Chapter Nine

Tomorrow turned into several nail-biting days after I checked the trunk of my car and found Dutch boy missing! Only Dallas had access to my trunk, but when? And what could he have done with it? How could he kiss me like he did, thinking…? Well, I couldn’t be sure what he was thinking. Less sure about what he would do about it.

Gran and I were stunned when the evening news on WTMJ Tuesday night featured a drug bust in Menomonee Falls. The historic stone barn next to the Koster home was now famous for housing a meth lab in an old storeroom. Three handcuffed men trying to avert the TV cameras were being herded into a police van. We didn’t recognize any of the cops in the coverage, except for Police Chief Burzinski, who only commented the site had been under surveillance for some time, and a local tip led to the arrests. A local tip?

“Drug Bust in Menomonee Falls” made the front page of The Milwaukee Journal and the lead story in the village community paper, along with pictures of the old barn cordoned off with yellow police tape. Thomas Koster, the eighty-five-year-old widowed owner of the property, claimed he was unaware of the lab his nephews had been operating for five months.

When I saw the picture of the Dutch Boy with the clever caption: “Garden Gnome Unearths Crime,” I sprayed the morning paper with the grape juice I’d been drinking. Thankfully, no mention was included of Evan or me, only that Dutch Boy was abetting the sale of drugs—by dispensing packets like a miniature vending machine. A well-hidden slot in the windmill received payment.

“Cripes, Gran, this whole operation couldn’t have been very productive if that’s the only way they sold drugs.” I finger-mopped a few beads of juice running down the newspaper. “How could these guys get rich with such a method? What prevented local users from just walking away with the stuff—or even with the Dutch boy like Evan did?”

“You’re thinking like a criminal.” Gran snorted as she rolled plum-sized balls of cookie dough between her palms, lining them up on cookie sheets. “I remember Koster’s wife, Lydia. She sold farm produce and fresh eggs for many years, right out of the stone barn. They didn’t have kids, but I remember their nephews helped on the farm. None of those boys seemed very bright to me.” After flattening the cookies and sprinkling them with cinnamon sugar, she shoved two sheets in the oven and wiped her hands on her apron. “I just hope old Tom wasn’t involved. Even knowing what was going on is as good as abetting the crime.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re preaching to the choir, Gran. We’ve been abetting Evan for years.”

“Well, that’s different.”

She gave me a head-tilting, condescending look that made me think of Dallas. I truly missed him, and wondered if his absence was his way of protecting us—or himself. Captain Billington might tweak a few rules and look away where Evan’s “thefts” were concerned, but a rookie cop had to prove himself trustworthy and able to uphold the law on a shorter leash. I took my cell phone and the stained newspaper out to the porch to read the whole story one more time.

When I heard the roar of a motorcycle, I felt my stomach lurch.

He set the kickstand and sauntered up our walk—in full uniform. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but his mouth was grim when he noticed me shrinking in the shadows of the porch. He leaned against a post, arms and legs crossed, surveying me.

With a deep sigh, I set aside the paper and rose to face him, chin up. “So, did you come to arrest me?” I didn’t even try to disguise my sarcastic tone.

His mouth twinged, but he unhooked the cuffs at his belt and clicked them over my wrists. “Yes, ma’am, I’ve come to finish the job.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious. My laugh sounded like a seal barking. “And what is the charge?”

“Where do I start?” Frowning, he scratched his head. “Besides the obvious 10-99, on surveillance duty one night last week I answered a 10-14, which is a prowler report that turned into a 10-37, which means I followed a suspicious vehicle, which turned into a 10-80 for a pursuit in progress.”

I gaped, unable to read his eyes through the dark glasses. “That was you following me?”

“Yes, ma’am. I can read license plates. And there aren’t many pea green beetles in the Falls.”

I poked my tongue into my cheek. “So you led me on, took me on a date just to get to the…the evidence in my trunk.”

He rubbed his neck, looking away. “We knew what was in the Dutch boy. We didn’t know your brother took it until you showed up with it at the Fest.”

My throat was closing. I straightened my shoulders and swallowed hard. “I was trying to return it after Gran found it in Evan’s room. I didn’t know it had drugs inside until the night you followed me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He lowered his head to peer at me over the top of his sunglasses.

