Page 42 of Beware of Dog (Lean Dogs Legacy #6)

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Raven; God knew she could make a case for anything better than just about anyone he knew.

If anyone could convince this girl’s family to put their faith in the Dogs, it was the inimitable Raven Blake.

Any woman who’d heard of her, or seen her on a billboard, a magazine cover, or online Fashion Week photos, would be doubly impressed by the real article in her living room.

This itch was purely personal, and not specific to this house, and this moment.

Every day, it was harder to drop Cass at campus and ride off.

He saw a threat in every beanie-wearing, weed-smoking kid shuffling along the NYU sidewalks.

In his own life, as a single man, a Lean Dog, a vet with a temper, he’d kept a sharp eye out for the usual suspects: mob, bratva, cartel, garden variety gangbangers.

If someone decided to take a swing at him, it was going to be someone from the underworld.

No civilian was stupid or brave enough to target a Lean Dog.

But they were stupid, and nasty, and twisted enough to target a woman.

To spike her drink at a party; to lure her to a house, charm her, and then force himself on her.

To hire thugs to sit outside her house and terrify her family.

All these idiot kids he’d always looked through and past, considering them harmless…

and now he saw a predator in all of them.

It opened up a whole new level of fear with regard to Cass.

He wanted to swaddle her in bubble wrap and never let her out of the house.

He also wanted to march into her friend’s house, get in the parents’ faces, and ask them if they understood just how damned lucky they were that Cass was in their daughter’s corner.

Did they realize how special that was? How loyal she was?

How scrappy and determined? Did they appreciate her support at all?

He could drive himself crazy with that line of thinking.

“Hey,” Topino said, and when he had his attention, jutted his chin toward the sidewalk.

Pongo and Contreras walked toward them, the contrast between cut and suit coat comical in the bright light of morning.

When they were in range, Pongo said, “We talked to a guy up the block who was out walking his dog. He said he’s noticed the van that we saw, and that it’s been here every day for the past week, slow-cruising around the block over and over again.”

Contreras said, “He says they park, and sometimes get out and walk around the van. Latino, lots of tats.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find out which gang they’re a part of,” Topino said.

Contreras nodded. “I’ll check with Organized Crime, see who the hot players are right now.” He surveyed them, hands on his hips, expression wry. “But I’m assuming you guys have your own sources.”

Pongo’s smile was sunny and innocent.

Shep’s was not. “You catch on quick, Detective.”

Contreras gave the long-suffering sigh of a parent. “If I put uniforms on this block, they’re not gonna have any reason to slap a Dog in bracelets. Right ?”

“Right,” the three of them echoed, in unison.

~*~

“We’ll cooperate,” Mr. Simpson finally said. “Jamie will testify.” He and his wife looked completely defeated, their shoulders bowed, their heads half-bent. Mrs. Simpson rubbed at her nose, eyes damp.

“You’re making the right decision,” Raven said, soothingly, hand pressed to the tabletop.

“For you?” Mrs. Simpson said, one last jab.

Raven cocked her head, expression pitying. “Sig Blackmon is nothing to me or my family. You’re making the right decision for your daughter. You’d do well to remember that when my family is sticking their necks out for you.” She pushed back her chair, stood, and the meeting came to an end.

Melissa hung back to speak with them a moment, but Cass followed Raven, with one last fruitless glance Jamie’s direction.

They stepped out of the dining room, into the front hallway; through the storm door, Cass could see the bright morning beyond, and, even more welcome, Shep standing at the foot of the front steps, hands flexing at his sides as he scanned the yard, the street, the houses across the way.

She wanted to get back home, get into her real clothes; she’d missed her first class of the day, so maybe she could talk Shep into lunch at his favorite greasy spoon diner.

Hurried footsteps sounded behind them. “Cass, wait!”

Raven paused ahead of her, hand on the latch, and turned back to judge Cass’s expression. Your decision , her look said.

Keep going , Cass almost said, because standing here now, at the threshold, her man waiting for her, she was suddenly and deeply angry with Jamie. She knew Jamie wasn’t to blame for Sig’s cruelty, his deviousness, his willingness to hire people to frighten her family…

But Cass had warned her about Sig, all those weeks ago. Told her he was no good. And at no point throughout this process had Jamie stood up on her own two feet, stood her ground, and faced what was happening bravely.

She sighed—Raven gave her a sympathetic look—and turned.

“I’ll be just outside,” Raven said, and the storm door creaked open, and then shut again.

Jamie was breathing hard as she reached Cass. She was a tall girl, taller than Cass, but she seemed smaller now, with her bent posture and her baggy sweater. She’d lost weight, a shocking amount of it, collarbones and wrists standing out stark beneath her paper-white skin.

As quickly as it had formed, Cass’s anger died.

Her life had always been an odd tangle of civilian and outlaw, each misstep counterbalanced by the assurance that, if necessary, her powerful, frightening family would step in and right all the wrongs.

Jamie had no such safety net; to her, the club was just another boogeyman in a world turned upside down by an act of violence from the sort of person she, and her parents, had likely always thought superior and trustworthy.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie said. She swiped her hair back, gaze trained on Cass’s shoulder, rather than her face. “I know Sig’s a piece of shit, I know he is, but I just…” She bit her lip.

