Читать книгу Act Of Valor - Dana Mentink - Страница 14

Violet’s phone spiraled out of her hand, clattering to the floor as Joe dropped his bag and grabbed for her arm. She wrenched herself free and lunged toward the break room door. Wild energy fueled her. When he caught up with her again, she fired a kick at his patella and heard his satisfying grunt of pain. He doubled over, grabbing at his knee, and she used the moment to thrust her ID card in its lanyard at the code reader. Her hands shook so badly it didn’t work.

Why did you run here, you fool? The remodeling job left the normally bustling hallway quiet and deserted, no one to hear her scream, no one to help.

She shot a look over her shoulder. Brown loomed behind her, cheeks flushed with exertion, nostrils flared, a grimace filled with violence with no human feeling behind it. There was no question in her mind that he would kill her if she gave him the slightest chance. Were there any construction workers or painters around? A single fellow employee?

Frantically, she tried her ID again, willing her fingers to cooperate. He was only a few yards away now, closing fast. After two agonizing seconds the door clicked open. She shoved it and scrambled inside, attempting to slam it behind her.

To her horror, something prevented it closing—Brown’s booted foot. With everything in her she tried to hold the door closed, her arms rigid and trembling with the effort. Inch by inch he forced it open, one hand reaching through the gap, capturing her around the wrist, digging in.

Yanking free from his grip she scratched at his face, aiming for the eyes. Surprised, he jerked back. She threw all her body weight at the door. It shuddered but did not close. He rammed his boot at it and then he was in, pushing her until she fell backward onto the floor. Crab-walking in terror she looked for something, anything she could use to defend herself. She found nothing.

Towering over her, he smiled, one front tooth sporting a tiny chip. “You stuck your nose in where you shouldn’t have.”

“I called the cops,” she said, throat tight. “They’re on the way.”

“You’ll be dead before they get here.” Again, the smile. “A quick death is better. We could make it last much longer if we wanted to.”

She opened her mouth to scream, but he was on her, rough palm pressed over her mouth. Clawing and twisting she tried to break free, to make it to the door, to knee him, poke his eye, stop her own murder however she could.

He was too strong, deflecting her efforts as though she were a small child instead of a grown woman fighting for her life.

He reached for his pocket.

She would kick out, roll away. Maybe she’d be shot or stabbed but she would go down fighting until she had not one tiny ounce of strength left.

She heard a shrill bark, the sound of scrabbling claws and running feet. He grabbed her chin in his hand, fingers pressing into her flesh. “You butted in to my business. Not gonna leave any witnesses behind to ID me. This won’t be done until you’re dead.” Then he released his grip and charged to the door.

Through her shuddering breaths, she heard another bark. It was Eddie, had to be, and Zach. Would they be gunned down as they sprinted toward the break room? Frantically, she tried to scramble to her feet, but her body systems were offline, legs trembling, lungs gasping for breath, terror charging every nerve and sinew. The best she could do was sit up, head whirling.

Zach slammed through the door with Eddie, gun in hand. Relief made her whimper. Brown must have gotten away without a shoot-out.

When he saw her, his blue eyes went wide and he dropped to a knee at her side. Eddie whined and poked his nose at her shin.

“Vi...how bad is it?”

“I...” she stammered. He was reaching for the radio clipped to his shoulder.

“Don’t move. I’m calling an ambulance. Backup is already rolling, and Carter will be here in two minutes.”

“No,” she finally managed. He stopped as if he’d gotten an electric shock.

“I’m okay.” She finally got the words out.

“No, you’re not. I’m calling.”

She forced her teeth to stop chattering. “Go after him, Zach. He goes by Joe Brown. He had drugs in his suitcase. I saw. He’s wearing a brown leather jacket.”

“Not leaving you.”

Zach reached for the radio again, but she snatched for his wrist, pressing her fingers there and taking comfort in the steady rhythm of his pulse.

“I’m okay. Not hurt.”

He raised a doubtful eyebrow. “You’d say that if you’d been sawed in half.”

She shoved the hair from her face. “New York tough.”

He touched her cheek with a tentative finger. “Griffin tough. You have a red mark. Here.”

The touch made something ache inside, but she brushed him off. “Go do your job,” she said in a voice with only the tiniest break in it, which she hoped he would not notice. “There was another guy. I don’t know if they were together. He had a long braid. My boss, Bill, he escorted him to security and the TSA let him through without scanning his bags.”

“Vi...” He huffed out a breath, broad chest still heaving from his run along the corridor. “Let me help you, wouldja? You could be hurt more than you think.”

She flashed him a cocky smile. “Griffin tough, remember?”

She knew what he was thinking. Jordan, his hero of an older brother, had been tough, too, and now he was dead. Zach’s expression said it all.

With surprising tenderness, he pressed his cheek to her palm. Warmth spread from their point of contact, up her arm, reviving and restoring. She wanted to keep him there, strong jaw, warm skin, the gesture so vulnerable. She yearned to reach out and stroke his thatch of close-cut chestnut hair and block out what had just happened.

“I’m not losing any more family. Not on my watch,” he mumbled into her cupped palm.

Family. You’re like a sister to him, her mind prodded. That’s all. She sucked in a breath and tried to get hold of her glitching emotions. It took all her effort to detach herself from him. “I’m fine. Like I said. Stop babying me.”

Another officer barreled in. Zach brought him up to speed and the officer relayed the info on the radio.

Zach shifted his attention from his colleague to her and back again.

“Go,” she said, tone all business, tipping her chin up and daring him with her glance to disobey.

He gave her one more look, filled with emotions that a tough K-9 cop would never put into words. Concern for a longtime family friend, no doubt. Eagerness to do his job. Guilt at how he’d failed his brother. His gaze wandered her face, lips twitching for a moment with some unspoken thought. Her heart ached to see something else in his countenance, something beyond duty and childhood affection, but he turned away, in pursuit of his quarry.

