Becker spied three doggy treats lined up on Law’s desk and grabbed a couple. “Come on now, you little bitch. Come get a treat from your new buddy.” He opened his palm flat, revealing the nuggets.
Sam’s gaze went from Becker to Law. Law made a slight negative move with his head.
With her head turned away, Becker made a grab for the vest. Sam quickly back-stepped, dropped her head, and growled low in her throat. The sound that emerged was deeper and more menacing than expected from so harmless-looking a dog.
“Whoa.” Becker back-stepped, both hands raised in defense.
“Got to admire your K-9 technique, Pecker.”
This drew chuckles from the other office personnel who’d come over to watch.
Becker cursed then seemed to realize that playing along with the joke on him was the best way to go. He tossed the nuggets at Sam. “I guess she’s good for something.”
Sam sat by Law’s chair, ignoring the treats at her feet, content to accept her Alpha’s stroking as praise for a job well done. Her tongue lolled from the side of her mouth in a doggy grin, but her gaze remained focused on Becker. She didn’t like him, or his smell. He didn’t like her Alpha. She would remember that.
Becker’s gaze dropped to Law’s pant legs. “I heard you lost a leg. You get a lot of pity sex with that thing?”
Law grinned. “Women don’t complain about what’s missing once I drop my drawers. Want a demonstration?”
Becker’s gaze shifted again to Sam, evidently noting for the first time that her vest said SERVICE, not POLICE K-9. “You really need a damn dog to get around?”
It occurred to Law that within five minutes Becker had questioned his access to the state police database, his mobility, and his dog’s purpose. This was an interrogation.
“See you around.” Law swiveled his chair back into position.
Becker stood shifting his weight from foot to foot as if his boots were a size too small. “You plan on riding a desk into retirement?”
Law looked up, his expression impenetrable. “You got a better suggestion?”
“Could be.” Again, that probing look. Definitely fishing. “There’re sweet positions for a former law enforcement officer who’d rather make money than arrests.”
Law let himself show the barest hint of interest. “What would my sweet position look like?”
Becker grinned, no doubt thinking he’d sensed a nibble on his bait. “You tell me.”
Law reared back in his chair. “She’d be a double-jointed bareback rider with a pathetic need to please.”
Becker guffawed. “You get tired of this? You give me a call.”
Law continued to stare at the doorway after Becker left. This wasn’t a random visit. He’d bet his ass on that. But what, exactly, had Becker really wanted? Unless someone had noticed what he’d been up to.
Law glanced casually around the room. No one was watching him. That didn’t mean that no one was paying attention to his actions on the job.
On the face of it, his first week back here had been boring as hell. His captain was shocked when he’d volunteered to run background checks, because that was the issue over which Law had handed in his resignation. But doing those checks gave him access to what he wanted, NCIC and Accurint, crime information databases. He’d been careful to sign in to them only when information about a potential employee legitimately steered him there. Once in he’d been covertly checking the data banks, looking for any drug-related information during the past four years that involved Tice Industries.
There had been several Tice truckers arrested for drug transport while he was serving in Afghanistan. A few in Arkansas, plus one in Tennessee and one in Oklahoma. But they were independent contractors with Tice Industries, and went to jail without incriminating Tice.
What he was doing was risky. Law enforcement officers couldn’t just go on a fishing expedition through databases. They needed a warrant or probable cause. After a week of nothing he was about to throttle back for a few days, before someone noticed his intense searches. Then yesterday he’d come upon the file of Brody Rogers.
Rogers, a Tice corporate manager and related to the Tices by marriage, had been killed four years ago when his car missed a curve on a mountain road in the Ozarks north of Fayetteville. Dealer-sized amounts of coke, prescription drugs, and thirty thousand dollars in cash were found in his car.
For about three seconds Law hadn’t been able to believe his luck. It was his first solid connection to Tice, but it came with a corker of a twist. Brody Rogers’s fiancée and alleged accomplice was Jori Garrison.
“Going to lunch?”
Law’s head jerked up out of his thoughts to find a fellow trooper standing before his desk. “Hey, Franklin. No thanks. I’ve got something going on.”