doubt there’s anything left you could do that you haven’t already done to dishonor our family name.”
Boone tried to call out something to us, but Poppy’s howl drowned out his words. She screamed an obscenity—one I had given up using—and lunged at her father. Without thinking, I grabbed her by the back of her top. Thankfully the material was stretchy and didn’t tear, because I was fairly sure she wasn’t wearing a bra.
She turned on me, snarling, but I wrapped my arms around her middle and dragged her backward. I fought to keep Poppy restrained and finally plopped her into a chair and sat on her. She might be small, but so is a Tasmanian devil. And female wolverines weigh only twenty pounds. Besides, Poppy had plenty of practice breaking up bar fights, not to mention the years of resentment she had built up against her father. Even as I squashed her, she continued to struggle, attempting to get at her dad.
Chief Kincaid watched us battle. He was silent and unmoving until Poppy exhausted herself; then he said, “Get her out of my station.”
While Poppy and I had scuffled, the officer escorting Boone had halted, apparently mesmerized, or maybe turned on, by the girl fight. Finally he must have realized the chief might notice his lack of discipline, because he jerked Boone by the handcuffs, trying to make it seem as if his prisoner was the one who was at fault.
When Boone didn’t walk fast enough, the creep ordered, “Move it.”
Boone staggered and said, “Please. Just one second. Let me talk to Dev.”
The part-timer ignored Boone and yanked him toward the doorway.
Since Poppy seemed subdued, I got up and, using my most authoritative voice—the one I had used on indecisive investors—I called out, “Wait!”
The cop stopped abruptly, causing Boone to stumble and fall to his knees. The officer ignored the downed man and instead looked uncertainly between the chief and me.
Before Chief Kincaid could react, I hurried up to him and tugged him out of earshot. I was a little surprised he allowed me to move him, and I wasn’t sure what I would say until the words left my mouth. “Sir, I know you don’t have any reason to do me a favor.” I stopped and corrected myself. “Actually, you do, since I was the one who kept Poppy out of numerous jams when we were teenagers, and you know it.”
His brows rose into his hairline, but he didn’t deny my claim.
“If you could just give me five minutes with Boone,” I pleaded, “I really think it would help the whole situation enormously.”
“How?” Chief Kincaid huffed. “Unless I missed something, you haven’t attended law school, and I doubt he needs financial advice or a gift basket.”
“True.” I stalled, trying to think of a reason he might go for.
The chief started to return to the group, who was staring at us. Miraculously, Poppy was still seated.
“How about this.” I improvised. Luckily I was used to thinking fast on my feet. “You put us in the interrogation room where you can hear everything he says to me.” I trusted Boone was smart enough to realize that Big Brother was monitoring us and would not incriminate himself. And, just to be safe, that would be the first thing I said to him. “Maybe you’ll find out something.”
The chief paused but didn’t bother to look back at me. “Not good enough.” He took a step, then asked, “What else do you have for me?”
“If you don’t let me talk to Boone, I’m afraid Poppy will do something stupid.” I hated saying that about my friend, but she was irrational where her father was concerned. “And I know you don’t want her getting hurt, even if you aren’t willing to admit it.”
At that, he turned around, concern softening his normally severe gaze, and stepped back toward me. “And you think if I let you talk to St. Onge, it will stop Poppy from doing something foolish?”
“Yes.” I crossed my fingers, praying that I was right. “I do.”
“Why?”
“Uh.”
Boone tried to call out something to us, but Poppy’s howl drowned out his words. She screamed an obscenity—one I had given up using—and lunged at her father. Without thinking, I grabbed her by the back of her top. Thankfully the material was stretchy and didn’t tear, because I was fairly sure she wasn’t wearing a bra.
She turned on me, snarling, but I wrapped my arms around her middle and dragged her backward. I fought to keep Poppy restrained and finally plopped her into a chair and sat on her. She might be small, but so is a Tasmanian devil. And female wolverines weigh only twenty pounds. Besides, Poppy had plenty of practice breaking up bar fights, not to mention the years of resentment she had built up against her father. Even as I squashed her, she continued to struggle, attempting to get at her dad.
Chief Kincaid watched us battle. He was silent and unmoving until Poppy exhausted herself; then he said, “Get her out of my station.”
While Poppy and I had scuffled, the officer escorting Boone had halted, apparently mesmerized, or maybe turned on, by the girl fight. Finally he must have realized the chief might notice his lack of discipline, because he jerked Boone by the handcuffs, trying to make it seem as if his prisoner was the one who was at fault.
When Boone didn’t walk fast enough, the creep ordered, “Move it.”
Boone staggered and said, “Please. Just one second. Let me talk to Dev.”
The part-timer ignored Boone and yanked him toward the doorway.
Since Poppy seemed subdued, I got up and, using my most authoritative voice—the one I had used on indecisive investors—I called out, “Wait!”
The cop stopped abruptly, causing Boone to stumble and fall to his knees. The officer ignored the downed man and instead looked uncertainly between the chief and me.
Before Chief Kincaid could react, I hurried up to him and tugged him out of earshot. I was a little surprised he allowed me to move him, and I wasn’t sure what I would say until the words left my mouth. “Sir, I know you don’t have any reason to do me a favor.” I stopped and corrected myself. “Actually, you do, since I was the one who kept Poppy out of numerous jams when we were teenagers, and you know it.”
His brows rose into his hairline, but he didn’t deny my claim.
“If you could just give me five minutes with Boone,” I pleaded, “I really think it would help the whole situation enormously.”
“How?” Chief Kincaid huffed. “Unless I missed something, you haven’t attended law school, and I doubt he needs financial advice or a gift basket.”
“True.” I stalled, trying to think of a reason he might go for.
The chief started to return to the group, who was staring at us. Miraculously, Poppy was still seated.
“How about this.” I improvised. Luckily I was used to thinking fast on my feet. “You put us in the interrogation room where you can hear everything he says to me.” I trusted Boone was smart enough to realize that Big Brother was monitoring us and would not incriminate himself. And, just to be safe, that would be the first thing I said to him. “Maybe you’ll find out something.”
The chief paused but didn’t bother to look back at me. “Not good enough.” He took a step, then asked, “What else do you have for me?”
“If you don’t let me talk to Boone, I’m afraid Poppy will do something stupid.” I hated saying that about my friend, but she was irrational where her father was concerned. “And I know you don’t want her getting hurt, even if you aren’t willing to admit it.”
At that, he turned around, concern softening his normally severe gaze, and stepped back toward me. “And you think if I let you talk to St. Onge, it will stop Poppy from doing something foolish?”
“Yes.” I crossed my fingers, praying that I was right. “I do.”
“Why?”
“Uh.”
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