Читать книгу Rookie K-9 Unit Christmas - Valerie Hansen, Lenora Worth - Страница 11

ONE

Sean Murphy hated to close his eyes. A terrifying past waited for him in sleep, a past that sometimes invaded even his waking hours. Love for his six-year-old son, Patrick, was what kept him sane, kept him battling to return to normal. Patrick needed him, now more than ever. All they had left was each other.

The St. Louis apartment Sean had rented on his return to the States was small but adequate for the present. The future would take care of itself. At least Sean hoped so. There had been a time when he’d believed God was guiding him through life. Now, he felt adrift.

Fog of sleep dulled his senses, but not so much that he failed to hear a strange sound in the dark. He froze. Listened intently. Heard nothing more. Sighing, he wished he knew how to stop being so jumpy. Every creak of the old building brought irrational fear.

A cadence of soft steps followed. Sean sat bolt upright. “Patrick?”

The sound ceased. Sean slipped out of bed, wishing he still had his rifle and full battle gear. St. Louis might not be Kandahar, but that didn’t mean there was no danger. Yes, his emotions were raw. And, yes, chances were that he was merely imagining a threat. There was only one way to find out. He must see for himself.

Since Patrick’s near-drowning accident in the swimming pool at his maternal grandparents’ estate, the boy had been having trouble with speech as well as motor skills. Therefore, he sometimes sought out his daddy without explanation. That was probably what Sean had heard. Still, he refused to disregard an instinctive warning.

Barefoot, he tiptoed to the open bedroom door and waited in the shadow from the night-light in the hallway. A low mumble reached him. How could Patrick be talking in his sleep when he had so much trouble doing so awake?

Sean pressed his back to the jamb and slowly eased forward. The voices were clear. For an instant he wished they weren’t.

“I ain’t killin’ no kid. You got that?” one person grumbled.

“We aren’t supposed to. Just the father.”

“Fine. What if the kid sees us? What then?”

“Nobody’ll know we’re here if you shut your yap,” the other prowler whispered. “Come on.”

Sean tensed. He was strong, ready to defend himself, but anything might happen if Patrick awoke. The boy’s most frequent utterance was a high-pitched squeal of fright and frustration. If he began to carry on like that, the attackers might change their minds and harm him, too.

Going on the offense was the answer. Sean grabbed the junior baseball bat he’d bought to help Patrick regain coordination and braced himself.

The first man led with his pistol, giving Sean a one-time chance of disarming him. Wood in the child’s bat cracked as Sean brought it down on the assailant’s wrist. The man dropped the gun, doubled up and howled. His partner didn’t wait for him to recover. Instead, he fired blindly in the dark, then turned tail and ran.

Sean dove for the gun and connected. Its owner leaped onto his back and tried to wrest it away. He might have succeeded if he’d had both hands in working order—or if his cohort had stuck around to help.

Sean continued to struggle with the man in the confines of the narrow hallway. His temple hit a doorjamb. Flashes of light, like exploding mortar shells, blinded him. Noises of war filled his ears. The acrid smell of gunpowder and the portent of death seemed to be everywhere.

A trickle of blood wet his close-cropped hair as survival instinct locked his fingers around the cold metal in his hands. At that moment, nothing could have pried open his grip.

There was a muted crash, then a tinkling, rustling sound. Clarity returned enough to suggest that the first man had stumbled over the Christmas tree he and Patrick had just decorated.

A child screamed.

Patrick!

Lunging, Sean knocked the intruder aside and struggled to his feet, gun in hand. That was enough. The injured man scrambled away, rounded the corner into the living room and disappeared out the door.

Sean wanted to follow. To capture at least one of the thugs who had declared their intent to kill him. But he didn’t. Patrick needed him more. The child came first. Always had. Always would.

So, now what?

* * *

Police officer Zoe Trent had recently graduated from Canyon County K-9 Training Center in Desert Valley, Arizona, with her Belgian Tervuren, Freya. Being partnered with a specialized K-9 had been a goal of hers ever since completing the police academy. Now that it was time to return to her regular assignment in Mesa, Arizona, however, she knew she was going to miss the new friends she’d made during the twelve-week K-9 training program.

Wishing there were an easy way to keep in touch, and knowing they would surely drift apart as normal life resumed, she’d struggled to fall asleep tonight. A Christmas carol ringtone on her cell phone startled her awake.

Freya barked to accompany her muttered, “Hello?”

“Zoe?”

“Yes.” Coming alert, she raised on one elbow.

“It’s me again. Sean Murphy. Sorry to bother you, but you did tell me to call if I needed anything.”

Instant worry for her college chum infused her. “Of course. What’s wrong? You sound awful. Have you had another PTSD flashback?”

“It’s worse than that.”

Her dark eyes narrowed, and she raked stray tendrils of long brown hair away from her face with her free hand. “How can it be worse? It’s not Patrick again, is it?”

“He’s okay, so far. There’s nobody here I can trust, and I really need help. Somebody’s trying to kill me.”

