“Don’t even start,” he said. “My parents have a wicked sense of humor, and believe me, I’ve heard every possible joke. You can imagine what shooting practice was like at the academy.” Rick raised his eyebrows. “Hey, Ricochet...see if you can hit three with one shot!” He deepened his voice and intoned sternly, “A Ricochet is deadly on the firing range,” then shook his head. “Yeah, such wit in my class.”

I sneezed three times and wished for a tissue. I couldn’t possibly swipe my nose on my shirt in front of him. Fortunately, his cell phone started playing the “Cops” theme...bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do. I laughed and he grinned, turning away. Finally, a chance to temporarily stop my nasal river.

“O’Shea.” He listened for a full minute. “Good,” he said. “Thanks, Craig. Bring him back here.” He shoved his phone into a jean pocket. “Your culprit is a very frightened sixteen year old. You’re lucky, though—daddy bought him insurance.” Rick leaned against my sad little car, crossing his arms. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“I’m Ronni Johnson. Thank you for helping me.”

“Oh, I have a weakness for damsels in distress. Speed Racer took off as you exited the bank, so I tried to get a good look at his car. The kid was driving like he’d just robbed the place, but his maroon-accented bumper led me to examine your Honda.” He paused and glanced at his watch. “I have to get into the bank to work, but Deputy Simmons will be here with a teenager in serious need of an underwear change shortly. Nice meeting you, Ronni.” He didn’t move, though. His eyes were locked on mine and I’m sure he was enjoying melting me with them.

“You work here?” I blurted.

“Security. Helps pay for my vices.”

I wondered what those were. “You’re not in a uniform. Do you change inside?”

“They like me plainclothes and undercover. I mostly sit around and steal candy from the desks,” he replied.

“Thank you again, Rick. I’m very grateful.” I was getting tired of holding my stomach in. He was in great shape, and I kind of hated him for it. Did everyone but me work out constantly?

He saluted and gave me the smile he must reserve for accident victims with severe snot problems. It was beautiful and my heart thudded. I have never known how to flirt—it’s not in my repertoire—but I heard myself say, “If I can thank you properly by buying you and Mrs. O’Shea dinner, I’d like to.”

“There’s no Mrs. O’Shea. Just me and Kitty O’Shea.”

“Kitty?”

“Kitty’s my bulldog. I have my parents’ sense of humor. You like ribs?”

I despise them. “Yes, love ‘em.”