Ruff Trouble

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  Chapter 3

  Sam swivelled in his seat and stared at the door though he didn’t have far to look. They consigned the front rows to the award nominees. To the side sat family. Friends occupied the back. Even his and Bobby’s previous ranks didn’t take them more than five rows in.

  “You’ll get a crook neck.”

  Bobby’s complaint didn’t fool Sam. “I can tell you’re worried.”

  “Not…worried. There may be many reasons Chantelle is late.”

  “It’s not like her.”

  Minute twitches in Bobby’s expression revealed his agreement. He held his phone in his open palm but at once reached a decision, finger flying over the screen. “I’ve sent her a text.”

  Two minutes went by. Five. Sam realised he was chewing on his lower lip, stopped. The phone buzzed in Bobby’s hand; he had it on silent.

  Sam gazed ahead, trying not to peek, but as silent seconds ticked on, he glanced sideways, noted Bobby’s frown. “She’s on her way,” Bobby muttered but he didn’t seem happy.

  “What’s—”

  “Bobby Pooch?” A man at the end of the row interrupted Sam’s question. Gordon Atkins held out a hand and Bobby rose to grip it in a shake. Sam stood and stepped forward, reaching past Bobby and over the other two occupants of the same line of seats, nodding to Atkins in welcome and the other two in apology. Atkins peered further along as if expecting to spot another face. Rightly so.

  “Chantelle’s on her way,” Bobby said, a touch of apology in his tone.

  “Well, well, well.” Atkins’ expression changed from…puzzlement? He exhibited a warm welcome. Sam resisted sniffing the Atkins’ scent, but something sat ill with the man. “It’s a pleasure to see you here.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Bobby gave his ex-commanding officer a genuine look of respect. “An amazing thing you did.”

  “Oh…” Atkins’ came across as dismissive. “All part of the job. Thank you for coming.” He shook Bobby’s hand again and continued to his seat near the front.

  Bobby and Sam sat back down. “Did something about that exchange strike you as odd?”

  “Yes.” Bobby replied as the chair of the Metropolitan Police Federation stepped to the podium. As the ceremony began Sam failed to shake an insistent itch. Something was wrong.

  As time went on, he kept glancing at the empty seat at his side, the one he should have sat in, while the uncomfortable chair that should have been Chantelle’s numbed his backside.

  * * * *

  The Metropolitan Police Commissioner dished out the awards until at long last Gordon Atkins took the podium. “We are all humbled and honoured by this recognition. As any officer would, we did what we needed to do, as part of our jobs. But to receive an award…one which goes to those who are outstanding on the force, is an achievement that will live, I hope, not only in our hearts, but in the hearts of all officers who put their lives on the line every day, to protect and to serve all those who require our help.”

  Following a round of applause, the commissioner returned to the stand. “These heroic officers detained and arrested a suspect who gave every sign of being a threat. They put themselves in harm’s way despite believing there was a genuine risk to life and limb. They are a prime example of why we hold these award ceremonies every year. In a job so often taken for granted, overlooked, a job which receives bad press, we need to acknowledge selfless and courageous acts, actions that represent the best of what the police service has to offer. Thank you all for attending this year.”

  As the ceremony ended, everyone rose and clapped. Bobby grabbed Sam’s wrist and pulled him out of the row toward the door as people moved out, mingling, to talk, and to congratulate.

  “Shouldn’t we stop to speak to Atkins’ again?” Though he asked, Sam knew they would do no such thing. Bobby didn’t reply and Sam increased his pace to keep up. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m…not sure, but….” Bobby handed over his phone. Sam read Chantelle’s text. “Do you notice what I saw?”

  Now Sam’s face tightened into a frown. He read the text twice as they hurried along heading out of the building. Took a few more seconds before realisation dawned. “She’s not this verbose.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  The text rambled on. Shopping, traffic, carried away talking to her friends, but it ended with her saying she was on her way. Chantelle would have cut to the chase with more accuracy, stated she was five or fifteen minutes away.

