Page 34 of Beyond the Badge: Crew

He hoped to fuck it would all work out.

Just like the Cabrera situation.

Without planning it, he found himself at Fletch’s house. After parking Foxy in the driveway, he used his house key to go inside.

Since she hadn’t returned yet, he figured he’d wait and help her unload the truck.

He went out to the pool, settled on a lounge chair, watched the setting sun turn the sky into various shades of color, released a long sigh and closed his eyes...

Something wet nudged his hand and it flopped up before it dropped.

What the fuck?

That same something snuffled his side, then a warm, wet washcloth licked his neck.

His eyes popped open and he sat straight up, pushing what was definitely not a washcloth away, and wiped at the dampness on his skin with his hand.

He was surprised to find that night had fallen, and he must have dozed off.

With a groan, he tried to stand but it took a few seconds for his body to catch up with his intention. It no longer worked like it did twenty years ago.

The dog’s tail wagged back and forth slowly as the four-legged monster grinned up at him. “I assume you’re Murphy.”

Murphy’s tail wagged a little faster and he released a littlewoof.

Once Crew managed to stand, the dog just about knocked him over when the moose leaned into him. “I bet she doesn’t walk you. You walk her.”

The rear spotlights came on and blinded him for a second, then Murphy’s owner stepped out of the back door, calling out, “I thought I recognized that Harley.”

“Jesus, is this a dog or a rough-coated pony?”

“Do you know any pony that eats dog food?”

“Do you know any ponies?” he countered.

“No, but I had one on my wish list every Christmas and birthday during my childhood.”

“With the size of that animal, it looks like you got your wish.” He headed toward the house with Murphy at his side. “What are you wearing?”

She was wearing worn jeans that fit her way better than they should, sneakers and… When she bent over to pat Murphy’s side, he saw what was emblazoned on the back of her black T-shirt.

He shook his head at the huge yellow “DEA” block letters on the back and the agency’s logo on the front. She might as well have a spotlight following her around as she sung, “Look at me! Can’t you see? I’m a federal agent!”

With a frown, she glanced down. “Was I supposed to wear an evening gown, a tiara and stilettos to move?”

“Don’t wear that shit again.”

“Why?”

“Because… Just don’t. We’re in the middle of an investigation. And advertising you’re DEA like that isn’t smart.”

She plucked at the shirt. “Anybody can buy this.”

“But not anybody should.”

She tipped her head in acquiescence. “I won’t argue that point.”

“As the task force leader, you shouldn’t argue any points with me.”

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