This story takes place beforeDoom Magnet.
1
“Can I do the siren?”
“No.”
“Can I kick in a door?”
Deputy Bobby’s eyebrows went up, and I took offense at the way he looked at my legs.“Can you?”
“Do I get to shoot your gun?”
His silence was deliberative.“We can talk about the siren.”
It was a perfect October day.The skies were clear, the sun was shining, and when the wind flattened out, it was warm enough that I didn’t need the jacket I’d brought along.We stood in the gravel lot of the sheriff’s station.I was excited.Deputy Bobby, in his distractingly well-fitting khaki uniform, was clearly reconsidering any number of life choices.
“Am I going to rescue a kitten out of a tree?”
“That doesn’t come up as often as you’d think.”
“Am I going to shout, ‘Stop!Police!’”
“Absolutely not.”
“If there’s a three-way standoff—”
“Just shoot me,” Deputy Bobby said.The tone suggested he might have meant to say it under his breath, but the sound carried on that clear, windless day.
“Okay, good, that’s exactly what I was going to ask.”
The thing about Deputy Bobby was that he could—on first impression—be a little terrifying.He was so handsome, for one thing: the jawline, the shoulders, the biceps.His eyes, too, which were a burnished bronze that made something funny happen in my stomach when I looked at him too long.Basically, the overall face and body combo, head to toe.And he wasn’t given to a lot of demonstrative smiling or chuckling or good-natured awkward rambling.He said what he needed to say.Directly.And if he didn’t need to say anything, he was perfectly comfortable with silence.Right now, for example, he was clearly wishing for a little more silence.
“Before we get started,” he said, “I want to go over the rules.”
“I already know the rules.I had to sign the ride-along form, remember?”
“Let’s go over them anyway.”
“That’s a little rude—”
“I really don’t feel like I should have to stress this as strongly as I’m about to, but in case there’s any doubt in your mind: you’re an observer only.”
“Of course.”
“You’re not to become involved in any way.”
“I understand what observer means.”
“In fact, you probably shouldn’t do anything.”
“Deputy Bobby, it’s me, Dash.What could I possibly do?”
For some reason, that made him sigh.“In keeping with rule one—which was, in case you’ve already forgotten, that you are an observer only—rule two is no weapons.”
“Except these guns,” I said.“I mean my muscles.In my arms.”And then I remembered.“They’re called biceps.”
Deputy Bobby stared at me.
