The Double Target

Monday, April 1

Walking the boss's huge English setter was never easy, the way he frolicked and yanked on his leash, almost pulling her arms out of the sockets at times.  Sydney picked up her pace, trying to beat a rainstorm.  A moment ago the sun had been shining.  It figures, she thought.   As far as she was concerned, the whole year had been a dismal washout.

With raindrops beginning to fall, Clash finally sniffed out a spot to do his business.  While Sydney waited, a gust of wind picked up a piece of newspaper and wrapped it around her ankle.  Nobody cared about the park anymore.  The litter problem was getting worse every day, not only in the park but also in her life.  No doubt about it, Mr. Griffin was a cranky old blemish she could do without, except for the paycheck he gave her every week.

The rain upgraded.  Soaked and shivering, and Sydney rushed toward the street.  Suddenly Clash bolted and took off, chasing after a Great Dane.   Streaking behind him, she tried to hang on.  Then wham!  She crashed into the man pulled by the Dane. 

"Sorry!" she exclaimed, quickly easing out of his steadying grip and looking up.

The stranger's eyes were fastened lustfully on her wet T-shirt.  He stepped back and ogled her running shorts, continuing slowly down her long, bare legs to her tennis shoes.  His roving eyes made no bones about what he was thinking.

"A pinup moment," he swore, sighing and thumping his chest like a demented idiot.  "Where's my camera when I need one?"

In her opinion, he was as pathetic as the dogs.  Swiping rain from her eyes, Sydney turned and leered at the dogs.  The impassioned beasts were panting and sniffing circles around each other.

"This is the last straw," she muttered soulfully.  "I quit."

"Have a heart, sugar," the man's deep voice admonished her.  "At least they're honest.  It's amazing what a little rain does for you girls."

Sydney whirled and eyed the Great Dane owner almost levelly.  "Look, mister, the last thing I need right now is some creep bugging me.  Please get your dog and disappear." 

He licked the moisture around his mouth and grinned lazily.  He had the careless charm of a beachcomber, a type most girls compete for, but not her.  Under his titillated gaze, she felt stark naked. 

"Let it slide," she counseled herself and started grappling after the leash she had dropped when she had slammed into the grinning idiot.  "Come on, you shameless hellhound."  Clash glanced at her and scampered after the Great Dane.  Sydney was tempted to walk off and leave the dog in the park.  "Hasn't anybody noticed it's raining?  Come on, Clash!"

"Guess I'd better help you," the stranger said and patted the leg of his soppy jeans.  "Heel, Lucy!"

The Great Dane instantly obeyed.  Still, Clash refused to leave the Dane to go with her.

"Admit it, sugar, you need me," the stranger said drolly.  "My car is right up here.  Come on, I'll drop you wherever you're going."

Sydney looked where he was pointing and saw his beat-up old Chevy with punctures approximating bullet holes along the side.  "I don't need you that much."

He walked to his car with his reluctant dog while Clash stayed on her scent, yanking Sydney behind him.  The stranger ordered his dog into the car and slammed the door.

"Sure you won't change your mind?  The bottom is about to drop out up there," he observed, holding up his palm and glancing jerkily skyward.  Grinning suggestively, he gave her clinging T-shirt another roving analysis. 

"What are you, some sex-crazed pervert?  Please give me a break and go," Sydney pleaded, trying to control Mr. Griffin's dog as he