Page 39 of Warrant

“What the hell does that mean?” Owen asked us.

“She’s wanted you since she graduated a couple years ago,” I said.

“Since before then, but she was jail bait,” Demo wheezed.

“She’s like…eighteen,” Owen muttered.

“Twenty-one,” I corrected him.

They both looked at me with brows raised.

“Not interested,” I said with as much disgust as Owen had shown. “I like women. Not girls.”

“Same,” Owen said with a meaningful look.

“Well, I don’t see any women clambering to climb your flag pole,” Demo said. “Maybe you should give Tansy a ride so you don’t get rusty.”

“Fuck off, Demo,” Owen sighed. He shoved out of his chair. “Outside. We need to figure out what’s wrong with my car.”

We hung back as he stalked outside and then broke into uncontrollable laughter as he walked around and finally saw that his police cruiser said ‘booty patrol’ on the back.

“Why the helldo we have to help?” Demo grumbled.

“Because you put the fucking sticker on there,” Owen barked at him. “So you’re helping me get it off.”

I looked around and grinned. “Haven’t been in the impound lot before.”

“Don’t touch anything,” he warned, pointing a finger my way. “Just help me find the heat gun and a fucking razor blade so we can get this thing off my damn car.”

“How much trouble could you get in?” I asked.

“A lot. This is government property, asshole,” Owen muttered, searching through one of the buildings behind the police station.

The impound lot was enclosed by tall fencing and though I’d considered it a few times in the past, I’d never hopped those fences to check things out. Seeing what was sitting back here made me realize that’d been a mistake. I let out a low whistle and pointed at the window of a car.

Demo came over and looked inside. “Shit. That’s a couple grand worth of fishing equipment. Glitch would cream himself to have that.”

“Might forgive you for fucking up his fish finder, too,” I added.

Demo glanced over his shoulder, looking for Owen and tried the door handle. It was unlocked.

“You going to smuggle those rods down your pants?” I asked with raised brows.

He grinned. “Not enough room with what’s already in there.”

“Bullshit,” I snorted, but laughed anyway. “Wait ‘til later. We’ll come back and go shopping. This place is a fucking gold mine.”

Demo pointed and I nodded. “That’s a 1970 Plymouth ‘Cuda.”

“Imay have just creamed myself,” Demo admitted. “Fuuuuuck, she’s a beauty.” He went over and ran a hand over the hood in reverence.

“That car is going to be mine,” I said. “I’m calling dibs.”

He grunted and shook his head. “Pretty sure your girlfriend isn’t going to like that.”

I grinned at him. “She doesn’t need to know.”

He straightened up, crossed his arms over his chest, then leaned back against the car. “You serious about her?”