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same crime one Halloween and kept him overnight in one of the jail’s two cells. No charges were ever filed, and the punishment Sax had faced from his parents when he’d arrived home that next morning was probably harsher than anything Sheriff Ben Blanchard could’ve dished out.
    “Selective memory is a handy thing.” Her tone was dry, but he thought he detected a touch of humor. “Do me a favor and keep that dog on a leash when you take him—”
    “Velcro’s a her.”
    “Velcro?”
    “She had a hard start, which has her sticking to me like, well, Velcro. Seemed to fit.”
    “My dispatcher said you got her from some bikers?”
    “There was a little scuffle over turf between the Mongols and the Gypsy Jokers outside a bar in Portland. Shots were fired. Velcro freaked and ran off, dragging a concrete barricade her owner had chained her to behind her. I just happened to be there.”
    “And took her.”
    “Liberated her,” he corrected, having to raise his voice over the door scratching the dog had added to her whining repertoire at hearing her name.
    She smiled at that. A quick, unexpected flash that—oh, hell—hit him like a sucker punch in the solar plexus.
    “Yay, you.” The smile was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Horizontal lines appeared in her forehead. “You do realize you could have gotten yourself shot.”
    “They were a little busy trying to beat one another’s brains out at the time,” he said mildly. “Not that any of them appeared to have that much in the way of gray matter. And from the way the mutt’s ribs were sticking out, and all the fleas and ticks using her as their very own happy-hour buffet, I figure whoever owned her didn’t much care if she took off with a stranger.
    “So I brought her back here, where the vet cleaned her up, gave her shots, and made sure there won’t be any pups in case some gentleman dog comes calling.”
    He didn’t mention his hefty contribution to Dr. Charity Tiernan’s no-kill shelter. The veterinarian seemed to be on a personal crusade to find every dog and cat in the county a home. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d managed to escape her clinic without the box of mewling kittens she’d been trying to push on him to go along with his new dog.
    “Trey—that’s Jared’s and my son—has been after me to get him a dog,” Kara revealed. “But we’re living with Mom, and she isn’t exactly a dog person.”
    “Bring him over here,” he heard himself calling out to her as she moved with purpose toward the black-and-white cop car. “There’s plenty of Velcro to share.”
    She paused long enough to shoot him a look over her shoulder. “Thanks. But I don’t take my son along on crime scenes.”
    Here’s your out. Take it. Do not make this personal .
    “I was talking about some other time.” Shit . He’d never been that good about taking anyone’s advice. Even his own. “Maybe you could bring him by, let him throw a ball to the dog, who’d probably go nuts over having herself a boy to play with, while you and I catch up over a pot of gumbo and a couple of beers. Or wine.”
    Most women, even brisk professional cops, probably preferred wine. Not that he had any in the house, and, since his home had suddenly turned into a possible crime scene, it sounded like he was going to be stuck here a good part of tomorrow.
    Fortunately, Chapman’s Harbor Market delivered. Even better, Mary Chapman had always liked him, pinching his cheeks and slipping him sweets from the candy jar she kept on the counter back when he’d been a kid.
    “Are you talking about a date?”
    It wasn’t the most encouraging response he’d ever had from a woman. In fact, she sounded as if he’d suggested they tear off all their clothes and go skinny-dipping with sharks.
    “Well, I was thinking along the lines of a meal and conversation. But if you’d prefer to jump a few steps ahead to an actual date—”
    “That’s not what I was saying.” She turned fully