Page 34 of Surprise Baby for the Enemy

“I don’t think they’re going tobiteme,” I say, offended. “I think they’re going toslobberon me.”

Derrick laughs in surprise. God it’s such a nice laugh. So unfair. “I see. I thought you were afraid of them, or maybe dogs in general. But no, it’s not personal, you just think they’regross.”

Well, when he puts it like that, I sound like a hell of a bitch.

I look back at the boys in the back seat. I don’t know which one is Chance and which one is Justice, but they’re both staring at me- very patiently, I’ll admit- with bright caramel brown eyes, asking me where the fuck I found my audacity. I’m denying them their whipped creamandinsulting them?

Alright.

Slowly, I reach my arms through the partition, holding a cup out to each of them. They immediately bury their big black noses in them and start licking up cream with gusto.

Okay. I’ll admit it. That’s… pretty cute. They’re such big dogs that I half expected them to rip the cups out of my hands, but they’re actually being very careful to not make a mess.

“Is whipped cream really good for them?” I ask Derrick.

“It depends on the dog and how well they digest lactose, and I don’t give it to them every day, but it’s a nice treat,” Derrick says. I can hear the smile in his voice, and I refuse to look over to discover if that smile is pointed at me or at the dogs. Either way, I can feel myself blushing.

I’m actually disappointed when the dogs have licked every last speck of cream out of the cups. They lick their noses clean and stare at me.

“I don’t have any more,” I say defensively. I’m not going to be guilted by these furballs into scraping the whipped cream off my own smoothie and giving it to them. Absolutelynot.

“How do you tell them apart?” I ask.

Derrick smiles, and it’s a cousin to the nostalgic good boy smile that he uses in all his political ads. It’s real.

“Well, I’ve had them since they were puppies, so I know them like the back of my hand now. But what helped when they were little was- Chance’s ears are darker, and Justice has the brown star on his forehead. Their personalities are also totally different. Chance values his personal time. If you wake him up while he’s sleeping, he’ll side-eye you for an hour. And Justice is a crybaby like you wouldn’t believe. He begs for everything. He’s on his best behavior right now because of you, of course, but he would’ve been whining for that whipped cream if it were just me.”

I smile at Justice, so he knows I appreciate how well he’s behaving. He bobs his head and licks his nose. We get each other.

Also, I too hate being woken from my naps. Chance’s gained a point in my book.

“Can we stop at a gas station? I want to get some chips.”

Derrick’s phone starts vibrating, texts coming in rapid succession. “Sure. Hold on.” He pulls into another parking lot and reads through them, then types an address into his GPS. His smile is gone, his blue eyes suddenly frosty.

“You don’t mind if we check this lead first, do you?”

“No, not at all.”

“We’ve got the address for the owner of that Buick. An Emma Clarke.”

Emma Clarke? That’s not right. That’s not Silver.

Derrick turns in his seat to look directly at me. “A couple things before we head over there. We’re going to drive around the neighborhood of the address, and if there’s anyone at the house itself, I’m going to ask the homeowner a few questions. That’s it. We don’t have a warrant to enter the house, and we don’t have any evidence at present that the person the car belongs to is involved with Silver.” He points at me. “You are going to stay in the car with Chance and Justice.”

“Excuseme-”

“No,” Derrick cuts me off, his tone so firm that the dogs and I freeze. “I am trained, I am armed, I’m wearing body armor, and I have legal precedent to be asking questions about a stolen car. You are…”

To his credit, he does pause before calling me a civilian, maybe understanding how ridiculous it is that a member of a mafia family counts as a ‘civilian’ in this case.

Or maybe he was just stopping himself from calling me a ‘criminal’. Rude.

“You’re a civilian,” he goes on, “and you aren’t armed or wearing any form of protection. So you’re staying in the car.”

Hm, yes. Maybe if either of us were wearing protection the first time we met, I wouldn’t be here right now.

But if we’re going straight to Silver’s legal address- and I believe we are- then I need to be involved. I have to help bring him down.

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