Out of Order. Barbara Dunlop

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      DALLAS SLAMMED THE DOOR behind her and strode around to the driver’s side, while Shelby swore she’d never complain about taxis again. It was so much nicer in here than in the police car—a cushioned seat, handles on the inside of the doors, a window that opened, and no lurking aroma of vomit, sweat or urine.

      She glanced at her watch, wishing she’d thought about her purse on the way out of the Game-O-Rama. Who knew when she’d get it back? Not that she could have managed to grab her purse with the cuffs on. And not that the young cop was likely to have helped her.

      The opposite door opened and Dallas slid inside—six feet two, gray eyes, short, dark hair and a set to his jawline that said he’d rather be cleaning his oven than escorting her home.

      Had she thanked him? Should she thank him? It wasn’t like his help had come cheap. And she was already planning to dip into her meager savings to pay half of Allison’s rent at the end of the month.

      She guessed she could kiss that new pair of Bjorn shoes in Holstead’s window goodbye. Along with the matching leather purse. It was a great sale, too.

      She sighed inwardly. “How much do I owe you?”

      “Forget it,” said Dallas, slamming his own door.

      “What do you mean, forget it? That was ten minutes’ work. I figure it’s fifty bucks, easy.”

      He turned and stared at her from beneath slanted brows. She got the feeling his clients didn’t usually try to press money on him.

      “What’s your address?” he asked.

      Shelby glanced at her watch again. Five-fifteen. Allison would have left for Balley’s by now, and Shelby’s apartment key was in her purse with the rest of her worldly goods. Too bad Flower-Fresh closed at five. Or was that five-thirty?

      She leaned forward to talk to the driver through the open, Plexiglas barrier between the seats. “Can you take me to Black and Wheeler?”

      “Allison lives on Rupert,” said Dallas.

      “Flower-Fresh is on the corner,” she explained to the cabbie. “I need to pick something up.”

      Dallas sat back in his seat. “You’re picking up your dry cleaning?”

      “I sure hope so.”

      The cab lurched forward.

      “Let me get this straight,” said Dallas. “You just got arrested, narrowly avoided a stay in the lockup, you have no purse, no money. I’m assuming you’ve lost your job, and the first thing you need to do is pick up your dry cleaning?”

      Shelby didn’t get the connection. She blinked at him. “Yeah.” She knew her credit card number. Hopefully that would be enough to spring the dress.

      His forehead furrowed, he stared at her as if she was a bug under a microscope.

      “I’m meeting Allison at Balley’s,” Shelby elaborated, gesturing to her wrinkled skirt and dusty tank top. “It’s not like I can show up like this.”

      Dallas was silent for a full minute. “Right.”

      “You mind waiting?” she asked. “I could walk to Balley’s from Flower-Fresh, but it’s nearly a mile.”

      “Of course I’ll wait.”

      Shelby smiled. “Thanks. And thanks for getting me out of jail.”

      “You weren’t in jail.”

      “Don’t you mean ‘you’re welcome’?”

      He didn’t smile at her joke. “Of course.”

      “I can pay you for your time,” she felt compelled to offer. She didn’t want him to think she was a charity case. Even if she nearly was.

      His lips pursed as though he’d just sucked a lime. “You’re Greg’s fiancée’s roommate—”

      She grinned irreverently. “Which means we’re practically cousins?”

      She wasn’t sure, but she thought he might have growled at that.

      “Flower-Fresh on your right,” said the cabbie.

      Shelby peered hopefully out the window, but she was disappointed with what she saw. The sign was turned off and the front window was dark. But wait, somebody was on the sidewalk locking the front door. If she hurried…

      She ripped off her seat belt and flung open her door before the cab had a chance to roll to a stop.

      “Christ,” Dallas bit out, reaching for her.

      But she was quick enough to elude his hand.

      She dashed between two parked cars and up onto the curb. “I need my dress,” she called to the short, gray-haired woman with a set of keys in her hand.

      “We’re closed,” said the woman, adjusting a plastic rain hat as she turned to walk away.

      “You don’t understand,” said Shelby, following. “I need my dress.”

      The woman quickened her clicking steps on the wet concrete. “Come back tomorrow.”

      “But—”

      “We’re closed.”

      Shelby grasped the woman’s arm in an effort to force her to listen.

      The woman spun. She tilted her chin, eyes turning to black beads, voice going snappish. “Do I have to call the cops?”

      Dallas’s deep voice sounded behind Shelby. “I’d consider it a personal favor.”

      The woman looked up. Her eyes widened and her lined face instantly softened.

      Dallas reached past Shelby and handed the woman a folded bill. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

      A tense half smile formed on the woman’s face. She whisked the money from Dallas’s hand. “Why not?”

      “You trying to get arrested again?” Dallas muttered to Shelby as they followed the woman to the door.

      Shelby didn’t answer, figuring it was a rhetorical question.

      The woman’s large key ring jangled as she worked her way through the three dead bolts. She turned to Shelby and held out her hand. “Ticket, please.”

      “I uh, lost my purse,” said Shelby.

      The woman glared at her in exasperation. “You’re not gettin’ nothing without a ticket.”

      “It’s an emerald dress.” Shelby gestured to her neck and shoulders. “Scooped neckline, cap sleeves. I’ll recognize it when I see it.”

      “No ticket. No dress.” The woman turned the key back in the top lock.

      Dallas sighed hard next to Shelby. He handed the woman another bill. “Emerald,” he said. “Scooped neckline. And she’ll recognize it when she sees it.”

      “I’ll pay you back,” Shelby whispered to Dallas as the woman slipped through the door and shut it firmly in their faces.

      “Forget it,” said Dallas. “Greg can—”

      “No. I’ll take care of—”

      “I was going to say Greg can be my errand boy for the next week or so.”

      Shelby glanced up at Dallas’s poker face. A sense of humor? It was hard to tell. Just in case, she responded in a lighthearted tone. “Or I could be your errand boy.”

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