It was a nice neighborhood full of small neat houses with trimmed lawns and tamed shrubs. A few even had window boxes sprouting colorful flowers. But one house, on the corner, looked as if the Gingerbread Man had turned Goth. The house was white with black wooden shutters and a porch that ran across the front. The paint looked so fresh it seemed to have not fully dried, as if daring the Florida sun to crisp, flake, or bake its austere perfection. Even so, it didn’t look like the home of someone who cared about curbside appeal. Not a single flower, shrub, lawn ornament, or anything else decorative marred the two green felt squares of grass bisected by a narrow concrete sidewalk that led to the front door. The grass was edged to perfection. Too much perfection. It was as if it had been trimmed by the Grim Reaper to knife-edge precision.
Lining the front of the yard like a miniature picket fence was a series of signs that read: KEEP OFF THE GRASS. CURB YOUR ANIMALS. THIS GRASS HAS BEEN TREATED. NO PETS. NO TRESPASSING. NO CHILDREN.
A small elderly man stood on the porch, his eyes searching up and down the street. Narrow of face and body, he was a string bean with hips so slim that not even a belt could keep his pants up. He wore suspenders over his T-shirt. With a bald knob head that seemed too large for his scrawny neck, he looked a lot like Barney Fife. But at heart, he was a bully with delusions of grandeur, mostly about his rights as a citizen and homeowner. His name was Joel Massey.
“That’s the guy you think is responsible for the damage to your car?” Oliver leaned across the steering wheel for a better view. “He doesn’t look like he could stand up in a stiff wind.”
Mac nodded. “You’d think that. But he’s got a mean streak a yard wide that holds him up.”
Oliver’s expression brightened. “You’ve had dealings with the man?”
“Twice, so far, this month. He’s the neighborhood asshat.”
“What did he do?”
“See those signs?”
Oliver glanced at the signs with a frown. “Okay. Tell me what I’m missing.”
“It began when a neighbor of his hired Tampa/St. Pete Recon to recover her missing cat. I did some neighborhood reconnaissance and learned that Massey hated pets. So then I did a bit of snooping.”
“You mean trespassing.”
She sent a sly glance his way. “It’s called following a tip. I discovered Massey had my client’s cat, plus a dozen other missing neighborhood cats and dogs, locked up in a storage shed in his backyard. They were filthy, hungry, and dehydrated. He’d covered up the stench by tossing in bags of cat litter periodically. I called the police. He told them that he was only looking after strays he’d found in his yard. Doing his own animal rescue.”
“The police didn’t arrest him?”
Mac shook her head tightly, getting angry all over again. “They couldn’t prove he stole the animals. Only that he detained them. The owners admitted that their pets were off leash at the times of their disappearance. Massey was only fined for having more animals than city ordinance allows without having a license to run an animal shelter.”
“And he blamed you for the fine?”
“You got it. So then last week several animals on the block developed sores on their paws and the neighbors weren’t sure why so they called me.”
“Why not the police?”
Mac shrugged as she watched Massey survey the block like a sentry on duty. “I could smell the reason for the problem half a block away. Massey had dumped cans of cayenne pepper all over his yard to try to keep animals off his grass.”
“He’s got a right fetish about his grass.”
“You could say that. Massey claimed that neighbors were deliberately bringing their animals to decorate his yard with feces and urine out of jealousy. He now had proof in that the animals could only have suffered chili burns if they’d trespassed on his grass yard.”
“He’s a wanker. But a clever one.”
“Yeah. He’s a real peach.”
Oliver eyed her thoughtfully. “You really don’t like him.”
“I’m worried about what happens next. He’s escalating. He’s lucky a child didn’t get into the cayenne before he was reported. The police fined him and told him a third call out would result in him being charged with creating a public nuisance, which can carry a jail sentence.”
Oliver wagged his head. “You think damaging your car was his way of getting revenge for the second police visit?”
“That’s what I want to ask him.”
She reached for the door handle but Oliver reached across her and grabbed the doorframe. “You aren’t seriously going to confront the nutter?”
“It’s broad daylight. I’m just going to talk from the sidewalk.”
“Then I’m coming with you.” The stubborn jut of his chin said there’d be no persuading him out of it. “He’s a whack job, as you say. That doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.”
“Fine. Just let me handle this.”
