Grayce awakened herself and jumped out of bed. She had to shake out the night terrors, shake out the sensation that her world was spinning out of control.
Usually, she could control her dreams. In her work as an energy healer, she absorbed her client’s emotions, fears, and illnesses. She processed and released their disturbed energy in her dreams, restoring her balance, replenishing herself. Since the wharf fire, her dream world had become disrupted. She had to regain her equilibrium or she wouldn’t be able to work. Or heal.
Chapter Six
Assistant Chief Stewart Maclean came down the hallway before Davis had time to make it into his office.
“You’ve got a witness to the fire?” Maclean asked.
“And a good morning to you, Officer Maclean.”
“I told you to keep me informed.”
“There’s nothing to report,” Davis said.
Maclean leaned on the door jamb. “Well, what did the witness see?”
“She saw a man carrying a duffel bag. It may have been the torch or she may have seen one of many fishermen on the wharf.”
A woman?” Maclean asked.
He bristled at the idea of Maclean knowing anything about Dr. Walters. “She didn’t see anything, just a guy walking into the fog.”
“Send me her statement. Anything else I need to know?”
“This fire just doesn’t look like the work of any of our regulars. It’s too good.”
“Really?” Maclean stared at Davis, waiting for more.
“The calculated explosion to burn one shed makes me think the guy knew what he was doing. The question is, why an isolated shed?”
Maclean’s beady eyes seemed to get smaller. “Go on.”
“I’m planning to go through the list of our fired or should I say retired firefighters to see if anyone fits the bill. Do you want me to send you the list?”
“No. I know the losers list.”
“Peterson and Benson were really good firefighters.” He felt a need to defend the men, even if their personal lives were a mess.
Emerging from the next room, Niles Olsen joined Davis and Maclean. “What about Peterson?” At six foot eight inches, the department’s chaplain had to lean down to participate in the conversation.
“Davis thinks that one of our bottom feeders like Peterson might be behind the wharf fire,” Maclean said.
“I said that the wharf fire has the markings of a pro and I need to rule out our ex-firefighters. I hope it isn’t one of our own,” Davis said.
“Peterson isn’t a fire starter. And with counseling, he may have learned techniques to control his anger.” Niles never gave up on any person in the department.
Maclean’s lips twisted into a look of contempt and his voice got rougher. “He got busted twice for domestic violence before I kicked his ass out of the department. No counselor’s going to change his behavior.”
Davis gave Niles a small nod out of Maclean’s view. Maclean didn’t believe in any “new-age counseling bullshit.”
Niles straightened his massive frame. “I don’t think you should give up on a man because he’s made a mistake. We’ve all done things we regret.”
“Niles, you’re burdened by regrets?” Maclean never missed the opportunity to probe and jab with his razor-sharp tongue.
The Norwegian’s fair skin turned a bright red. “My mistakes aren’t relevant to this conversation.” Niles was no pushover. “My belief in a merciful God helps my regrets.”
Maclean snorted. “Probably why you’re the chaplain and not me.”
Davis wanted to jump in and protect Niles, the finest in the department. But his friend didn’t need his help in handling Maclean. “Forget Peterson. What about Redmayne or Conerton?”
He hated raising questions about the men, labeling them as possible criminals, but Niles and Maclean knew more about the fired men’s personal lives than he did.
Maclean rolled his eyes upward. “Redmayne? That stoner is lighting joints not fires. Sounds like another desperate theory.”
“Niles, what do you think about Conerton?” Davis asked.
“The guy who wouldn’t stop looking at porn while on duty?” Maclean asked.
“Yeah,” Davis said.
“He’s an idiot,” Maclean fired back.
Niles’ face stayed bright red. But he refused to be further baited by Maclean.
Davis refused to back down until he had the information he needed. There was still one man left to discuss. “Benson has the skills. And I’m sure his drinking and need for money hasn’t diminished.”
“Are you kidding me? Benson couldn’t stand upright long enough to pull off this stunt,” Maclean said.
Despite the irony of Maclean calling someone else a drunk, Davis ignored the provocation. Maclean was well known throughout the department as a heavy hitter.
“This is the best you can come up with?” Maclean stepped closer. “FYI, Benson moved to Las Vegas after he was retired. Isn’t that right, Niles?”
“It’s true. In his exit interview, Benson said he planned to move to Las Vegas,” Niles said. “I don’t think you can consider Rob for your wharf fire.”