  “Didn’t click with me at first. The text said she was coming, so I took it to be true. Then with the ceremony…” Bobby glanced back, as if troubled by something else. The same sense of unease shifted through Sam, impossible to identify. “Damn. I should have pulled us out sooner. We should have left.”

  Sam shared the same urgency…now. Had for a while. Bobby was right, but that’s why hindsight was a hideous beast. The man had his phone to his ear having dialled Chantelle’s number. There was no answer.

  They made their way back to the hotel as fast as possible.

  * * * *

  “Where is she?” Bobby spoke under his breath, the question rhetorical—a plea to the universe.

  “There’s no forced entry. Nothing out of place.” Sam returned from checking out the bathroom. “Her toothbrush is still here.”

  Though saying so sounded crazy in the circumstances, it made perfect sense. Check whether there were any signs of force or violence. Search for clues whether a person had gone on the run with free will. If they had, they often took clothes, cash, and their toothbrush. Sam reacted, going on instinct, as Bobby would if his skin didn’t tingle, and feel tight, as if stretched over his bones. He fought to breathe. He let the phrase he didn’t want to contemplate ease into his mind.

  Assess the crime scene.

  Oh God.

  “Easy. Take it easy. We don’t know nothing’s wrong, not for definite.”

  Sam came to his side, lay a hand on his shoulder where Bobby stood, bent over, hands braced on his knees, eyes shut.

  No air. Why was there no air? Who or what had sucked the oxygen from the room?

  “Can you sense anything?”

  Took a moment for Sam’s meaning to sink in. Bobby straightened, forced down a steadying breath, and opened his eyes, sniffed. “I can smell perfume and cleaning products. Housekeeping no doubt. There’s nothing else. Not that I can detect.” His panic might interfere though. “You’re as good at this as me now, maybe better.”

  “I know. Thought it best we both check. Safer. Less chance of missing anything.” Sam breathed in, lifting his head. “No. Nothing. Same as you. She was…in a hurry, but that’s all. I can’t catch any scent of fear.”

  Bobby closed his eyes and tried again. The husky part of him had the same senses as any dog, his ability to smell acute. “She was…ticked off a little.” A grin froze on his lips as he refused to give in to it. That’s my girl. “There’s no alarm. No distress.”

  “Something made her late. Maybe the shopping like her text said.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “There’s something wrong with the text, which means either she didn’t send it or she sent it under duress.”

  Bobby wanted to punch Sam in the face for sounding so clinical, aware the real cause was stress. Fear for Chantelle hiked up his need for violence. He wouldn’t take it out on Sam, didn’t want to. Good thing, in fact, to keep a clear head.

  Get it together. Come on, Bobby. You’re better than this.

  “If whatever happened didn’t occur here, it must have been after she left.”

  Sam walked over to the shopping bags. Her clothes from the morning still lay on the bed so she’d changed, been on her way.

  “We need to take this to the street.” First Bobby moved to the wardrobe. “Go to your room, get changed.” They’d booked two interconnecting rooms so as not to raise eyebrows. Without Bobby having to explain, Sam moved at a run.

  Five minutes later both men exited the ho
tel, having exchanged their suits for jeans and T-shirts. Both wore trainers. Both carried a jacket. They didn’t know how long this would take.

  “Anything?”

  Bobby struggled to concentrate. The way his heart plummeted when he enquired at the desk whether Chantelle had left a message for him only to be told no, soured everything, including his sense of smell. “You?”

  “Crap.” Sam shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. “I never imagined…”

  Though the sentence trailed off, he didn’t need to explain. A hot day. Dusty. People jostled for space. Spoke on phones, shouted at one another. Cars horns blared, fought to pass every other car on the road, grumbled by.

  “It’s like an orchestra of the damned.”

  Bobby would have laughed at Sam’s description on any other day. This day…the sights, sounds, smell combined to frustrate him. Sweat. Aftershave. A hint of baby powder. Dog’s mess someone should have their face rubbed in for not clearing up. The rotting contents of a nearby bin. Baking cheese from a pizza place. Over all that motor oil and petrol. “I can’t even tell which direction she took.”