Mac felt a little self-conscious as she approached Massey’s yard. She wanted to hunch her shoulders as a trickle of sweat from the humidity of the warm day skied down her spine. The weather report on the car radio said that the low in the mid-Gulf had become a tropical depression. It was predicted to become a full tropical storm later in the week as it bobbed in the warm waters like a cork in a hot bath. Possible landfall was still a huge fan-shaped pattern from Louisiana to the middle of western Florida. At the moment, it was a sticky sun-drenched day in St. Petersburg.
Of course, her discomfort might come from the fact she was wearing shorts and a crop top, braless. Not at all her style. Men had radar for such things. Massey watched her approach with narrowed eyes and a permanent smirk that had nothing to do with humor. She could develop a serious rash from that stare.
When he didn’t speak, she stopped three steps from his porch. “Morning, Mr. Massey.”
He snickered. “What brings you around these parts, Pet Dick?”
Mac ignored the insult. Making fun of her job kept half the town snickering. “I’m here about a car.”
“None for sale on this street.”
“It’s the one I was driving until two thugs with baseball bats made it impossible.”
“That so?” Despite his efforts, a huge smile blossomed into a lipless gap in Massey’s face. “Getting so a body can’t stand in his own yard and feel safe.”
“You weren’t standing your ground last month, Mr. Massey. You willfully covered your yard with pepper in order to cause injury and damage.”
“It’s my right to do with my yard as I see fit. It’s in the Constitution. A man’s home is his castle.”
“Reckless endangerment is against the law. You knew it would injure your neighbors’ pets.”
“What pets would that be? The ones that the neighbors won’t keep off my property?” He pointed to the front of his yard where those signs were impossible to miss. “I did the animals a favor. Do you see any loose animals on my street? Do you see piles of dog shit on my yard, or any yard on this street? No, you don’t. That’s thanks to me.”
“Then you should consider that your civil protest was worth the fines.”
His face puckered up like he’d tasted something nasty. “You didn’t have to turn me in, but you did. Those fines are on your head.”
“So you thought you’d hire someone to take it out on my car?”
“Don’t know what you mean.” But he couldn’t keep a second smile from his lips. It dried up almost instantly. “Who’s that with you?”
Mac felt Oliver move in behind her, as if he was provoked by Massey’s words when she wasn’t. She’d never had a bodyguard before. It felt weird. Still, her show.
“Can you think of anyone else who’d want to damage my property, Mr. Massey?”
“I couldn’t say. But I’m sure I’m not the only person you’ve persecuted with your weird ideas about animal rights.” He crossed his arms over his bony chest. “So how do you like it when people trespass on your property?”
“You didn’t trespass, Mr. Massey. You destroyed.”
“Don’t dramatize, Miss Burkett. A broken windshield—if that’s what happened, since I don’t know for sure—isn’t much. A pebble from an eighteen-wheeler could have caused that same damage.”
“It wasn’t a truck. It was your grandson, Woody. I recognized him in his car parked in the street.” It was a total lie but she thought it was worth a gamble. “He and his friend didn’t just break my windshield. They totaled my car.”
He scowled. “That wouldn’ta been Woody. Even if he got it into his head to do some blame fool thing, he wouldn’ta done more damage than to make a point.”
“Is that what you told him?”
He jutted out his chin, bony shoulders dragging upward. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why don’t we ask him?” Mac pointed to the skinny teen pushing through Massey’s screen door. “Hello, Woody.”
A younger, healthier version of his grandfather with a shaved head, gauges in his ears, and a mismatch of tats showing behind his white T-shirt sleeves, Woody paused with a piece of pizza halfway to his mouth. “Who’re you?”
“The owner of the car you and a friend beat up this morning.”
Woody shrugged and pushed on through the doorway. “Don’t know nothing about that.”
“I’ve got proof it was you.”
“That’s not possible.” He exchanged glances with his grandfather before blurting out, “I farmed it out.”
“You what?” Massey swung around on his grandson.
Woody froze like he’d been busted with a bag of weed and a joint between his lips, while his half-eaten pizza slice drooped off the end of his fingers. “You offered me fifty dollars. I had a date so I gave a twenty to a friend to do—something.” He smirked at Mac. “Whatever happened, I’m innocent.” Mac smiled. Just as she’d figured.
“You retard!” Massey swung around on his grandson and waved a gnarled fist. “They totaled that damn car.”
Woody’s pale eyes bugged out a bit as he did a theatrical backstep, the cheese on his pizza sliding off unnoticed onto the porch. “That wasn’t me.”
Massey turned back to Mac, his expression realigning into lines of combat. “What are you going to do? Call the cops, little girl?”
