t mean he’s not diabetic. Quentin? Are you diabetic?”

“What are you two talking about? I need to find Brickle. I need to call the police and stop Donovan.”

“Where’d Donovan go?”

“He heard you coming back,” Quentin said through sniffles. “He was hurting me, demanding I sign the papers he’d brought. He got away on that stupid cart. He’s going to come back. He’ll find me anywhere I go. He’ll keep hurting me until I sign the papers.” Quentin came apart in another flood of tears.

“Lock the doors,” Shaw said. “And then get inside a bedroom, lock that door, and put something heavy in front of it. We’ll take care of this.”

“Normally we ask a flat rate of—” North began.

Shaw elbowed him a third time and dragged North outside; the deadbolt went home behind them. The afternoon simmered with swampy, Midwestern heat, and sweat broke out immediately across North’s forehead; the simple tee he wore clung to the hard lines of his chest and shoulders. Humidity wasn’t supposed to be sexy,