“Davis, maybe you should consider returning to your previous career as an investment banker.” Maclean chuckled and turned to leave.
Davis gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the need to pin Maclean against the wall. After his father’s death, he left investment banking, the world of making the rich richer, and sought a career in service. He was committed to his new work and to the people in the department who risked their lives every day.
“Don’t try to make this into something big and dramatic. Just finish the damn investigation.”
One more of Maclean’s comments and the slow burn in Davis’ gut would ignite. “Has the port contacted the chief’s office yet?”
Maclean didn’t answer. He turned and walked away. “Send me the pictures from the scene.”
Niles put his arm on Davis’ shoulder. “Working with him is a challenge.”
“That’s diplomatic. I can think of a better word.”
Chapter Seven
Davis pulled the department’s Suburban over next to the fire site. He opened the front door, then turned back to speak to Mitzi. “Stay put. No visiting with The Deadliest Catch crew today. I’ve got to do some digging.”
Leaning over, he pointed for emphasis. “Don’t even think about getting out of this car.” He knew animal trainers recommended limiting commands to short phrases, but since Mitzi understood everything, he saw no need. He wondered whether Grayce Walters would agree with him.
He opened the trunk to get his gear. Donning navy-blue overalls, steel-tipped boots, and a yellow helmet, he approached the heap of ash, charred wood, and hunks of metal.
“Damn.” He had Grayce Walters on the brain. He marched back to the car and grabbed his filter mask and gloves. Mitzi whined, ready to join in.
“Sorry, girl, regulations. You’re not allowed on a crime scene.”
He made his way across the parking lot. The steel tips of his boots beat a cadence on the cement. Stacks of crab traps littered the sidewalks. The wind and rain had helped clear the air of the acrid smell of melted plastic.
He felt guilty leaving Mitzi in the car, but he was ready to start digging. He stepped over the yellow tape. The adrenaline rush hit him, the same high he got before a mountain climb. He was a junkie, addicted to the puzzle of a major hole in the ground with most of its clues destroyed.
He assumed that N-4 had burned quickly after the explosion since the shed was built of heavy lumber with a corrugated metal shell. That not a single warehouse had burned was either the mark of a very experienced arsonist or a miracle. Since he didn’t believe in miracles, he leaned toward the notion of a pro. The close proximity of the other warehouses, the flotilla of boats and their fuel could’ve caused a disaster.
The remains of the shed were scattered across the massive space. Misshapen chunks of pale blue metal, walls o
f partially burned fir, heaps of black ash, and piles of partially-burnt plastic formed a sci-fi landscape—Mars under the Ballard Bridge.
He bent over a shard of metal, most likely part of the ceiling. He sensed a presence. Frantically sniffing and barking, Mitzi ran through the site. He had never seen her act this of out of control.
“How the hell did you get out of the car?”
Mitzi leaped at him from two feet away. Her hundred pounds hit him square in the chest. He staggered backward from the impact. His heel caught on a part of the metal ceiling, sending him crashing on his ass.
“What in the hell’s wrong with you? It’s doggy daycare for you.”
Mitzi stood over him, her dark eyes focused on his face.
He started to stand. He felt a gush of air blow across the empty space. Before he could grab Mitzi or roll away, a section of the charred thirty foot wall fell, shattering next to his feet. Remnants of a burned plank broke off, striking the dog on the back. Mitzi gave a high pitched cry. His dog was down. “My God, Mitzi.”
She lay very still. He scrambled over the rubble to reach her. He ran his hands down her spine and back legs looking for injuries. She whined when he touched her back leg.
“It’s okay, it doesn’t feel broken, but we’ve got to check it out.” His voice sounded calm but seemed to echo in his head against the pounding beat of his heart. “I’m going to pick you up and take you to Dr. Herrick.”
He carried the poodle next to his chest, trying to buffer her from the wind and rain. “How did you get out of the car?”
She licked his face, her rough tongue brushed his cheek.
At the truck, he wrapped her gently in his coat and laid her on the front seat. He sped toward Ballard and Dr. Herrick.
He patted her reassuringly as he drove. Mitzi could’ve been killed. And then came the thought he didn’t want to explore: if it hadn’t been for Mitzi, he might’ve been killed.
Chapter Eight
Grayce’s morning passed quickly—a few minor behavior problems, adjustment to a new relationship, and hairballs.
Hollie appeared at her door. “Your new client’s here.” With her pierced eyebrow arched in contempt, Hollie emphasized new like it was infected.
