Black Cat Weekly #73

Chapter 7-4

And where was Tommy?

She focused on the men’s feet. Saw six go-to-church black leather shoes. Two pairs polished to perfection. One pair with no shine, scuffed toes, run-down heels. Glancing up at the man’s face, she knew she’d found her man.

Dawna slipped the crutches from under her arms and laid them neatly on the grass. She reached into her left vest pocket to clasp her badge case. Her other hand snaked into the biggest right-side pocket to snag her handcuffs. She eased her way toward those shoes that’d never been inside a church.

Four long skirts in black, pearl gray, navy blue, and turquoise barred her way. The quartet formed a box, trapping Winslow in their center. “You are so busted,” a husky female voice muttered.

Peering through the thicket of tall, broad women, Dawna saw Winslow’s shoulders go back as his arms were drawn behind him. She heard the click of handcuffs not her own. She pulled out her shield, flipped it open. Before she could announce herself as FBI, Ryane was pinning her arm to her side.

“We got him,” she said to Dawna. “We’ll collect from the bondsman.”

Dawna yanked her arm free. “What, are you all working for Tommy?”

“Working for ourselves,” Ryane said.

She pressed the tiny key to what had to be another set of cuffs into Dawna’s palm. “He got tied up at my place. Door’s unlocked. You help him get loose. Tell him I’ll reimburse his expenses. But we’ve earned that ten percent. And we need it to keep the program going.”

Open-mouthed, Dawna watched the number of large females around Winslow grow to eight women as they marched him off.

Jacob appeared beside her, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “What’s going on?” His eyes narrowed. “And where are your crutches?”

“Long story,” Dawna replied. “Meet me at Yoder’s for breakfast tomorrow when they open, I’ll tell you the whole thing. Right this minute, I got a friend needs my help.”

She grabbed the crutches off the ground and dashed to her car. Shrugging out of the vest, she got the motor running and reached Ryane’s apartment twenty minutes later.

She turned the handle on the front door and let it fall open. She called, “Hey, Tommy, you decent?”

“Fully dressed,” came a reply from the kitchen.

She crossed the small living room, pushed through the swing door at its back to a room tiled in lemon and lime and filled with stainless steel appliances. The astringent odor of antibacterial counter cleaner tickled her nose.

She found Tommy handcuffed to a side-by-side refrigerator-freezer taller than he was. He wore the sheepish expression of a man who’d trusted the wrong woman.

Dawna didn’t chide him for that.

Ryane had suckered her too.

She saw that Tommy had done no damage trying to escape. She inserted the key, setting him free. “Surprised you didn’t rip the door off and run out with it on your back.”

“Not the most effective tool for apprehension.” He rubbed the red mark on his wrist. “Ryane capture Winslow?”

“With the help of the entire Stingrayette squad. Nothing I could do, I was so outgunned. But I imagine that was your idea all along.”

“I wouldn’t send a bunch of girls after Winslow.” He laughed ruefully. “Never guessed Ryane would either. Should have remembered she was always damn good at stealing.”

“Best ball thief on her college team as I recall.” Dawna chortled. “Not a woman who waits for somebody to hand her the ball. She robbed you, all right.”

Tommy shrugged. “I’m only sorry she ran you over in the process.”

Dawna’s shoulder movement mimicked his. “Long as Winslow ends up behind bars, makes no difference to me. But you end up with nothing.”

“Not nothing.” He moved closer, and his warm fingers retraced the line along her arm, lingering at the pale-blue hem of her shirtsleeve. “Got to give you that dinner like I offered before.”

nothing“Which means I owe you. And I hate being in debt.” Dawna wrinkled her forehead as though pondering how to solve the problem.

She let her expression clear, signaling a sudden bright idea. “I promised Jacob I’d meet him at Yoder’s for breakfast and explain. You could join us.”

Tommy’s hand found her shoulder, gave a light squeeze. “Biscuits and sausage gravy?”

“I hear the peanut-butter cream pancakes are better,” Dawna said. “But filling. I won’t be able to do justice to a Yoder’s breakfast unless I get some exercise.”

Tommy lowered his voice, and warm breath tickled her ear. “Please say you don’t mean the two of us going head-to-head in a game of H-O-R-S-E?”

A musical refrain played in Dawna’s head. Oh, dee doo-dah day. The chorus to “Camptown Races.” She glanced up through her lashes at Tommy.

Oh, dee doo-dah day“HORSE, no,” she corrected, gesturing at her businesslike outfit. “Not dressed for that. And all my workout clothes are in the wash. But I might be able to manage some horsing around. You come over to my place, I’ll show you what I have in mind.”

“Could need a hearty breakfast after that,” he said.

“Hearty,” Dawna agreed. “Very hearty.”

In addition to three separate international, legal, and thriller novel series, Diana Deverell has written seventeen short mysteries starring FBI Special Agent Dawna Shepherd. All are available as e-book short stories, and Dawna’s early adventures are collected in Run & g*n: A Dozen Tales of Girls with Guns. Dawna also plays a supporting role in four thrillers. To learn more about Diana’s work, visit dianadeverell.com.

Run & g*n: A Dozen Tales of Girls with Guns