Trouble on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 3)

Mateo stopped dead in his tracks in front of the Salvation Police Department the next morning. The mangy dog Luciana had dropped off earlier

was inside losing his mind, spinning and scratching at the Salvation Police Department’s glass front door. His unshorn nails clicked the glass as Mateo stood on the opposite side armed with a dozen donuts and the largest coffee he could buy at Heaven Sent Bakery. He’d walked the three blocks down Main Street to the station, ignoring the uncomfortable glances and less-than-covert stares from the people he’d grown up with, so the mutt’s happy-to-see-you spaz attack halted Mateo’s movements.

“Probably smells the donuts,” he muttered to himself as he balanced the box and coffee in one hand and reached for the door handle.

As he pulled it open, he angled his body to protect the donuts. Simons would give him the stink eye for the rest of the day if he lost her morning double-chocolate almond bear claw to the dog. He’d gotten the door open about two inches before the pooch barreled out, jumping and yipping as if he had more than a snowball’s chance in hell of getting a treat.

Enacting evasive measures, Mateo executed a quick spin and slid through the doorway. Not realizing that it wasn’t wanted, the dog trotted in behind him and followed him across the lobby and through the Employees Only door.

“He’s been manning a post at the door all morning,” Simons said as she rose from her desk and took the donut box from his grasp.

“Probably planning his escape.”

The dog plopped down on his right boot, panting happily with his fat tongue hanging out of his mouth.

“Uh-huh.” She took her bear claw and glanced down at the mutt. “He looks like a cagey one.”

Wet or dry, the dog looked bedraggled and pitiful. Made up of so many breeds mixed into one shaggy body, he was practically a freak of nature.

“He looks like he needs a bath and probably a bunch of shots.”

“What he needs is a name,” Simons said, and gave him a pointed stare.

Oh no. You name it, you bought it. He knew the rules. “Why are you looking at me?”

“Because he picked you.”

Mateo yanked his foot out from beneath the dog’s butt and pivoted on his heel. “Then he’s bound to be disappointed.” Without waiting for a response, he marched into his office and shut the door behind him. He hadn’t even crossed the room to his desk before the mutt started whining and scratching on the other side of the flimsy wood.

First he gets dragged into helping Olivia Sweet with a fundraiser and now a dog was stalking him. Did life get any better? Shit was getting FUBAR fast.

Lucky for him, he’d figured out a way out of the fundraising fiasco. It hit him at about three in the morning while staring at his ceiling, so he wouldn’t close his eyes and see Olivia’s amazing tits. He’d find plenty of stuff at work to do so he’d be too busy to do any more than the absolute minimum. If that meant showering and being out of his house at dawn and not getting home until after dark, so be it. Extra patrols had to be needed somewhere. Whatever it took, he’d limit his interaction with the crazy woman as much as possible while still keeping Luciana from getting on his case.

He glanced down at the call sheets from the night before. All two of them. Staying balls-to-the-wall busy in a town the size of Salvation wouldn’t be easy, but he’d been in worse scrapes.

“Semper fi, do or die,” he muttered to the empty room.

A low growl sounded outside his door, followed by a sharp rap.

“Come in.”

Salvation’s mayor, Tyrell Hawson, pushed the door open. The dog galloped into the room, skidding to a stop beside Mateo’s desk. After a quick glance back at Mateo, the mutt returned his focus to Hawson. There wasn’t any growling, but the fur on his back stood straight up so there was no mistaking the animal’s opinion of the mayor. Maybe the dog wasn’t as dumb as a box of rocks after all.

“Mayor.”

“Garcia.”

He didn’t get up. “Is there something I can do for you, Mayor, or did you just come by for a donut?”

Not noticing the slight, Hawson flopped down into the worn guest chair opposite Mateo’s desk. “I’ll grab one on the way out, but I needed to chat with you a bit first.”

“Shoot.”

“I understand that Olivia Sweet is in town. Possibly for good.”

Watching the man with Napoleon’s stature maneuver was like seeing a tank try to speed—painful. “Uh-huh.”

“The gossip making the rounds is that she has some crazy notion to hold a beer fundraiser for the veterans’ center—and that you’re not only helping, but that she’s living behind your house.”