Page 21 of Hoofin’ It

“He’ll probably beg you to take his job. No matter how hard we try, you’re disgustingly responsible. When I last checked the dictionary, your face was next to ‘good cop.’ Live a little!”

I shuddered at the thought of being in charge of a bunch of maniac werewolves, their loved ones, and a city full of rednecks with odd hobbies and a love for high-powered weaponry. “I never thought I’d be thankful for my low magic rating. I’m very thankful right now.”

“Admit it. You want to take one for a drive. One-sixty, Shane.”

“Why are you trying to kill me?”

“I’m not trying to kill you. I’m trying to let you have a little fun while we play cops. I’m off duty. I’m just doing exactly what I was told I shouldn’t do.”

Maybe if I closed my eyes and took a lot of long, deep breaths, everything would go back to normal. “You’re disobeying orders, aren’t you?”

“Well, the chief didn’t say I couldn’t go chasing after your parents. He may have said something about not chasing after your shooter. He may have also said something about not getting involved with a criminal organization larger than the Lincoln police force could readily handle.”

“So basically, you’re planning on using me to lure them out so you can honestly say you didn’t actually chase after them. We’re just going on a joyride looking for Mom and Dad, and we might happen to draw the wrong sort of attention. And since you’re my loving, concerned godfather, you suggested I should bring my mother’s gun as an insurance policy.”

My godfather grinned and hauled the first of the mutant dirt bikes from the bed of his truck. “Admit it. You want to know if these can do one-sixty.”

Would I look better splattered alongside the red death trap or the yellow death trap? I considered my choices and pointed at the yellow one. “I think my blood and guts will look better with that one. What do you think?”

“I think you have a morbid sense of humor.”

“Lewis, have you ever met my parents?”

“Good point. Forget I said anything. Sure, you can take the yellow one. Just watch her on the turns. She’s a bit of a bitch and needs a tune-up. For some reason, she views the speeds between one-twenty and one-forty as optional and prefers to go straight to one-sixty. You might want to keep her below one-twenty until you’re used to her.”

“Dare I ask what’s wrong with the red one?”

“She’s just an asshole and views everything up to one-sixty as an obstacle to overcome.”

“These aren’t street legal, are they?”

“Sure they are. Would a respectable cop like myself drive something not street legal? They’re legal. They’re just slightly modified.”

“Please tell me you have a plan.”

“We need a plan?”

“A plan would be helpful.”

“I thought I already told you. I’m going to use you as bait, lure them out, and deal with them. Violently. Then we’ll save the young lady and make sure she gets home. I’ll even be nice and let you take all the credit for the daring rescue.”

“Am I the only sane man in this town?” I complained, peering into the back of Lewis’s truck for a helmet. Fortunately, I spotted a pair and grabbed the one matching the yellow death trap. I shoved it over my head, muttering curses as I tightened the straps.

“No. You lost your right to say you’re sane the instant you decided to actually go along with this.”

I hated he was right.

Chapter Seven

Did it count as grand theft auto if I was stealing from my godfather? The little yellow death trap was coming home with me, and that was all there was to it. I’d also have a long talk with him about saying mean things about the most beautiful piece of machinery I’d ever laid my hands on.

The bike purred beneath me, and true to my godfather’s claims, she was a bit of a bitch on the turns, hated being restrained, and begged for me to put her through her paces. Until I got her beyond the normal patrol area of the local cops, I’d keep her near the speed limit. The last thing I needed was someone spotting me with Lewis and calling my parents.

“You can’t steal my bike, Shane.”

Damn it. How did he always know when I was contemplating something illegal? “Are you a closet telepath?”

“No, you’re just muttering to yourself. The mic in your helmet is really sensitive. I might consider letting you buy her for a reasonable price.”