Free American Lease (A Dylan Cold Novel Book 1) by K. D. McAdams

“Report came from down the other side of Monson. Said it was a large golden retriever, a lot like this one. You might want to keep him on a leash if he’s important to you.”
    “Understood.” Dylan did not want to extend the conversation any longer than he had to. Part of him wanted to apologize and express his sadness at the loss of an officer, but he expected that such a condolence would only bring negativity and resentment from the man who believed Dylan to be a criminal.
    “What’s that in your pocket?” the officer asked with a sudden urgency.
    “Huh?” Dylan was surprised with the quick rise in tension.
    “Put your hands up and slowly place them behind your head.” The officer had drawn his weapon and was pointing it directly at Dylan’s chest.
    While doing as he was told, Dylan searched for appropriate words or actions. There were none; this was absurd.
    “Are you carrying any weapons?” the officer asked as he stepped around behind Dylan.
    “No,” Dylan answered curtly.
    “I’m going to pat you down. Can you tell me what I’m going to find in your back pocket?” The officer did not holster his gun.
    “My wallet.” Dylan was starting to worry that they wouldn’t even wait a day before framing him for something.
    The officer roughly checked under Dylan’s armpits and down the left side of his body. After a brief pause to switch the gun to his other hand, the young cop repeated the process on the other side.
    Without warning, Dylan’s’ wallet was removed from his pocket and the officer’s touch disappeared.
    “Any little envelopes or baggies you want to tell me about before I look in this wallet?” the edgy policeman asked.
    “None that are mine.” Dylan mentally kicked himself for not checking through his wallet before he left the house. It was possible that they had planted something when they were done searching his house and realized they couldn’t find anything real.
    The silence was terrifying. Dylan wasn’t sure if he would feel the cold steel of handcuffs or the brief pain of a gunshot. If they had what it took to frame him, why not kill him?
    “I heard you were down at Abbey Holt’s place causing trouble yesterday,” the officer snarled. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re not welcome around here. Don’t go to the farm, don’t go to the diner, and don’t go to the market. None of them want your business, and if you go, I’ll arrest you for trespassing and disturbing the peace.”
    “Got it,” Dylan said loudly before mumbling, “I’ll stop eating.”
    “Your wallet’s clean,” the cop said as he threw Dylan’s billfold on the hood of the cruiser. “You got lucky this time. We’re here, and if you so much as blink funny you’re going down. Is that clear?”
    “Yes sir,” Dylan growled out through clenched teeth.
     
     

Chapter 14
     
    With no job to go to and the whole town ready to pick a fight with him Dylan was left to roam his small basement apartment. He cleaned and organized everything twice, played a video football tournament, and almost wore a hole in the carpet pacing.
    He took Montana for a walk in the woods behind the house. They rarely went there but today it made sense, no chance of bumping into anyone. After wandering for an hour, they were back at the apartment before three and Dylan decided that food would distract him for at least half an hour.
    Dylan went about cooking and eating in a trance-like state. The logistics of running away were not that complicated: the note to Ryan gifting him Montana would be hard to write, the act of leaving his dog was impossible to visualize, empty and close his checking and savings accounts and throwing a few clothes in a duffle was about all he had to do. It would take a morning, or less and hurt for a lifetime.
    He felt bad about leaving Eliza to clean out his apartment, but decided that a few hundred dollars in an envelope left on the counter would more than cover the cost of a couple