Part 242 (1/2)

Knowing a true ally, the dog shuffled over to Emma, head low. ”Can he

come?” she asked as he rested his head against her thigh. ”I've got an

MG.”

”I don't mind being crowded.”

”He'll shed all over you.”

”It's all right.”

Conroy followed the conversation, one ear p.r.i.c.ked. Michael would have

sworn the dog snickered. ”You win, Conroy.” Michael pointed toward the

front door. Sensing victory, Conroy bolted. His waving tail struck

Emma's purse and knocked it from table to floor.

When Michael bent to retrieve it, the clasp gave and the contents

spilled out. Before he could apologize, he saw the .38. Emma said

nothing as he lifted it, turning it over in his hand. It was top grade,

the best automatic of that caliber that Smith and Wesson had to offer.

It was glossy as silk and heavy in his hand. No elegant ladies' gun,

this one was mean and for business only. He pulled out the clip, found

it full, then snapped it back into place.

”What are you doing with this?”

”I have a license.”

”That wasn't my question.”

She crouched down to pick up her wallet and compact and brush. ”I live

in New York, remember?” She said it lightly, while her stomach churned

as it always did when she lied. ”A lot of women carry guns in

Manhattan. For protection.”

He studied the top of her head. ”So you've had it awhile.”

”Years.”