Motor Mouth (Alex Barnaby 2)

Hooker grinned. “Darlin’, you’re flirting with me.”

“Trying to cheer you up.”

He signaled for the check. “It’s working.”

I was never the nut in my family. My younger brother, Bill, had that honor. I was the kid who graduated from college with an engineering degree and then took a safe, steady job with a boring insurance company. I was the reliable kid who showed up on time for Sunday dinner and remembered birthdays. Until Hooker. Now I’m working for Stiller Racing and running neck and neck with my brother for loose cannon of the year.

Hooker was driving, and I was riding shotgun, watching the world fly by. Breakfast was a half hour behind us. Miami was in front of us.

“So,” I said. “Now what?”

Hooker swung off the turnpike onto the east-west expressway. “I want my dog back.”

“Looks to me like you’re heading for South Beach.”

“Ray Huevo said he’s on the corporate yacht. I figure that’s a good place to start looking for Beans. It’s one thing to steal a man’s car. It’s an entirely different category of stealing when you’re talking about a man’s dog. And this isn’t even a normal dog. This is Beans.”

“He didn’t say anything about the fact that the holes in his brother’s shoulder matched your dog’s fangs?”

“He didn’t mention his brother or my dog. He just wanted his cars back.”

“Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“I think it’s scary cold.”

“Has it occurred to you that there’s an outside chance Ray won’t be cordial?”

“Spanky and his girlfriend are on that boat celebrating his win. And there’s a full crew. I don’t expect to be offered lunch, but I also don’t think I’ll get shot. I’m not sure what I’ll accomplish, but I don’t know where else to start.”

Twenty minutes later the SUV was parked in the lot by Monty’s, and I was shoulder to shoulder with Hooker, standing on the cement walkway that ran the length of South Beach Harbor.

Hooker was grinning, looking down at me. “I thought you were going to wait in the car.”

“Someone has to watch out for your sorry ass.”

“I thought you didn’t care about my ass anymore.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t push it.”

Hooker pulled me to him and kissed me. It wasn’t a sexy, passionate kiss. It was a smiling kiss. I’d made him happy. Hooker wasn’t a guy who hid thoughts and emotions. You always pretty much knew what was in Hooker’s head. And, I knew from experience, if I let the kiss linger it would turn sexy. What Hooker lacked in guile he made up for in testosterone.

“Stop that,” I said, breaking from the kiss and jumping away.

“You liked it.”

“I didn’t!”

“Okay,” Hooker said. “Let me try again. I can do better.”

“No!” I turned and shaded my eyes with my hand, searching the harbor. “Which boat belongs to Huevo?”

“It’s the big one at the end of the pier, one pier past the dockmaster’s office.”

“The one with the triple deck?”

“Yep.”

“No helicopter,” I said. “Huevo cheaped out.”