Part of her prayed he would catch up to Joe Brown.

This won’t be done until you’re dead.

The other part prayed he wouldn’t.

* * *

Fifteen frustrating minutes later Zach met his brother Carter by the ticket counter. The suspect had bolted. Zach noted the disgruntled white shepherd, Frosty, panting at Carter’s side. Fortuitous that Carter, a transit K-9 cop, was at LaGuardia for some training with the TSA employees. The command unit had dogs assigned to various departments throughout the NYPD so most of the time they were not serving in the same spot at the same time. They each had their specific unit duties, which could be preempted if a situation required a particular canine’s abilities. The duties were ever changing, and it was part of the reason Zach loved his job. Even before Carter’s report, Zach could tell by the dog’s dejected demeanor that there had been no suspect taken into custody. Zach felt exactly the same way as the dog. He ground his teeth as his brother spun out the details.

“Witnesses saw a guy matching the description exit the airport heading west. We’re on it. Still trying to work out what happened to the other guy. He didn’t get on a plane, so he must have seen the cop activity and taken off, too.” He cocked his head. “Vi?”

“She says she’s okay. Refused an ambulance.”

Carter quirked a wry smile. “Yeah. Big surprise. I’ll gather Violet’s boss and any other witnesses we can round up. You and Eddie gonna do a sweep?”

“Yeah. Listen, can you pull someone else to start on the statements and go sit with Violet? She’s shaken up, and I want one of us with her.”

His brother nodded. “Ten-four. On my way.”

It made Zach feel infinitely better to know that Carter would be with Violet. For all her brave talk, there was a shadow of something in her eyes that made him wonder if she was as okay as she proclaimed to be. Not that she’d admit anything else under pain of death.

Considering the lowlife who put his hands on her made Zach’s blood heat to near boiling. He forced himself to calm down. Tension was transmitted right down the leash, through the harness to Eddie, and there was no need for that. Eddie had had a difficult start in life, tied to a streetlamp as a puppy one bitter February evening and left to die. Sent to a busy shelter, he’d been rescued by a group that evaluated dogs for potential police service. Eddie’s nose, even as an untrained pup, was stellar. He’d been given his name in honor of fallen NYPD officer Ed Owens. Best of all, Eddie worked for two things: affection and treats. Zach made those treats from scratch. Nothing was too good for Eddie.

Zach bent down and fondled Eddie’s ears, capturing the dog’s muzzle and looking at his sad brown eyes. “You’re my good baby, aren’t you?” he whispered in a singsong voice that he’d never allow anyone else to hear. Then, louder, “Work time.”

Eddie sprang to his feet, twenty-five pounds of get-up-and-go, primed for the search. If Violet was right, maybe her attacker had ditched the drugs somewhere when he heard the cavalry arrive. If there were drugs in the vicinity, Eddie would know it, thanks to his 220 million scent receptors and a ferocious drive to do his job. All that dog talent wrapped in an adorable package. Eddie was a rock star, in Zach’s view, even if he had a two-mile-wide stubborn streak. Just like his handler, Jordy had often said.

“Find the drugs, Eddie.”

The dog put his nose to the floor as they worked their way along the corridor. There was nothing of interest immediately outside the break room. Eddie snuffled along the corridor with that signature beagle trot and tail wag. They headed to the terminal, which the cops had temporarily closed. Irate passengers huffed and complained. He ignored them, easing Eddie through the throng. Another beautiful thing about beagles: they didn’t scare people like some other breeds of police dogs. Eddie was a goodwill ambassador when he wasn’t taking down drug smugglers.

Carter messaged him that they had still not located the first guy who had passed through security. He’d somehow vanished, leading Zach to believe he’d been helped out of the airport by the same crooked employee and possibly Violet’s boss.

Eddie sniffed, nose glued to the floor. Nothing. He shook his ears.

“Come on, boy. Anything?”

They moved on a few paces.

With a cheerful swish of his tail, Eddie waggled his way toward a cleaning cart. The custodian was about to empty a dustpan into the big plastic garbage bin.

An invisible shock went through the dog. Eddie tensed, tail erect, nostrils quivering. Zach could practically feel the animal’s excitement, or maybe it was his own. He tried to keep his breathing even as Eddie circled and sat, the perfect passive response signal. He looked up at Zach.

“Sir, can you hold up a minute?” Zach called.

The custodian jerked in surprise. “Huh?”

“I need you to stop what you’re doing for a moment.”

The guy nodded and stepped away from the trash can. Zach peered in. “May I?” Zach said, pointing to a box of rubber gloves on the cart.

“Knock yourself out.”

Zach pulled on rubber gloves and reached into the can, hauling out the brown leather jacket Violet had described and trying not to crow his triumph. Now he had physical evidence. There might be hair, prints, clues. Zach would bust the dirtbag who’d put his hands on Violet. It wasn’t as good as chasing him down and cuffing him, but it was enough for now.

The custodian’s mouth fell open. “Why would somebody throw away a perfectly good jacket?”

Zach put the pieces into place. Joe Brown was in a hurry, he’d heard Eddie approaching, a dog tracking the scent of the drugs, and he was desperate not to be caught. Eddie bayed long and loud. A sock peeked out of the jacket pocket, reeking with the smell of menthol rub. “He took the drugs out of his suitcase and dumped the jacket as a diversion when he ran,” Zach muttered.

The custodian whistled. “Ain’t that something. He figured your dog couldn’t track the scent of drugs because of the cold rub?”

Zach gave Eddie one of his homemade treats from a pouch at his waist. “He figured wrong.”