“What?” How could she express doubt without jeopardizing their seasoned friendship? “Are you sure? I mean, you told me you’d been a little confused since your medical discharge.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he countered. “I had the same misgivings. I’ve been awake for hours since this happened, trying to figure it out. Two guys broke into my apartment, and I fought with one of them.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Of course. You know how it is in a big city. If the prowlers had succeeded in shooting me, I’d have gotten more attention.”

“The men were armed?”

“Yes. One is now sporting a broken wrist, I hope. I disarmed him and he ran. So did his partner.”

Zoe paused to choose her words carefully. “Okay. You had a break-in. What makes you think these guys had murder on their minds?”

“I heard them say they were there to kill me.” He hesitated, then added, “I know I wasn’t hallucinating because of what happened next. When I hit one on his gun hand, the other fired and left a bullet in the ceiling. The cops took all the evidence. Since nothing was stolen and nobody got shot, they acted like they didn’t hold out much hope to catch the guys.”

“Unless the ballistics match another case,” she said. “Do you think these assailants might have been old friends of Sandra’s?” Zoe hated to bring up his late wife but felt compelled to ask. After all, the woman had overdosed while her innocent son was floundering in the deep end of a swimming pool.

“I can’t see why drug dealers would have it in for me,” Sean said. “Their business was with Sandra.”

“Agreed. So, how can I help you?”

“You can get me into that service dog program you mentioned when I was first discharged. I need to get my emotions under better control if I intend to survive more real life attacks.”

“Okay. I’ll see the director, Ellen Foxcroft, and put your name on her waiting list.”

“That’s not enough. Not after last night.”

Zoe could tell from his tone that he was approaching an emotional crossroad and wished they were face-to-face so she could judge his condition more accurately. “Are you and Patrick out of danger now?”

“Temporarily. I threw some clothes and stuff into the pickup, and I’ve been driving around, thinking, ever since the police left. I can’t take him back to the apartment. Whoever came after me last night may try again.”

“What about going to your in-laws? They have plenty of room for both of you, don’t they?”

“I’d rather hole up in a cardboard box on the street than rely on them,” Sean said. “The Shepherds were so concerned with excusing Sandra’s addiction and transferring blame, they laid it all on me.”

“Okay. Tell you what,” Zoe said, hoping her growing concern was masked, “why don’t you come on down to Desert Valley to visit me? I was going to head back to Mesa soon, but there’s no hurry. I don’t start my new assignment until after the first of the year, and the Desert Valley PD can use a few substitute cops here while their regulars take holiday time off.”

“What good will a few weeks do me?”

“It’ll give you a chance to chill out, for one thing. Besides, once Ellen meets you and Patrick and realizes how special your needs are, maybe she’ll make an exception and work you in.”

The quiet on the other end of the line troubled her. The Sean Murphy she’d met in college was nothing like this traumatized widower. Coming home from combat with PTSD was bad enough without having to face the death of his spouse and near loss of his only child.

“All right,” Sean finally said.

She almost cheered. Instead, she said, “I’m looking forward to it. And to meeting Patrick.”

Silence again. Then, “He’s not himself yet. He may never be. Doctors keep reminding me there are no guarantees.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Anger tinged his reply. “Of course it does.”

“No,” Zoe told him tenderly. “It doesn’t. He’s your son and you love him. That’s enough for me.”

Although Sean’s goodbye was terse, she could tell he was touched by her total acceptance. She didn’t have to see the boy to know he merited a good life with the parent who was willing to sacrifice anything to help him. Everyone deserved a fighting chance at happiness.

Even babies who are born with fatal birth defects, she added, blinking rapidly. She had not wept for her nameless baby brother since she was five years old and a stranger had come to take him away. Mama had cried then, but Daddy had stood dry-eyed, staring at the tiny, imperfect bundle wrapped in the blue blanket.

That was the last time Zoe had been permitted to talk about the absent baby. It was as if he had never been born, which was apparently exactly what her parents had wanted.

The sense of injustice and concern for the helpless had begun then and had built throughout her formative years, perhaps even directing her path into law enforcement. She didn’t trust easily, but she did have a soft heart for the downtrodden.

Like Patrick. And like his daddy.

* * *

Sean’s next stop was the bank, where he withdrew all but a few dollars of his savings via the drive-through window. If there was any chance he was being tracked or followed, cash would be a necessity.

And speaking of being followed...

A black SUV seemed to be dogging them. It was back several car lengths, yet changed lanes whenever he did. His hands tightened on the wheel. His little boy was strapped in, of course, but that didn’t mean it would be safe to take evasive action, particularly if excessive speed was involved. Where were the cops when you needed them?

Sean whipped around a corner, determined to find a patrol car or police station. He checked his mirrors. The SUV was gone. Had he merely imagined it trailing them? Imagined was the key, wasn’t it? His mind was good at seeing enemies around every corner and behind every door, the way they’d been in Afghanistan. His body had come home, but part of his mind was still over there, still caught up in the fighting.

He couldn’t afford to show signs of instability. If the authorities concluded he was an unfit parent, they might take Patrick away. Worse, with no other close relatives available, they might place him with his negligent maternal grandparents.

