North and Shaw Out of Office - Gregory Ashe Page 0,25

Shaw thought, but North McKinney could make the inside of a trash compactor look like a wet dream.

“Stop being a perv,” North said, adjusting the damp collar of his shirt and exposing a muscled inch of shoulder.

“I was thinking about the case.”

“Yeah?” North said, slapping Shaw’s crotch. “If that semi is from thinking about dog breeding, we’re going to have a serious talk.”

Shaw coughed, covered himself, and wondered if his face could spontaneously combust. He shuffled to the end of the porch and, still covering himself, pointed with his chin. “Golf cart tracks.”

“I thought they were deer,” North said again, but he was grinning now. “I hate little dogs, by the way. If this thing starts yipping when we rescue it, I’m going to punt it into the next county.”

“You’d look good with a dog.”

“No dogs, Shaw.”

“You could keep a little teacup Yorkie in your purse and carry him to work every day. The other guys on the job site would love it.”

With a sigh, North set out following the fresh golf cart tracks. “Maybe a dog wouldn’t be so bad.”

“See? I knew you’d like the idea.”

“It couldn’t be half as yippy as you are.”

They followed the tracks, easily visible in the manicured grass, around the lake for perhaps a quarter mile. Another mini log mansion stood here; North counted four chimneys, a three-car garage, and a dock with a jet ski, a paddleboat, and a pontoon all tied up and ready to go. The wind had picked up, flattening the rushes and cattails along the shore and stirring wavelets against the dock, rocking the floating wooden platform with increasing violence.

Shaw raised an arm, ready to point out the obvious: the golf cart that had ripped chunks of sod from the lawn and that now was parked across half of a flower bed. Before Shaw could say anything, though, the front door to the mini mansion flew open, and a stocky, middle-aged man chugged out onto the lawn. He looked at them. His thick neck flushed red, and he wiped his forehead and squinted, as though trying to spot them across an incredible distance rather than a mere thirty yards. Under one arm, he carried a beautiful white and gray Löwchen, its mane trimmed into a lion cut.

“Brickle,” North said.

“No, thanks,” Shaw said. “Maybe after dinner.”

“After dinner, all you’re getting is a red ass from being so fucking smart all the time.”

“Hold on,” Shaw said. “I don’t understand. Why do you get to be a smart-aleck, but when I’m just being clever, all of a sudden I’m—”

Donovan lowered the Löwchen and kicked the dog, launching it forward a few feet before the dog crashed and recovered. Brickle yelped and then picked himself up with a limp, barking furiously as he spun in a circle, favoring one of his hind legs. Donovan squinted, seemed to study Shaw and North again, and took off at the same steady chug in the opposite direction. Brickle just kept spinning, barking wildly at everyone.

“He didn’t seem to like the way we looked,” Shaw said.

“Really?” North said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe it’s the purple denim.”

“It’s chambray, actually. But thanks for noticing.”

“Or the child-sized joggers.”

“Oh, I don’t think they’re—”

“Yes. They are. Or maybe it’s your toe shoes. Those are about the creepiest things in the world, so maybe it’s those.”

“He’s getting away,” Shaw pointed out, trying to be helpful.

“He’s a moron. Why is he trying to run away on foot?”

“If he’s got an intellectual disability, it’s not really his fault.”

With a groan, North said, “Go catch the dog.”

“I thought maybe I’d—”

“No,” North said, starting forward at a trot. “And no jokes about dessert.”

“I’m just worried if I get too much time with Brickle, I might—”

“And no jokes about diabetes,” North called back.

“Not fair,” Shaw called after him, but by then North was in a full run, tearing along the shore like a bulldozer in a pair of Red Wings. Shaw watched him go, enjoying the shift of denim over North’s bubble butt, and then squatted down and held out his hand.

Brickle flounced around for a few more minutes, barking in circles, making three-legged sprints in random directions, expressing his general displeasure at the universe and at Donovan. Shaw just hunkered there and watched as Donovan went straight for the dock. Even from a distance, Shaw could hear North roar, “Oh no you fucking don’t.”

Shaw would have shrugged and told North it was just a lake. It was perfectly safe.

Donovan got on a jet ski and actually