Home of the Brave (Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries Book 9) Read Free Page B

behind him.
    The office hadn’t changed much since my uncle had occupied it.  It was a small, cluttered, olive drab space that smelled like burned coffee and hard-working men.  There was a map of the county with magnetic pins, a bulletin board cluttered with memos and sticky notes, an oak desk scattered with folders and stacks of papers.  The one window was cloudy with grime, which was just as well because the only view was that of the back parking lot.  No wonder Buck preferred to spend his time elsewhere.  Come to think of it, so had Uncle Roe.
    My aunt and uncle were currently on vacation on the dog-friendly beaches of Topsail Island with their collie, Majesty (who was actually my collie, but they loved her so much I didn’t make a point of it) and my cousins.  They had all rented a beach house together for the next two weeks, and had invited me to join them as a matter of routine.  Now I almost wished I had.  And I really would love to know what my Uncle Roe would make of these new developments in the sheriff’s department that he had run so efficiently for thirty years.
    I glanced at my watch, frowned in annoyance, and briefly thought about leaving Buck a note and just walking out. Then something caught my eye on his desk—a half-unwrapped stack of eight-by-ten posters that looked as though they had just come from the printer.  Curiously, I walked to the desk and picked one up.  The face of a handsome man with wavy hair and good, honest eyes looked back at me; the face of a man I once had loved enough to marry, and had called my best friend since I was eight years old; the face of the man who had betrayed me in a way only someone you trust implicitly can do.  It was the face of Acting Sheriff Buck Lawson, and beneath the black and white image was printed in bold black letters: VOTE  CECIL “BUCK”  LAWSON FOR SHERIFF NOVEMBER 6.  And in a slightly smaller, italic font, Justice … Integrity .
    I grunted softly with surprise and reexamined the poster.  Buck had been appointed sheriff when my uncle retired unexpectedly last fall after a heart attack.  I knew that if he wanted to keep the job he would have to be duly elected when the term of appointment expired, but no one had mentioned to me that he had actually decided to run.  Of course, I had been a little busy keeping up with my own stuff, but still, you’d think someone would have mentioned it.  Local election campaigns always started midsummer.  I was beginning to feel a little out of touch.
    The door opened and Buck came in.  He had a way of entering a room, all shoulders and long strides, that always turned heads.  My head was no exception.  He came behind the desk, took the poster out of my hand and thrust another official-looking form at me in its place.  He looked stern.  “Fill out the application, pay your fee, and you’ll get your gun back.” He looked at me more closely and added, surprised, “You cut your hair.”
    I scowled first at him, and then at the paper.  “It cost me eighty-five dollars.”
    “It would’ve been cheaper to get your permit renewed.”
    I turned the scowl back on him, more intensely.  “That’s it?  No apology?”
    “Speeding, resisting arrest, threatening an officer, carrying a concealed weapon …  You’re lucky you’re not being strip-searched this minute.”
    My temper flared. “Come on, Buck!  Are you freaking kidding me? Resisting arrest?  How stupid do you think I am?  She dragged me out of my car in the rain!”
    “You know damn well you’re supposed to inform an officer you’re carrying when you’re pulled over,” he returned, glaring at me.  “You’re the daughter of a judge, for God’s sake!”
    I pushed on angrily, “And I never threatened anybody!”  Of course, by then I did have a vague recollection of saying words like “I’m warning you” and “you’ll be sorry,” but I was in too deep to back off now.  “I’ll tell you what this office needs, and