Page 28 of Sirens
“Honorable? What is this, Feudal Japan?” She snorted.
“No, but we’re a civilization with laws, and one of those laws is people stay off your property.”
Instead of rolling her eyes, she tossed her entire neck in a circle of tantrum. “God, you sound like one of thoseseptuagenarian retirees that just want everyone to get off their lawn.”
“Paradoxically, you’re trespassing in the middle of the night like a teenaged hoodlum.”
“You’re acting like a teenaged hoodlum,” she replied, mimicking him.
To his surprise, his temper flared. “Now you’re just being childish.”
“And you’re being a prick.” She stuck out her tongue to punctuate her point.
Trent’s radio chirped in his ear, startling everyone. It was Judy, the dispatcher, following up on the call. “All’s well, Judy,” he said. “Just some trespassers.”
“Mayor Stewart owns the hotel building and isn’t answering his phone,” Judy replied. “We’ve sent someone to wake him up, but you’ll need to bring the perps in for now.”
“Ten-four, we’re en route to booking.” He glanced back to the unlikely trio, whose faces had become comically grave.
He glanced at Gabe first. The guy was a little taller and a little leaner, but his knuckles and nose told tales of a past where they’d have been enemies. But since the Southie ex-con opened a body shop and moved in with his girlfriend, Gemma, he’d been a model citizen in Townsend Harbor.
Mostly.
Until now.
To his surprise, Gabe turned around and tucked his knuckles behind his back like a man who’d been cuffed one too many times. “It’s procedure.” The Bostonian sighed. “I know.”
Trent clicked them on without tightening them too much and helped Gabe into the back of the car. “You want to ride shotgun, Myrtle?” he asked.
“Aren’t you arresting me, too?” she groused.
“I don’t think we need to just yet,” Trent said. “I’m detaining you on suspicion of trespassing?—”
“Then why is Gabe in cuffs?” she demanded.
Trent squeezed at a headache blooming behind his eyes. “It’s protocol, Myrtle—it’s for both our safety.”
“Don’t try to shovel shit at me and call it mud. Shit is my stock in trade, kiddo! You don’t think I’m dangerous?” Myrtle put up her dukes like a Victorian pugilist.
“I think you’re a seventy-year-old woman.”
“Ha! You say ‘tomato,’ I say you’re an ageist jackhole. I could take you out.” She threw a few practice jabs into the air between them. “When women go bad, they go all the way. They won’t just go to war with ya, they’ll take away your birthdayandyour will to live. They’ll ruin you and your namesake before they allow you the sweet, sweet release of the abyss and?—”
With a beleaguered sigh, Trent reached for his second pair of handcuffs and dangled them in front of Myrtle.
“That’s more like it!” she crowed, shoving her excruciatingly tiny wrists at him.
Trent slapped on the cuffs and even made a show of protecting her head while gently “pushing” her into the back seat with a grinning Gabe.
Despite himself, Trent chuckled before he addressed Maggie. “I’m out of handcuffs—are you gonna be good, or should I call for backup?”
It shouldn’t have frightened him that she didn’t answer, but he found himself taking a stabilizing breath.
She slid into the front seat of the patrol car and Trent settled in beside her, catching a whiff of her perfume—something exotic and spicy.
“Listen,Deputy McGarvey,” Maggie started, her voice urgent, “we weren’t just fooling around in there. We found something.”
“Found something?” Trent repeated as he started the engine, its purr a stark contrast to the tension inside the vehicle.