Mac was beyond baiting. “I need transportation in order to do my job, Mr. Massey. Solve that problem for me and we’re good.” She glanced at Woody. “As long as it doesn’t happen again.”
Scowling, Massy turned to his grandson. “You got your car keys on you?”
Woody nodded and pulled them out of a pocket. “You want me to take her home?”
The older man snatched the keys out of his grandson’s palm. “No, you’re loaning her your car until such time as you make reparations.”
Woody gaped. “My car? You can’t give her my car!”
“Last time I checked the registration was still in my name. That’s a lesson for you, boy. You could’ve been fifty dollars richer and kept your car, you done as you were told.”
Massey turned to Mac and held out the keys. “I apologize for my dumbass grandson. Shoulda known if I’d wanted something done to do it myself. Not that I’m admitting to nothing. Your word against ours. Still, you’ve got wheels now. What you gonna do?”
Stunned by the offer, Mac hesitated to reach for the keys.
Seeing his moment, Oliver intervened. He grabbed the keys and pulled her aside at the same time so that his body was between her and pretty much the rest of the world, since he topped her by more than a foot. “Let the kid keep his ride. You don’t want to be caught taking a bribe if things get ugly. Better yet, let me explain to him how it’s going to be.”
Seeing protest bunch up in her eyes like storm clouds, he didn’t wait for a reply.
He turned and approached the kid.
Woody was leaning against a porch post opposite his grandfather, munching the remainder of his bald-crust pizza. But as the six-foot-four Aussie approached he straightened up, his eyes growing wide.
Oliver marched up the first two steps, enough to give him most of his height advantage. Yet he spoke very softly as he dangled the keys before the young man’s face. “I’m giving you a chance to earn back your car. In return, you’re going to make Ms. Burkett’s well-being your number one priority.”
The kid shrugged and reached for the keys. “I done nothing to her.”
“Wrong answer.” Oliver snatched back the keys. “I’m the guy who took down your homies. They tell you about the fight?”
The kid backed up a step, indicating he’d heard something. “They said they were attacked by a bunch of guys.”
“I’m the bunch.” Oliver grinned evilly. “And they had bats. You getting a visual? Good. If Ms. Burkett gets so much as a fleabite after this, you deal with me.”
The younger man scowled, too nervous to reach for the keys a second time. “They weren’t supposed to total her car.”
“Oversight of employees is a bitch. That’s why I don’t delegate.” Oliver jangled the keys in front of the boy’s nose. “You hear anything on the streets connected to Ms. Burkett, you tell her. Immediately.”
Woody glanced at his grandfather, who was watching him with a sneer of distaste. That hostility gave him a spurt of courage. “What’s with the funny accent? You don’t sound like a cop. You one of them rent-a-cops from the mall?”
Oliver grinned. “Let’s say I’m private security.”
He saw the younger man pale a little before he shut down his fear. “You work for her? That pet dick? Pet dick. I got a dick she can pet.” He snickered, overcome by adolescent male humor despite the circumstances.
Oliver took a step closer, leaning down into Woody’s face until his head was craned as far back as possible on his neck. “You don’t get to think nasty thoughts about Ms. Burkett. Not even in your dreams. So clear your lame brain of porno ideas.” He thumped the younger man on the forehead.
“Yeah. Whatever.”
Oliver backed up a step. “Ms. Burkett wants to save you jail time. So we’re going to play this her way. Don’t make me wish I’d overruled her. Because if I come back I won’t be bothered by rules of law.” He touched his bandaged eye. “Ask your mates.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Oliver dropped the keys back in the boy’s hand. “Fair dinkum.”
Massey waited until Oliver had retreated to Mac’s side before he spoke.
“You come all high and mighty with me, Ms. Burkett. But I heard about you.”
Mac knew better than to take the bait. Absolutely knew better. “Like what?”
“Dognapping, Ms. Burkett.” Massey nodded. “You hire street people to steal dogs and then you show up at the owner’s home, offering your services as a pet detective. If they pay, you bring the pets back, pretending like you found them when you’re responsible for them being stolen in the first place.”
Mac rolled her eyes. “You need to stop smoking your grass clippings, Mr. Massey.”
Mac felt a tug at her elbow. She looked up into sea-blue eyes. “We’re done here.”
Mac gnawed her lip as she followed Oliver back to his car. That was twice that he’d stepped in without her asking for his help. When he wanted, the man beside her could switch out the flagrant man-slut attitude for a kind of scary-quiet alpha confidence. Woody hadn’t been the only one to feel the danger vibes coming off Oliver. He’d been deadly serious, and meant every word he said.
