Page 3 of Stilettos and Outlaws

Julie stared at Dante in disbelief.“You mean, like women were stuffing dollar bills in his G-string and copping a feel?”

“Exactly.”

“Whoa!” Julie giggled. “I bet he has been giving your mom private dances for years. Which would explain why there are six of you.”

“I’m never going to unsee that,” Sergeant Bergman muttered.

The expression on Sergeant Bergman’s face was hysterical. “Did you need something sir?”

“We’re out of coffee. I wanted to borrow some.”

Fighting back a grin, I nodded. “Not a problem. I’ll get you some.” I walked back into the kitchen.

“How long have you known about your father’sfriskydancing skills?” Sergeant Bergman inquired.

“About ten minutes.” I opened a cabinet, grabbed a five-pound bag of Arabica coffee beans and held it out. “Here ya go.”

Sergeant Bergman’s eyebrows rose as he took it. “Ten minutes?”

“Yep. We kinda walked in on them. Gotta say it was a bit of a shock, but it does explain where I got my love of dancing from.”

Dante grinned. “Your old man has some wicked moves.”

“That he does.” I patted Dante’s butt. “Tonight, I’m giving you a lap dance you’ll never forget.”

“I look forward to it,querida.”

Sergeant Bergman barked, “Not another word about your sex life or anyone else’s.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I think a retreat is in order to give your dad time to cool off,” Julie said.

“Damn good idea. Everyone out!” Sergeant Bergman yanked open the kitchen door. “Do your brothers know about your parents’ proclivities?”

I grimaced. “Nope, and I’m not telling them.”

“My lips are sealed,” Julie added.

Horn blaring, a silver Toyota Camry crawled into the parking lot and a woman screamed, “Help us! Please help us!”

A smile touched my mouth as we all carefully surveyed the area, then cautiously approached the car. We were a well-oiled team.

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” Sergeant Bergman inquired.

“Bomb! There’s a bomb on my husband’s lap!” The woman shrieked.

We all had our flashlights out and fixed on the white-faced husband. On his lap was a box with a pipe bomb in it.

“Oh, hell.” The timer showed twelve minutes before it went kablooey.

Sergeant Bergman commanded, “Put the car in park and turn the engine off.”

“I told him not to take the box, but he wouldn’t listen to me,” the woman sobbed as she obeyed.

“I don’t want to die,” the husband cried, holding out the box. “Please, I don’t want to die.”

“Put the box down slowly! If you want to live, don’t move a muscle,” Dante instructed.

---