  “I can.”

  Sam’s tone caught his attention. The man’s stance changed. Bobby froze, thoughts whirling. “You can?” Had she called a cab? He’d need to go back inside and ask them, though she might have used her own phone. Or did she stick to her plan to take the train? “The station?” He circled Sam until he could peer into his eyes.

  Sam nodded, gaze unfocused, his now amber eyes staring right through Bobby.

  Chapter 4

  The two hurried along, Bobby pausing once to take out his sunglasses from his jacket pocket and slip them over Sam’s eyes. If anyone believed the action strange, he didn’t stick around to find out. Sam didn’t respond, but he hadn’t done more than to direct them for the last few minutes. Hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t blinked. No one stopped them to ask what the fuck was up with Sam’s peepers. This was London. Even if someone noticed, Bobby doubted they would care. People wore what they liked and if they wanted amber eyes all they’d need were the right contact lenses. Bobby wore one to conceal his one blue eye, to make a matching brown pair. Bobby’s decision to cover Sam’s eyes was as much for his own sake more than the risk of someone noticing. Though Sam’s change was his fault, Bobby still found those amber eyes creepy as hell. Chantelle did too, though they’d never say so. Sam didn’t pull the glasses off or complain about them. He appeared to not notice he wore them. He moved again as Bobby walked.

  He scurried by Sam’s side not saying a word, while Sam remained focused. They pivoted right marking the path to the station. At the end they’d need to cross the street and…

  A sense of loss made Bobby stop, spin, accept Sam no longer walked with him. He hurried back the way he came, catching Sam already retracing his steps. He walked two-thirds back along the length of the street, paused, paced a stretch, and came to a halt. A woman muttered a curse as she had to step off the pavement but Sam didn’t move.

  “What is it?” Bobby stifled the urge to pull Sam along. Resisted saying the station is this way. If Sam stopped, he did so for a reason.

  “There was someone else…here. She paused, likely to talk. The two of them carried on.” Sam swivelled his head to the left, checking the street, crossed the road as he set off. Bobby ran after him. Keeping level with Sam’s hurried strides proved more difficult than it should.

  Bobby resisted questions until they’d moved two streets to the left, away from the station. Why would Chantelle change direction?

  Sam stopped at the entrance to a quieter residential road. “He brought her here.”

  The phrase blood turning cold never meant so much to Bobby as it did then. She’s a supe. She can take care of herself. She’ll be fine. Bobby had believed the same of himself when mown down by a car. He’d healed but only because he shifted, outing himself to Sam. Unwanted memories winged him away to times past when two brothers, Charles and Carl Manning, had hunted Bobby and hurt Sam for revenge. Because of those incidents, Carl Manning was dead, and Charles was in a mental institution gibbering about monsters no one believed existed. The ‘monster’ he’d seen was Sam after the change, instigated by Bobby to save his life from the horrific injuries Sam had sustained at Charles’s hands.

  Both brothers were no longer part of the picture so they couldn’t be at the heart of Chantelle’s disappearance. Besides, too soon to jump to conclusions, but all cops had their share of enemies. Might be someone else, some criminal they had arrested at some point; anyone may have learned they were in town and done something to Chantelle. Anything was possible.

  They walked a few hundred yards. Sam stopped. A lip curled. A thin growl trickled out. His hands clawed fingers wide. Nails lengthened. Bobby glanced in both directions, stepped in close, and took hold of Sam’s arm.

  “Not here. Not now.” God help them if Sam changed now. What Bobby had made of him wasn’t human or animal but both. He didn’t transform the same way Bobby and Chantelle did. Bobby stepped in front of Sam trying to fill his senses with his scent. He’d kiss him right here in the street, not that anyone was around as a witness, but if someone noticed, all they’d see was two men making out, a not so uncommon sight these days. They’d be ignored, or suffer applause or abuse, the least of Bobby’s concerns. “Sam. Come back to me.”

  “I’ve not gone away.”

  Bobby breathed in relief, a relaxed moment all too brief.

  “Someone took her.”