“It’s okay,” Cass said, and meant it. “Anyone in your position would want to drop the charges.”

Jamie finally met her gaze, mouth twitching to the side. “Anyone except you , you mean.”

“No.” Cass shook her head. “I’m not brave. I just have an extremely scary family.”

Jamie snorted. “Yeah.” She leaned to the side to peer around Cass and out the door. “That’s him, isn’t it? Your…boyfriend.” She struggled with the word.

“Yeah.” Cass turned to peer through the glass, and saw that Shep was shifting his weight, jaw tight, getting impatient. She smiled. “That’s him.”

“Is he, like…” When Cass turned back, she saw Jamie squinting against the sunlight, frowning, clearly searching for the right words. “Okay. No offense. He’s a lot older than you.”

Cass grinned. “Only physically.”

Jamie didn’t know what to make of that. She blinked. “How much older?”

Cass thought about sparing her, but only for a moment. This was her reality, now, her choice. She wasn’t going to cushion it for the benefit of others. “He’s forty-six.”

Jamie’s eyes bugged. “Holy shit.”

“We have loads in common,” she said. “And he pretends he’s not, but he’s actually very sweet. He’s a good person, and he’s good to me.”

Jamie’s gaze flicked from Cass to the door, back and forth, back and forth. “That’s…good. Good for you.”

“That’s all that really matters, isn’t it?” Cass said. “That someone loves you and treats you well?”

Jamie returned her attention wholly to Cass. Considered. And though she didn’t look as though she understood , per se, her expression softened. Her tone turned wistful. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

~*~

Raven had to go to the office. Melissa and Rob were going to stay, canvass a little more, then hit up Organized Crime to see if any gangs were pulling numbers in Jamie’s neighborhood. Topino took first shift watching the house.

Which meant Pongo tagged along to Steinbaum’s Diner with Shep and Cass.

He sat across from them in the booth, drowning his waffles in syrup and peering at them curiously. “So you guys are just…”

“Yep,” Shep said, and shoveled home fries into his mouth.

“And Raven didn’t blow a gasket?”

“No,” Cass said. It was brunch time, technically, but she’d ordered a burger. Bacon, extra cheese, the shoestring fries so hot they singed her fingertips.

Pongo looked between them, freckled nose scrunched up. “I just…”

“Don’t think about it too hard,” Shep suggested. “You might pull something.”

Pongo made a face, and turned his attention to Cass. “What about your brothers? Your dad? Do they know?”

“What the fuck business of it is yours?” Shep asked, conversationally, and lifted a hand to signal the waitress for a coffee refill.

“I just wanna know if we should expect your obituary soon.” He cracked a grin.

“My brothers like Shep,” Cass said. Lied.

Both of them snorted at her.

The waitress arrived, topped up Shep’s mug, and asked Cass, “What about you, hon?”

“Yes, please.” Shep lifted her mug so neither woman had to reach, and then nudged over the dish of creamer pods after he set it back down.

“No more talking about this,” Shep said, gesturing between the two of them. “What’s Dixon say about the trial? Is there a way for the D.A. to win this thing?”

Pongo shrugged. “Dixie says the A.D.A. who’s taking the case only tries sexual assaults, and that she’s a total shark.”

“But?” Cass asked. “It sounded like you wanted to put a ‘but’ on the end of that sentence.”

Pongo made a face and cut into his waffle stack with the side of his fork. “The Blackmons are rich. Their attorney’s gonna try some tricky shit to get him off.”

“Asshole,” Shep muttered.

“Is your friend gonna hold up, you think?” Pongo asked.

Cass sighed. “I hope so.”

Pongo didn’t linger. He inhaled his waffles, slapped a ten down on the table, and volunteered to make the dealer rounds on Shep’s behalf before he went to relieve Topino on the next shift in Brooklyn.

“Thank you,” Cass told him, sincerely, when Shep only offered a parting wave.

When he was gone, she pushed her plate to the side, burger half-eaten, not as hungry as she’d thought, and angled her body against the table so she faced Shep. She propped her chin in her hand. “Question.”

He nodded to her plate, his own ham and home fries decimated. “You gonna finish that?”

She nudged the plate his way.

“Shoot,” he said, in response to her inquiry, and snagged the rest of her burger.

“Do you actually dislike your club brothers?”

He froze mid-chew, and his eyes skated over. What? his expression clearly said.

“You act like you don’t like them,” she said, fighting a smile. “But do you? Or is it, I don’t know, a defensive mechanism?”

He swallowed and reached for his coffee, mouth a flat line. “Okay, I buy you brunch, and I get psychoanalyzed for it?”

Oh, it was so defensive, she thought. “I’m only curious.”

“Nuh-uh, don’t gimme that look, like you’re innocent.” He aimed his mug at her. “You haven’t been innocent a day in your life.”

She batted her lashes.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, and bent back over the plate.

“Come on, I’m only asking.”

He set the burger back down without taking a bite. “What do you want me to say? I don’t hate them. Sometimes they’re useful. Occasionally they don’t annoy me.”

“Babe, that’s sad.”

His brows shot up. “Who’s sad? I’m great .” He picked the burger back up and gestured to the plate. “Eat these fries so I don’t have to do extra cardio at the gym.”

She snagged a fry and decided to leave the topic alone. For now.