Page 31 of Wild Card
A pack of dogs came running toward the gate, deep woofs and high-pitched yips spilling from them as they alerted Axel tohis visitor. The group included a rottweiler, a German shepherd, a border collie, and a Chihuahua.
There was no sign of a Samoyed. A Google image search had told me I was looking for a white, fluffy dog with a curly tail.
Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe Rusty had onlyassumedAxel was the one to take his dog.
Please let that be the case.
I hit the buzzer on the gate, just in case Axel had missed the racket his dogs were making.
“I’m coming!” he called out from a distance.
He emerged from behind a rusting tractor. He wore faded blue jeans and a plain gray T-shirt—no leather jacket—his hair tied back and mostly hidden under a ball cap.
He looked like an entirely different man from the badass biker I’d pulled over Friday night. But which version of him was the real one?
My gaze trailed over the ink on his arms and even the tops of his hands, then inevitably over the curve of his hip to those long-as-fuck legs. He was sexy as hell, whatever he wore.
It took me a long minute to see anything but him.
Then Axel’s steps faltered. “Aw, hell.”
A tuft of white caught my eye, and I finally saw her. The missing dog was right behind him, practically stepping on his feet as she stuck close, a white fluff ball with a huge doggy smile.
“Deputy Harvey,” he said lightly, even as his jaw looked tight enough to crack stone, “you really didn’t have to make a house call for my sake.”
“Secure the dogs and let me in,” I said. “We need to have a talk.”
He eyed me warily. “This the kind of talk that ends with me in jail?”
“That will be up to you.”
He swore under his breath, eyes locked on me, the look of a trapped animal about him. I worried he might try to run or hide, maybe hole up and force a standoff. That wouldn’t end well for anyone.
“Let’s just start with talking,” I said as soothingly as I could. “All right?”
He swallowed hard and jerked his head in a nod. “Fine.” He whistled sharply, drawing the dogs to him, and herded them inside an RV a few hundred feet away.
I shifted uneasily as I waited. I didn’t think Axel would pull anything underhanded on me. But we were on opposite sides of the law, and he was unpredictable at the best of times.
A few minutes later, he stepped outside again.
“Put your hands where I can see them,” I said, muscles tensed to reach for my holster.
I hadn’t drawn my gun even once in the two years I’d worked for the Elkhorn County Sheriff’s Office. I didn’t want to start now.
Axel held his hands in front of his chest, just high enough I’d see he wasn’t holding any weapons.
I relaxed a fraction. “Okay, come on over here and unlock the gate.”
Axel stepped up to a keypad and punched in six digits. There was a whir, followed by a loud click. He tugged open the heavy gate.
“Come on in, Deputy. Sorry, I didn’t clean. I wasn’t expecting company.”
Always with the flippant attitude. It was a defense mechanism, but now was not the time for his games.
“This is serious, Axel. I just came from taking a robbery report over at Rusty’s place. I’m sorry, but I’m here to take his dog back.”
He glared at me, snarling, “Over my dead body.”
