LITMIR.BIZ

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      The hands on the clock moved at a snail’s pace.

      How bored would Kleppy be?

      How bored was she?

      Malcolm, the Crown Prosecutor, should do something about his voice, she thought. It was a voice designed to put a girl to sleep.

      Ooh, Wallace looked smug.

      Ooh, she was bored …

      Lunch time. All rise. Hooray.

      And then the door of the court swung open.

      All eyes turned. As they would. Every person in the room, with the possible exception of Wallace and Philip, was probably as bored as she was.

      And suddenly she wasn’t bored at all. For standing in the doorway was … Raff.

      Full cop uniform. Grim expression. Gun at his side, cop ready for action. At his side—only lower—was a white fluff ball attached to a pink diamanté lead. And in his arms he was carrying Kleppy.

      ‘I’m sorry, Your Honour,’ he said, addressing the judge. ‘But I’m engaged in a criminal investigation. Is Abigail Callahan in court?’

      Of course she was. Abby rose, her colour starting to rise as well. ‘K … Kleppy,’ she stammered.

      ‘Could you come with me, please, Miss Callahan?’ Raff said.

      ‘She’s not going anywhere,’ Philip snapped, rising and putting his hand on Abby’s shoulder. ‘What the …’

      ‘If she won’t come willingly, I’m afraid I need to arrest her,’ Raff said. ‘Accessory after the fact.’ He looked down at his feet, to where the white fluff ball pranced on the end of her pink diamanté lead. A lead that led up to Kleppy’s jaw. Kleppy had a very tight hold. ‘Abigail Callahan, your dog has stolen Mrs Fryer’s peke. You need to come now and sort this out or I’ll have to arrest you for theft.’

      The courtroom was quiet. So quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

      Justice Weatherby’s face was impassive. Almost impassive.

      There was a tiny tic at the side of his mouth.

      Raff’s face was impassive, too. He stood with Kleppy in his arms, waiting for Abby to respond.

      Kleppy looked disgusting. He was coated in thick black dust. His tail was wagging, nineteen to the dozen.

      In his mouth he held the end of the pink lead and his jaw was clamped as if he wasn’t going to let go any time soon.

      On the other end of the lead, the white fluff ball was wagging her tail as well.

      ‘He was locked in my backyard,’ Abby said, eyeing the two with dismay.

      ‘My sharp investigative skills inform me that the dog can dig,’ Raff said, shaking Kleppy a little so a rain of dirt fell onto the polished wood of the courtroom door. ‘Will you come with me, please, ma’am?’

      ‘Just give the dog back to whoever owns it,’ Philip snapped, his hand gripping Abby’s shoulder tightly now. ‘Tie the other one up outside. Abigail’s busy.’

      ‘Raff, please …’ Abby said.

      ‘Mrs Fryer’s hopping mad,’ Raff said, unbending a little. ‘I’ve waited until court broke for lunch but I’m waiting no longer. You want to avoid charges, you come and placate her.’

      She glanced at Philip. Uh-oh. She glanced at Justice Weatherby. The tic at the corner of his mouth had turned into a grin. Someone was giggling at the back of the court.

      Philip’s face looked like thunder.

      ‘Sort the dog, Abigail,’ he snapped, gathering his notes. ‘Just get it out of here and stop it interfering with our lives.’

      ‘Right this way, ma’am,’ Raff said amiably. ‘The solicitor for the defence will be right back, just as soon as she sorts her stolen property.’

      Abby walked out behind Raff, trying to look professional, but she didn’t feel professional and when she reached the outside steps and the autumn sun hit her face she felt suddenly a wee bit hysterical. And also … a wee bit free?

      As if Raff had sprung her from jail.

      Which was a dumb thing to think. Raff had attempted to make her a laughing stock.

      ‘I suppose you think you’re funny,’ she said and Raff turned and looked at her, and once again she was hit by that wave of pure testosterone. He was in his cop uniform and my, it was sexy. The sun was glinting on his tanned face and his coppery hair. He was wearing short sleeves and his arms … They were twice as thick as Philip’s, she thought, and then she thought that was a very inappropriate thing to think. As was the fact that his eyes held the most fabulous twinkle.

      Her knees felt wobbly.

      What was she doing? She was standing in the sun and lusting after Raff Finn. The man who’d destroyed her life …

      She needed to get a grip, and fast.

      ‘You’re saying Kleppy dug all the way out of my garden?’ she snapped, trying to sound disbelieving. She was disbelieving.

      ‘You’re implying I might have helped?’ Raff said, still with that twinkle. ‘You think I might have hiked round there and loaned him a spade?’

      ‘No, I …’ Of course not. ‘But the fence sits hard on the ground. He’d have had to go deep.’

      ‘He’s a very determined dog. I did warn you, Abigail.’

      ‘Why don’t you just call me ma’am and be done with it,’ she snapped. ‘What am I supposed to do now?’

      ‘Apologise.’

      ‘To you?’

      He grinned at that and his whole face lit up. She’d hardly seen that grin. Not since … Not since …

      No. Avoid that grin at all costs.

      ‘I can’t imagine you apologising to me,’ he said. ‘But you might try Mrs Fryer. I imagine she’s apoplectic by now. She rang an hour ago to say her dog had been stolen from outside the draper’s. I did think we were looking at dog-napping—she’d definitely pay a ransom—but we have witnesses saying the napper was seen making a getaway. It seems Kleppy decided to go find another bra and found something better.’

      She closed her eyes. This was not good, on so many levels.

      ‘You caught him?’

      ‘I didn’t have to catch him,’ he said, and his smile deepened, a slow, smouldering smile that had the power to heat as much as the sun. ‘I found the two of them on your front step.’

      ‘On my …’

      ‘He seems to think of your place as home already. Home of Abby. Home of Kleppy. Or maybe he was just bringing this magnificent gift to you.’

      Oh, Kleppy.

      She stared at her scruffy, kleptomaniac, mud-covered dog in Raff’s arms. He stared back, gazing straight at her, quivering with hope. With happiness. A dog fulfilled.

      Why did her eyes suddenly fill?

      ‘Why … why didn’t you just take Fluffy back to Mrs Fryer?’ she managed, trying not to sniff. She had a dog.

      ‘Watch this.’ He set Kleppy down and tugged the diamanté lead, trying to dislodge it from Kleppy’s teeth.

      Kleppy held on as if his life depended on it.

      Raff tugged again.

      Kleppy growled and gripped and glanced across at Abby—and his appeal was unmistakable. Come and help. This guy’s trying to steal your property.

      Her property.

      Raff released him.

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