The only thing that mattered to Sean was his own assurance that Patrick was absolutely safe with him. If he’d thought otherwise, he’d have stepped back and voluntarily relinquished custody.

Glancing in the rearview mirror at his curly haired look-alike strapped into the narrower backseat he smiled. “You getting hungry, buddy?”

Patrick nodded.

“How about a quick burger? You like those, don’t you?”

Another nod.

“Sorry,” Sean said, urging speech the way the therapist had. “I don’t quite understand you. Can you say yes or no?”

The little boy looked back at his daddy with eyes as blue as the sky, smiled and said, “No.”

“Did you just make a joke?” Sean’s eyes misted.

Patrick’s grin spread as he said, “Yes,” and Sean was so excited by the possibility he almost let his pickup truck drift to the curb.

In moments, however, his pulse returned to normal. Patrick began to chant, “Yes, no, yes, no,” as if neither word meant anything to him.

Monitoring the traffic behind him, Sean picked up some fast food, then headed for the highway that would take him southwest to Desert Valley. He might not have an abundance of friends willing to stand with him, but at least he had one.

He’d checked his side-and rearview mirrors repeatedly and had seen no sign of the SUV that had worried him before. Nevertheless, the sooner he reached Zoe Trent, the better.

* * *

“Sean’s an old college friend who just got out of the army on a medical discharge,” Zoe told lead K-9 unit trainer Sophie Williams. “I was hoping you could have a word with Ellen Foxcroft and see if she can work him in to the therapy dog program.”

“And leave who else out?” Sophie was scowling.

Zoe knew her position as a rookie K-9 officer from Sophie’s most recent graduating class gave her very little influence. Nevertheless, she had to keep trying. “Maybe, since I’ve offered to hang around DVPD until after the holidays and sub, I could volunteer my services to you in my downtime and we could squeeze in an extra student and dog. There’s no place else I need to be, and I don’t have to report to work with Freya until after the first of the year.”

Looking for moral support, Zoe laid her hand on the Belgian Tervuren’s head and scratched behind her silky, erect ears. Fellow students had teased her about being assigned to a dog whose fur almost matched her own dark brown hair. That was fine with her.

“All right. I’ll speak to Ellen for you,” Sophie said.

Zoe thought she’d better give Sophie a little more information about Sean, including that he and his son would be staying with her. She explained about the PTSD. “And he’s a widower. His wife overdosed while she was supposed to be watching their son, Patrick. The boy survived almost drowning but was left with brain damage. It’s a really sad story.”

“Well, sounds like he has a good friend in you,” Sophie said. “All right. As soon as your friend gets settled, bring him in for an interview. What do you intend to do with Sean’s son while he’s being assessed and maybe trained?”

“I thought I’d see if Marilyn and Josie would accept him in their day care. Patrick does have special needs, though.”

Sophie nodded. “Lily likes it there, and Ryder and I are pleased with the facility. She’s not my stepdaughter yet but it won’t be long.”

“Hey, if the police chief approves the place and so do you, I’m sure that’ll put Sean at ease.” Encouraged and uplifted by her trainer’s support, Zoe laid a hand lightly on Sophie’s arm. “Thanks. This means a lot to me.”

“Don’t thank me,” Sophie said. “Nothing has happened yet.”

“But it will, God willing,” Zoe countered with a grin. “This is the perfect time of the year. Patrick can go to Sunday school and maybe even participate with other kids in the Christmas pageant.”

“We can always use another shepherd or angel,” Sophie said. “Lily and I are playing Magi. I’m working on camel costumes for Ryder’s old dog Titus and another yellow Lab. Probably Tristan McKeller’s Jesse.” She paused. “Come to think of it, Tristan’s a former soldier. Maybe he can offer your friend some advice.”

Zoe stopped smiling and shook her head slowly, thoughtfully. Tristan, a Desert Valley police officer, was a good guy, but... “I don’t know. Sean may not want to air his problems. It will all come out if and when he qualifies for the Canine Assistance program, of course, but since I didn’t ask if I could tell anyone else, would you mind keeping the story to yourself?”

“Of course,” Sophie said. “You did mention he had some kind of trouble in St. Louis, though. If it follows him here, I will need to share his story with Ryder.”

“I understand. And thanks.” Sighing, Zoe remembered her old friend Sean and his boyish good looks. She’d had a crush on him from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him, and when he’d proudly announced his plans to marry coed Sandra Shepherd, it had nearly broken her heart.

Hopefully whoever broke into his apartment doesn’t figure out where he’s gone, she thought, realizing she did believe his story of the attack. If thugs came after him here, their actions would certainly be taken seriously. The advantage she—and Sean—had while in Desert Valley was her close ties with the police department and the Canyon County K-9 Training Center.

Nobody was going to pull the wool over the eyes of the officials here, let alone fool trained dogs whose senses were so well honed.

The previous batch of rookies and their K-9 partners had helped nab a serial killer. If anyone should be scared of coming to Desert Valley, it should be criminals.

Zoe smiled. Strangers here stood out like bright blossoms on a Cholla cactus in December. Nobody was going to bother Sean and his son. Not while she and her friends were on duty.