Page 54 of Beware of Dog

“You got a problem with that?” he demanded.

“No. Not at all.” She stood to go get ready.

Fifteen

Cass couldfeelhow angry Shep was when she put her arms around his waist on the back of the bike.

When she tried to take her laundry sack with her, he told her to leave it, which meant, furious or not, he planned on bringing her back here afterward. When she pulled out her phone before they left the flat, he asked, in a truly ugly voice, if she was texting her “little no-balls boyfriend.” “No, I’m texting Melissa,” she informed him, sweetly, and it was a considerable effort to keep her laughter in check.

All his movements, when he pulled on his jacket, and zipped it, and shrugged his cut on over it, were military-precise, quick, and bristling with badly-restrained violence. Down in the gated, guarded parking lot where he kept his bike, he climbed aboard, cranked the engine, and didn’t deign to look around at her. Cass finally grinned where he couldn’t see her and climbed up behind him. His waist was tense as a porch column between her arms.

When they slowed in front of the precinct, Cass unlinked her hands and sat back, lightly gripping his shoulders, ready to hop off and wave goodbye. To her surprise, he swooped the bike in close to the curb, and parked it.

“What are you doing?” she asked when the engine cut off.

He motioned her off the bike, and she slid to her feet so he could swing his leg off. She stood, waiting, while he unclipped his helmet, popped it on the handlebars, and fluffed his hair.

“What are you doing?” Cass repeated.

He sent her an unreadable look through the dark lenses of his shades, and motioned to the front steps.

He was coming with her, clearly. And Cass had been called a brat, by him and others, but she wasn’t so bratty that she would argue about this. Somehow, his mood had worsened on the ride over. She was delighted by the fact, swallowing back laughter. So she nodded, and turned, and went up to the double doors, keenly aware of the gritty sound of his boot soles following her.

Melissa and Rob worked up on the second floor. When they stepped into the elevator, a uniformed officer stepped out, and he paused and did a double take at Shep’s cut. Cass pushed the 2 button in a hurry, and the doors closed on the officer’s frowning face.

Cass sent a look across the cab at him. “You might have left the cut at home.”

He stared at the doors, hands linked in front of him, silent sentry.

The elevator arrived, emitting them into a short little waiting area in front of the Sex Crimes bullpen and offices, a trio of wooden benches set against a section of wall straight ahead. Bryce was there, sitting on the edge of a bench, bent forward at the waist, elbows on his thighs and hands wringing together. One foot jiggled, which shook his whole body, a portrait of extreme nervousness.

His head hung forward, but lifted sharply as the elevator doors opened. He spotted Cass, and his eyes widened, and a relieved smile split his face. “Hey. Oh, wow,” he said, standing. “You made it.”

Then he saw Shep.

“Oh, Jesus…” He leaped back as though struck, tripped on the bench, and sat down in an ungainly heap.

Cass covered her mouth with her hand to hide the laugh that formed in her throat. When she’d composed herself, she dropped it and said, “Hey.”

He lay sprawled back on the bench, arms akimbo, legs spread: a hapless sacrifice on a monster’s altar. “Is this…” He swallowed with an audible gulp, throat jerked. “Is this one of the brothers you mentioned?”

“No,” Cass said, brightly. “My brothers are much more tactful.”

Shep muttered something she couldn’t, and likely didn’t want, to hear. He was still wearing his sunglasses, like a douchebag.

“Are you ready to head in?” she asked Bryce, when she wanted to saywhy the fuck am I here? You giant toddler.

Speaking of…

As they headed into the bullpen, Shep stepped around to her other side, so she couldn’t walk next to Bryce. Byrce said, “Oh, Jesus,” and startled so hard he nearly crashed into a detective.

That was when Shep’s aggressive over-protectiveness started to annoy rather than delight her.

Cass sped up, got in front of him, and turned to see if Bryce was alright.

He was a mess is what he was, apologizing profusely to the detective, who’d dropped a folder and scattered some paperwork. Cass knelt down, gathered the papers amidst Bryce’s unsuccessful flailing, and passed them back to the detective with a tight smile.

“So sorry, here you go.”

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