She was beginning to suspect there was more to Oliver Kelly than met the eye. How much more, she wasn’t certain she wanted to know.
She was even less certain of her reaction to him. Because deep down, she was feeling an awareness of him that bordered on attraction.
She glanced up sideways to find him watching her with a speculative gaze. Check. Speculative on Oliver Kelly was pretty spectacular. Suddenly the sidewalk went all melty soft from the heat.
Ridiculous. She didn’t need Sex-On-Two-Legs in her life. She had enough to deal with.
Once inside the car, she gave up trying to guess what motivated Oliver Kelly. No matter his intention, she needed to set him straight on a few things. “I appreciate you trying to help but there were better ways. Intimidation of a minor? Way to go. Now I don’t have a ride, and I’ve made an enemy.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Oliver pulled away from the curb. “The kid adores you. Hell, he wants to do you.”
“Did not need that information.”
“No, it’s good. It means he’ll do anything for you. You didn’t call the cops on him. He’ll brag about that to his friends. How you’re all up in his shit with any excuse.”
Mac grimaced. “Oh joy.”
Oliver grinned and nodded. “In addition he gets to lie and say he saved their butts by dealing with me, the guy who kicked their butts. Finally, Woody needs to turn all that adolescent sex drive for you into something he can boast about. In trying to look out for you, he’ll be proving his manliness to himself.” He winked. “No worries.”
“Awesome. Except for the part where I don’t have a car.” She made driving motions with both hands.
“No plan’s perfect. Where to next? I’m getting into this protector stuff.”
Mac turned to tell him exactly how much she didn’t need a protector but found herself drinking in his expression. It took her breath away. Despite his no-worries tone, concern and interest were doing a tango in the twin Caribbean pools of his eyes.
Having him look at her with such concern was having a strange effect on her. She wanted to confess that she had no idea what came next. That not having a car was tantamount to losing her job. That she was worried about making her rent. But it wasn’t his concern. Nothing that had happened since he’d stepped into the shadows where the hotel dumpsters stood had been his concern. Yet here he was, staring down at her with those incredible eyes and an expression that said he was seeing more than she allowed most people in her life.
He’s passing through. He’s got a lot of women to entertain before he goes. He’s an actor or dancer. Whatever. Part of his job was to make it believable that every and any woman he looked at was the most desirable thing on the planet.
Shaking her head, Mac unfastened her seat belt and opened the passenger door as he stopped for a light.
“Hey.” He reached for her but she slipped out too quickly. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to work.” She slammed the door and broke into a run.
She made it to the corner just in time to catch the bus about to pull away.
Oliver looked down at Jack, who hopped into the front seat she’d vacated. “Think we handled that well.”
Jack tilted his head to one side.
“Yeah.” He’d pretty much bungled the whole morning. He was usually much smoother with women. Hell. Women loved him. He didn’t have to try. Of course, he hadn’t much practice with dumpster-divers.
A car behind him blared its horn.
“Yeah. Yeah. Keep your knickers on, darlin’.”
He drove through the intersection, realizing he wasn’t going to see the pet detective again. Ever. Not that it was a big deal. She was a big girl. She was accustomed to taking care of herself. He wasn’t looking for a nice lady friend. Now, some down-and-dirty sex, that was more like it.
He looked up ahead and spotted a billboard with eight shirtless men, oiled and tanned and ripped to perfection. No need to read the words. Macayla Evangeline Burkett thought he looked like that? All right!
He sat up straight, sucked in his gut, and began pumping his pecs to the imaginary rhythm heard only inside his head.
A long wolf whistle jerked his head toward the car that had pulled up beside him at the next stoplight. Three Latino men in work clothes and hard hats sat in the back of a pickup, waving coquettishly and blowing kisses.
He laughed and offered them his Aussie middle-finger wave as he pulled away, feeling a lot lighter in spirit.
It must have been the threat of the speaking engagement hanging over his head that had been messing with his mind when he encountered Macayla. That, and the encounter with Massey and his dickhead grandson had punched a hole in his usually sunny mood.
“Pet my dick.” He snickered, overcome by the same adolescent humor as Woody. But it lasted only seconds before he was scowling again.
Jesus. He was completely off balance. He hadn’t done his weights. Missed his martial arts workout. Hadn’t even had breakfast.
He glanced at Jackeroo. “One bark for egg-white omelet. Two barks for pancakes and ham.”
Jack barked twice. Who said dogs didn’t understand words?