“Stop calling me that! Pulse throbbed in my temple as I fought back unwelcome tears. I snapped, “For God’s sake, you…we…kissed—more than once.” My voice rose. “You even called me Peaches, you…you smooth-talkin’ hoodwinker.” I slapped his face awkwardly, pinching my wrists from the confining handcuffs.

His laugh sounded hollow as he forced me back against the house, pinning my hands high above my head. “Assaulting an officer.” He clicked his tongue. “The charges are adding up.”

Widening his stance put his face inches from mine. We were both breathing hard, exchanging the same air, pungent with peppermint and grape juice. His blue eyes were intense, the irises flecked with green. I turned aside my head, blinking away the film. “I don’t care what you do with me. Just leave Evan out of all this.”

“Already been done, Peaches,” he whispered.

I snapped back my head, and could see the corners of his eyes crinkle when he removed his sunglasses and let them drop to the porch. Still holding my arms high in a single-handed grip, he used his free hand to thumb a tear off my cheek. His eyes softened and his mouth twitched at the corners. When I turned my head to the side again, I could feel his lips brush my temple.

“Hoodwinker, huh? Is that all you got? Not very creative for someone who writes slogans on candy.”

“You want sizzlers? How about…”

His mouth suddenly closed over mine.

When my nose smashed his, I couldn’t breathe. When I tried to bite him, I forced him back.

He laughed again. “Hold on there, Peaches. This is the only charge I’m pressing…for now.” He dropped his hold to pull an envelope out of his pocket. “This is for you.”

Even cuffed, I could open it enough to see the hundred dollar bill tucked into a pink construction paper heart. I’m Yours was pasted across the heart in uneven letters cut from a newspaper or magazine.

“Reward,” he drawled, with a gleam in his eye, “for finding the Dutch boy.”

“Reward? I don’t understand.” I searched his face. “You’re not arresting me?”

He grinned.

That lazy crooked grin that always teased me into smiling back. “So you’re giving me Koster’s reward money?” I sucked in my lower lip.

He shook his head. “This is from Capt. Billington and me. Cracking this case might not have happened this soon, without the push from Evan and you, Katie. I wanted to come by sooner, and tell you how it all went down, with all the details, but I had to wait until the bust went public.”

My heart thumped wildly. I searched his face again, looking for deceit. “But, but…”

“Use the money to buy your brother a new Dutch boy.” His gaze dropped to the grape juice freckled on my yellow tank top. “And you could use some new clothes, as well. I’ve never met a woman so klutzy with beverages in hand.”

I was losing the battle to keep a straight face. I sucked in a ragged breath and chewed my lip. I was his prisoner, pinned to the wall more surely by his lopsided grin and piercing blue eyes. Resistance was impossible, even without handcuffs.

His gaze was intense. “Stop that, or I may have to add another charge to your record.”

“Stop what?” I blinked, wide eyed.

“Biting your luscious lips.” He tilted my chin and rubbed his thumb over my mouth. “Seducing an officer is another very serious offense.”

He kissed me again, and my lips stretched into an unintended smile, absorbing the heat of his mouth. We both sighed in repletion, as if we were enjoying a gourmet meal. Like teenagers pleased with their first kiss, we both blushed when it was over, and our gazes locked for a fleeting moment in awkward silence.

“I’ve got the rest of the day off,” he finally said, pivoting me to smack his hand on my backside. “And y’all are finally dressed for a ride on my hog—and dinner at my apartment, if you can stand bachelor beans and ribs.” He chuckled. “Bib included, of course.”

Gran appeared at the door, holding a plate of warm cinnamon cookies. When she saw my cuffed hands, she stiffened, her mouth dropping, along with cookies that slid off the plate one by one.

We both laughed at her reaction. “It’s okay, Gran.” I glanced at him again, seeing mutual conviction when I searched his face. “Everything will be okay.”

He picked me up and carried me to his Harley, pausing to kiss my forehead before settling me on the seat.

As if practiced to the move, I lifted my arms over his head to hook them around his waist after he straddled the cycle in front of me.

Gaping with an empty plate in her hands, Gran gave a weak little wave from the porch.

Over the roar of the cycle, I don’t think she heard me yell, “Don’t wait up” as we sped away.