pulled into the driveway behind his Nissan. Despite the early autumn bite in the air, Kip Lawson drove with the car top down, his surfer-dude blond hair windblown, and his high, tanned cheeks flushed red.
Dave groused inwardly: If I were single and twenty-five, and thirty pounds lighter, I’d drive my fancy sports car around with the top down in late September too .
He waxed nostalgic, thinking about his own 1970 Olds 442, red, with its aluminum intake manifold… It had been a hardtop—but still. Those were the days.
Kip leapt from the car with a youthful enthusiasm Dave both admired and despised. Yeah, well, let’s see what kinda shape you’re in when you’re my age, buddy-boy.
“Who’s this, honey?” Karin Powell stood on the front step wiping her hands on an apron coated in flour. Her blonde hair was tied back—the way she did whenever she baked—though corkscrews of bleached hair sprang loose to frame her face and curtain her forehead.
Fleshier now than when they’d married fourteen years ago, Karin had nevertheless managed to retain her shapely figure. Her rounder curves notwithstanding, she hadn’t let herself go the way so many of the other cops’ wives had. And there was a bonus to all that added weight, Dave thought lecherously. It gave his wife a bodacious rack. Boobs so large they could hardly be contained by the tight, scoop-necked tops she liked to wear. Like now.
“This is Kip Lawson,” Dave said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “He’s a new transfer into the squad.”
“Nice to meet you, Kip.” She shook his hand, leaving behind a residue of flour. “Sorry.”
The young cop clapped the flour away with a smile. “No problem. Nice to meet you.”
Karin latched flirtatiously onto the younger man’s arm. “Come on inside, Kip, and tell me who you crossed so badly they stuck you on Dave’s squad.”
“Very funny,” Dave said dryly, following them inside.
They gathered in the kitchen and once everyone had a cold beer, Dave leaned against the counter and waved his can as he spoke. “Kip’s looking to buy a place here in town, and I told ‘em I had an in with the best damned real estate agent in the area.”
“Which you won’t,” Karin said, with an edge to her voice, “if you leave the trash for me to take out one more time.”
Dave rolled his eyes at Kip.
Karin bent over and opened the oven door. The smell of fresh-baked, chocolate chip cookies wafted through the tiny kitchen. She extracted two cookie sheets and put them on a cooling rack, tugged her oven mitts off and set them down beside the cookies. Over her shoulder, she asked, “I’ll be happy to help. Have you begun to look yet?”
When she spoke, Kip’s eyes jumped up.
Dave cocked an eyebrow. Was he checking out my wife’s ass? If he was, Karin didn’t seem to notice. She simply picked up her beer and took a sip. Was she smirking?
Shit, she had noticed.
“Just started,” Kip said. “I’m renting a condo over on Patriots Way now. It’s a month-to-month so I can move any time, but I’m in no hurry either.”
He drank his beer, his youthful muscles bunching up under the tight black tee shirt he wore. Dave cursed at how sore his own muscles were after only a twenty-minute workout at the gym. I looked better than him at his age, he thought bitterly, fighting down a burp.
“Well, Kip,” Karin said. “Why don’t you stop by the office tomorrow after your shift? You can sign some papers, and we’ll get started by taking a look at the multiple listings. I can show you what’s out there, and you can give me a better sense of what it is you’re in the market for. Cookie?”
Kip smiled, taking the offered cookie and giving her the once-over again. “Thanks. I will.”
The Freeport Road 7-Eleven
The call came over the police radio at 11:37 p.m. “Silent alarm at the 7-Eleven on Freeport Road. Unit twelve, please respond.”
Dave sat parked behind the McDonalds a half-mile away, drinking a
Dave groused inwardly: If I were single and twenty-five, and thirty pounds lighter, I’d drive my fancy sports car around with the top down in late September too .
He waxed nostalgic, thinking about his own 1970 Olds 442, red, with its aluminum intake manifold… It had been a hardtop—but still. Those were the days.
Kip leapt from the car with a youthful enthusiasm Dave both admired and despised. Yeah, well, let’s see what kinda shape you’re in when you’re my age, buddy-boy.
“Who’s this, honey?” Karin Powell stood on the front step wiping her hands on an apron coated in flour. Her blonde hair was tied back—the way she did whenever she baked—though corkscrews of bleached hair sprang loose to frame her face and curtain her forehead.
Fleshier now than when they’d married fourteen years ago, Karin had nevertheless managed to retain her shapely figure. Her rounder curves notwithstanding, she hadn’t let herself go the way so many of the other cops’ wives had. And there was a bonus to all that added weight, Dave thought lecherously. It gave his wife a bodacious rack. Boobs so large they could hardly be contained by the tight, scoop-necked tops she liked to wear. Like now.
“This is Kip Lawson,” Dave said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “He’s a new transfer into the squad.”
“Nice to meet you, Kip.” She shook his hand, leaving behind a residue of flour. “Sorry.”
The young cop clapped the flour away with a smile. “No problem. Nice to meet you.”
Karin latched flirtatiously onto the younger man’s arm. “Come on inside, Kip, and tell me who you crossed so badly they stuck you on Dave’s squad.”
“Very funny,” Dave said dryly, following them inside.
They gathered in the kitchen and once everyone had a cold beer, Dave leaned against the counter and waved his can as he spoke. “Kip’s looking to buy a place here in town, and I told ‘em I had an in with the best damned real estate agent in the area.”
“Which you won’t,” Karin said, with an edge to her voice, “if you leave the trash for me to take out one more time.”
Dave rolled his eyes at Kip.
Karin bent over and opened the oven door. The smell of fresh-baked, chocolate chip cookies wafted through the tiny kitchen. She extracted two cookie sheets and put them on a cooling rack, tugged her oven mitts off and set them down beside the cookies. Over her shoulder, she asked, “I’ll be happy to help. Have you begun to look yet?”
When she spoke, Kip’s eyes jumped up.
Dave cocked an eyebrow. Was he checking out my wife’s ass? If he was, Karin didn’t seem to notice. She simply picked up her beer and took a sip. Was she smirking?
Shit, she had noticed.
“Just started,” Kip said. “I’m renting a condo over on Patriots Way now. It’s a month-to-month so I can move any time, but I’m in no hurry either.”
He drank his beer, his youthful muscles bunching up under the tight black tee shirt he wore. Dave cursed at how sore his own muscles were after only a twenty-minute workout at the gym. I looked better than him at his age, he thought bitterly, fighting down a burp.
“Well, Kip,” Karin said. “Why don’t you stop by the office tomorrow after your shift? You can sign some papers, and we’ll get started by taking a look at the multiple listings. I can show you what’s out there, and you can give me a better sense of what it is you’re in the market for. Cookie?”
Kip smiled, taking the offered cookie and giving her the once-over again. “Thanks. I will.”
The Freeport Road 7-Eleven
The call came over the police radio at 11:37 p.m. “Silent alarm at the 7-Eleven on Freeport Road. Unit twelve, please respond.”
Dave sat parked behind the McDonalds a half-mile away, drinking a
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