Page 98 of The Body in the Backyard

“Aw.”

Another chorus of barks erupted from the kitchen, making Nick groan.

“I swear to you I’ll track down their owner tonight and return the dogs. She’s Theodoric’s ex, so she might have information we could use about him.”

“Are you sure you won’t get shot at or kidnapped?”

“I’ll leave Mrs. Penny here to even the odds.”

He gave her another affectionate squeeze. “I’m going to swing by the jewelry store tonight. I have something to return to Peabody.”

“You didn’t buy anything,” she pointed out.

“No, but I did steal something out of Griffin’s closet that didn’t belong to him.”

“You big softy, out there righting the world’s wrongs.”

“Keep it down. I don’t want to damage my reputation as a careless badass.”

She leaned in and kissed him. “I love you, Nick Santiago, you careless badass.”

“I love you back, Riley Thorn. Which is why self-defense boot camp starts bright and early tomorrow morning,” he said with a stinging slap to her butt.

“Howbright and early?”

“I hate to ruin this make-out session, but we’ve got a problem,” Weber announced as he entered the room.

“I got my hand stuck in a pickle jar,” Griffin said, holding up the jar in question and raining pickle juice all over the floor.

“How…? Why…?” Riley began.

“I didn’t know you were supposed to use a fork. My pickles always arrive on my plate with my truffle mayonnaise. Not to be a jerk, but poor people mayonnaise is terrible. I fed the sandwich to the dog that looks like a lion.”

“Christ,” Nick muttered.

“Trust me, after this afternoon, a sandwich is the least of our worries,” Riley said.

“And so is an idiot with a pickle jar stuck on his hand,” Weber said.

Griffin held up the jar and banged it experimentally off a filing cabinet.

Nick and Weber both rolled their eyes.

“Why don’t you go ask Lily if she has any of her organic lube handy,” Riley said, climbing off Nick’s lap and giving her ex-husband a push out of the room.

“Let’s cut to the chase. Which one of us are you here to arrest, Weber?” Nick demanded when she returned.

“I’m not here to arrest anyone…for once. I’m here to casually mention that the two shooters from this morning are on a plane back to Colombia with a couple of U.S. marshals and their fancy-ass lawyer,” Weber said.

Nick drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch. “Fuck.”

“That seems fast,” Riley asked.

“Light speed. Extradition usually takes weeks. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing when it gives local law enforcement time to interview the suspects,” Weber explained.

“I take it you didn’t get that time,” she guessed.

“We had them in the box for barely an hour before some lawyer from DC showed up with all the right paperwork,” he said. “The official department line is the persons responsible for this morning’s shootout have been brought to justice.”