  “What? What are you on about?” Chantelle was strong. “How?”

  “There’s…” Sam pushed Bobby back, circled his head, sniffing. “There was a car…a vehicle of some sort. Maybe a van. Maybe diesel. Her scent stops here.”

  “You’re sure?” Though he didn’t doubt Sam, Bobby had to ask. He tried to sniff out what Sam told him but, although the smell of London had lessened, his nerves were too taut.

  You can do this.

  He had done once before. He’d tracked for Sam when the man had been taken by Charles Manning, but in the countryside where there were fewer distractions, and he’d controlled his panic. He had to do the same now.

  He broke away from Sam, searching for clues. The two men paced the length of the street for another half hour until Bobby was sure someone must have spotted them and might call the police. They resembled wannabe car thieves. Still no one who walked by, of which there were few, stopped to enquire what they were doing. One man gave them an inquisitive glance before getting into his car and driving off.

  Decent neighbourhood. One of the posher residential streets with resident-only parking permits. Had the person with the car or van belonged here?

  “This is useless.” Though he didn’t want to admit it he had little choice. He made his way back to Sam past the point where Sam first stopped…came to a halt. Something lay in the gutter, a strip of fabric Bobby didn’t recognise but when he picked it up, holding it under his nose, and breathed in his senses swam with Chantelle’s scent. So dizzy with ‘her’ was he, Bobby came to, swaying, Sam’s hard grip around his bicep steadying him.

  “She must have bought this today.” He gave Sam the scarf though reluctant to part with it even for a second. As though by giving it over he was letting her go.

  Sam lifted the scarf to his nose as Bobby watched both ways, the action to clear his head but…what did they look like: two men standing in the road, sniffing a woman’s scarf?

  “There’s something else. Something…metallic? No. Medicinal.” Sam whipped off the sunglasses. His eyes were back to normal. “Some drug.”

  If Sam hadn’t still held him, Bobby was sure he would have passed out.

  * * * *

  “Forgive the intrusion, sir. We need to see you.” Despite the urgency thrumming through his veins, Bobby kept his voice low and did his best not to panic.

  Gordon Atkins frowned, his expression questioning, but he gave a slight nod. “In my office.”

  They followed him through.

  “
Something I can do for you fellas?” Gordon walked around to the other side of his desk but didn’t take his seat. As he remained standing, so too did Bobby and Sam. “Not that I mind, but I’m surprised to see you…twice in one day.”

  Bobby and Sam exchanged a knowing silent glance. Why was Gordon surprised? He’d invited them…Hadn’t he?

  “Is this official business?” Gordon prompted.

  “Yes, though…” Bobby shook his head knowing what Gordon would say. “Chantelle may have gone missing.”

  “Missing?” A hint of shock lifted Gordon’s tone and brought the frown back to his face. He kicked out his chair and sat, waving Bobby and Sam to occupy seats on the other side of his desk. “Since when?”

  “That’s the problem. About three hours ago.”

  Gordon blinked. “You don’t need me to tell you what I have to say.”

  No. Bobby didn’t. Enough missing person reports had passed over his desk in his time as an officer. “Yeah, I know. She’s an adult, and it needs to be twenty-four hours.” That wasn’t strictly true, but unless he had more evidence than intuition, it remained a grey area. He couldn’t tell Atkins they’d followed their noses.

  “Do you suspect foul play?”

  Bobby hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Yet you’re not sure?”

  “It’s more a case of a lack of proof,” Sam piped in. “Call it a hunch if you will.”

  “Based on what?”

  “On knowing someone.” They had more than that to go on, but how could he tell Gordon he and Sam had tracked Chantelle to where they believed someone had abducted her? If he said they’d traced her to where her smell disappeared, replaced by diesel and some form of medication, the man would think him nuts.

  “Did you argue?”

  When they were both on the force Bobby and Chantelle had needed to hide their relationship. That was no longer the case. “No. Nothing of the sort.”

  “They’re very close.”

  Gordon’s gaze shifted to Sam who returned the stare for a moment before looking down. “And where do you fit in to all this?”