Murder A'la Mode. G. A. McKevett

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      He stood and extended his hand to her. Pulling her to her feet, he said, “You want to walk down to the water or stand here and make out?”

      She moved a step closer to him until they were nose to nose. “I wouldn’t want them to think we were trying to get away,” she said.

      “Me either.” He reached out his left arm, wrapped it around her waist and pulled her against him.

      He smelled like chocolate, leather jacket, and aftershave, not a bad combination, she had to admit. He was also deliciously warm, she decided as she involuntarily snuggled closer…and felt a long, hard object between them.

      “Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” she asked in her best Mae West impression, while keeping an eye on the approaching twosome in her peripheral vision.

      “Actually, it’s my Smith and Wesson,” he replied as his hand slipped between them and moved slowly beneath her breasts.

      “Then you’d better be reaching for it, boy, and not coppin’ a feel.”

      “Who? Me? Naw, I wouldn’t take advantage of a situation like that.”

      “Oh yes, you’re above all that. You—”

      Her words were cut off by his lips covering hers. Before she knew what was happening, Good Ol’ Dirk was kissing her. And even though she was trying to concentrate on the pair on the beach and attempting to pull her own 9mm Beretta out of its holster beneath her sweater, she couldn’t help noticing that he had a tasty smear of caramel on his lower lip.

      Oh yes…and that Dirk was an especially and unexpectedly good kisser.

      Who woulda thunk it? The words ran through her jangled mind a half-second before she reluctantly ended the kiss, Beretta in hand, but still concealed within her sweater.

      “Ready?” she said, a bit breathlessly.

      She could have sworn she heard him chuckle. “Sure,” he said. “Are you?”

      She felt the press of his weapon against her midriff. They were both as ready as one could get to be robbed. “Yessiree.”

      And the dreadful duo had arrived, stopping about six feet away from them.

      The white kid in the baseball cap pulled a knife from beneath his oversized windbreaker and held it out in front of him. “Give it up, bitch,” he said. “Your purse and your jewelry. Now!”

      The black teen produced a length of chain and began to twirl it in a circle in front of him like a cowboy with a lasso. “Your wallet,” he told Dirk, “and your watch.” He swung the chain in Savannah’s direction. “Do it, bitch, or we’ll mess up your face bad.”

      “Naw,” she responded, her drawl even thicker than usual. “I don’t think so.”

      She and Dirk pulled away from each other and turned toward the pair. In one fluid movement they both pointed their weapons in the robbers’ faces and enjoyed watching their cocky smirks dissolve into looks of shock and profound dismay.

      With his left hand, Dirk produced a badge. “San Carmelita Police Department, and you girls are under arrest.”

      The black kid dropped his chain onto the sand. He started to back away, his hands held up in front of his face. “No,” he said, “I ain’t goin’ in. No.”

      “Freeze!” Dirk shouted. “Right there! Don’t you move!”

      “You can’t shoot us, man,” the other boy said, moving away with his friend. “It’s against the law for you to shoot us when we’re not no threat to nobody and we’re not—”

      A shot crackled in the air, stunning him into silence. The round sizzled as it hit the surf right next to his foot.

      Smoke curled from the barrel of Savannah’s Beretta.

      “Believe me, darlin’,” she said, “I missed you because I intended to. Next shot takes your head clean off.”

      “But…but cops can’t—” he argued.

      “I’m not a cop. Not anymore.” Even in the near-darkness her eyes blazed as she stared the kid down. “I’m just a plain ol’ citizen who’s sick to death of folks not being able to enjoy their beaches because of the likes of you.”

      “But you can’t just shoot me!”

      “Oh, but I will. And I’ll say you rushed me with a knife. It was all I could do. And you’ll be dead, so who’s gonna say otherwise?”

      The boy looked to his friend, who simply shrugged. Turning to Dirk, he said, “So, what’re you gonna do? I’m a juvenile! Are you gonna just stand there and let her shoot a kid?”

      Dirk grinned. “Yep. She’s a good shot, too…hangs out at the range more than I do. She’ll take you down with one, two tops.” He moved closer to them, stuck his badge back in his pocket, and produced a pair of handcuffs. “Or you can just turn around, put your hands up and spread your legs.”

      “Oh, man, this sucks,” the black kid complained as Dirk cuffed him.

      Savannah did the same to his partner and said, “That oughta teach you guys a lesson: Never bring a knife and a chain to a gun fight. Better yet, get a real job at Burger King and work for a living like everybody else.”

      Ten minutes later, Dirk was shoving his prisoners into the backseat of a patrol car while Savannah watched, content and cheerful. She was looking forward to the rest of the evening. Dirk had promised to buy her dinner, and after a satisfying meal—okay, it would be a hot dog if Dirk was buying—she would head home where she’d relax in a bubble bath, then cozy up in bed with her Lance Roman paperbacks and her two cats to keep her feet warm.

      Could life get any better?

      “I can’t believe it!” she heard one of the robbers say just before Dirk slammed the door in his face. “The cops are having their girlfriends shoot people now! Man, that’s not even fair!”

      She laughed and laced her arm through Dirk’s. Yes, life was good. Very good, indeed.

      By the next afternoon, Savannah’s pleasant “catch-the-bad-guys buzz” had worn off and things were back to their mundane humdrum. She sat in her overstuffed, rose chintz easy chair, her feet on an equally overstuffed ottoman, with an enormous black cat in her lap. The feline was as cushy as the chair and footstool, but not nearly as comfortable.

      “Ow!” Savannah yelped as needle-sharp teeth sank into her thumb. “Dang it, Cleopatra! You’ve got to take this medicine! Now open up those jaws before I skin you alive!”

      Another black cat, as well-fed as the one being dosed on her lap, sat on a sunlit window perch nearby, grooming itself and oblivious to the drama in the chair. Savannah gave it a nasty look. “Yeah, Diamante, just wash your face like nothing’s happening. But you’re next.”

      Across the living room, a slender young woman sat at a rolltop desk, СКАЧАТЬ