The Baby Cop

“Yeah, pal, not only do I strike sparks off her, she’s not too crazy about you, either. I think it’s plain fright, even if she tries to gloss over it.”

Ethan pulled up behind the courthouse at a site where he’d arranged to meet Mitch. “Maybe I should give her up as a lost cause, Taz.” He and Taz came as a pair. “Yeah,” he said, ruffling the dog’s fur. “It’s a case of love me, love my dog.”

Mitch opened the passenger door in time to hear the last of Ethan’s comment. “What, or maybe I should say who, has you talking to yourself, buddy?”

“Nobody.” Ethan fought a flush. “You know I always talk to Taz.”

“Right. Except this time you sounded like a lovesick moose. ‘Love me, love my dog,’” Mitch chirped in falsetto.

“Buckle up and shut up,” Ethan growled. “Since I know you won’t quit until you worm it out of me, I’m thinking about setting up an accidental meeting with Supervisor Grant tomorrow morning.” Ethan proceeded to tell his friend how, on a couple of occasions, Regan Grant had reacted oddly to Taz.

Mitch whistled. “If you want my advice—which you never take but which I’ll give you, anyway—write her off. She sounds phobic. You have about as much chance of a zebra losing its stripes as you do of unscrambling someone’s phobia.”

“You may be right,” Ethan mumbled. But he knew there was something about Regan that made him want to try.

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