Page 20 of Hoofin’ It

“How do you feel about being bait? If Detective Steinburg is correct, they’re going to come after you again. With the right bait, we might have more luck than our NYPD friends.”

After spending my life around cops, I recognized Lewis was playing a dangerous game of one-upmanship against the NYPD, who had a lot more funding, a lot more cops, and a reputation the Lincoln police could never hope to gain.

Sergeant Lewis wanted a piece of the glory pie.

Typical werewolf.

Since I could, I popped my fake eye out and rolled it across the table. “This is a reflection of my opinion.”

“That’s disturbing. Please don’t do that.”

Grinning, I returned the glass orb to its proper place and blinked a few times.

“Come on, Shane. You could have washed it off first.”

“You’re the one who wants me to draw gunfire so you can catch yourself a mafia hitman, Lewis. I only have two questions for you.”

“What?”

“Do you have a vest for me? When do we leave?”

“Yes, and now. I even have a proper gun for you, one that doesn’t looks like you got it from a toy store. What is that thing anyway?”

“50mm Desert Eagle.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Bring your little toy, and make sure you have enough ammo for it.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I have a permit for it?”

“No.”

“What kind of cop are you again?”

“The kind who taught his godson how to shoot when he was five years old. Stop your whining and get your ass in gear. We’ve got work to do.”

I only hoped I wasn’t about to do something I would regret.

Next time, assuming I survived long enough for there to be a next time, I would remember my godfather was just as crazy as my parents. When I thought of a motorcycle, I thought of something like a Harley, a bike meant to impress with its roaring engine and massive body.

Lewis had a pair of dirt bikes on steroids in his truck. In my testosterone-poisoned teens, I would have thought they were the coolest things on Earth. Now all I could think about was how much it would hurt when I pancaked myself onto the highway.

“Remember that guy with the real glass windshield, Lewis?”

“I remember him.”

“This is the motorcycle version of his windshield.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Hiding with my dignity and planning an escape with my self-respect.” I scowled, crossed my arms, and regarded the pair of death traps with my left eye narrowed to a slit. I didn’t even care what the hell my right eye looked like anymore. I hoped it creeped my godfather out.

“Don’t be a scaredy cat. They only do one-sixty.”

I upgraded their status from death trap to incredibly sexy, lethal, and tempting death traps with invisible rockets attached to them. “When you get me killed, my mother is going to have her first shift. Dad’s going to froth at the mouth and require treatment for rabies. They’re going to eat you. They’re going to gnaw the flesh from your bones and use them to decorate their house.”

“That’s probably an accurate statement. Come on, Shane. I’ve been waiting years for you to come back so we could take these babies on a ride.”

“I need to have a long, serious talk with the chief about the mental stability of his officers.”