Grayce nodded, trying to decipher Hollie’s odd behavior. Always loving with the animals, Hollie kept a safe, cool distance from two-legged clients. Hollie didn’t look cool.
Grayce scanned her schedule. “Mr. Davis with Mitzi, a standard poodle.”
Hollie returned with the new client. Grayce stared. She blinked twice. Mr. Davis was Lieutenant Davis. Bewildered to see the fire investigator in her office after last night’s nightmare, she blurted, “Has there been another fire?”
“No, I’m a patient. I mean my dog’s a patient.”
Grayce rechecked her patient list. “Mitzi?”
His face flushed when she used Mitzi’s name. Had she gotten the name wrong? She seldom did. The black poodle’s ears perked at the mention of her name.
“Yes, Mitzi.” His face remained red as he led his dog into the room. Grayce focused on the haughty poodle, limping protectively next to her owner. There was something about the spunky dog she couldn’t grasp.
Grayce couldn’t envision the lieutenant comfortable in the overstuffed chintz treatment chair. She gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Please be seated. How can I help you…and Mitzi?”
“Mitzi was injured at the fireground,” he said.
Grayce bent on one knee, not touching the stressed dog. “Mitzi, what an amazing protector.”
She never knew where the words came from when she spoke to animals, but she knew they came from a deep part of her. She offered the words while observing the effect of her voice. Mitzi outwardly appeared calm, but her eyes remained alert, watchful.
Grayce gently touched Mitzi’s head, needing to comfort, connect with the injured dog. Showers of blue sparks danced in her peripheral vision like those from an overloaded circuit. The charge flowing from the dog to her hand topped any ampere scale. Lightheaded from the power surge, Grayce forced herself upright and stepped toward the old pine table that served as her desk.
Looking across the table, she saw Davis’ concern.
“I’m fine, just got up too quickly.” She knew he didn’t buy it, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Grayce took a slow breath and focused on the sheet attached to the record. She had to concentrate to read the blurred words. “I see that Dr. Herrick referred you.”
“He thought you could help with Mitzi’s pain. And since I met you, I knew Mitzi would be comfortable.”
She focused on the referral sheet. “A wood plank fell on her back legs two days ago?”
Davis leaned forward in his chair. “Mitzi was hit by a plank that missed me by inches.” He stared at the poodle. “She knocked me down. Pieces of a charred wall crashed right at my feet. She saved me.”
In the stillness of the office, foreboding floated around Grayce. She envisioned Davis on the ground with the wall crashing right before him. In his office, she had been shaken, but she had thought it was caused by reliving the red-haired man’s rage. Now, Mitzi had saved him from a near catastrophe. There was something about this accident that didn’t feel like an accident.
“Mitzi’s been acting crazy. She wasn’t supposed to be on the crime scene. She jumped out of the window as if she knew I was in danger.”
Grayce squirmed. She felt as if ants were walking up and down her spine. “Really? What else has she been doing?”
Davis shifted in his chair and hesitated as if not wanting to speak in front of the dog. “She howls when I leave the condo. The neighbors have complained. She chewed a hole in the wall as if she were trying to escape.” His voice grew louder, clipped with each explanation.
“Is this new for her?”
“Since I started the investigation at Fisherman’s Terminal, she’s been a pain in the…. I can’t leave her alone. I still can’t believe she got injured. I left the car windows open, but I never thought she could fit through it.” He rubbed his forehead with his broad fingers as if soothing away a headache. “Dr. Herrick thought you could help her. He couldn’t praise your skills enough.”
Grayce focused on Mitzi’s pain and anxiety. She kept her voice low, trying to settle the fear pulsating in and around her and the apprehension traveling up and down her spine. “Acupuncture will help Mitzi.”
“Great.” Davis gave her the same lopsided grin as in his office, softening all the harsh planes and angles of his face.
Grayce gave an inner sigh of relief with Davis’ easy acceptance of acupuncture. She stood slowly, walked around the desk, and knelt beside the poodle. The dog thumped her tail when Grayce kneeled.
Davis watched. “Should I be doing anything?”
“No, you’re fine.”
Grayce took a deep cleansing breath and closed her eyes. She visualized waves breaking on the beach bringing the brilliant blue water onto the white sand, the fragments of broken shells tumbling into the wake, joining the rolling waves, melding into the powerful ocean. Calm, she readied herself to heal the traumatized dog.
She ran her hand along Mitzi’s back, not actually touching the dog but feeling for changes in temperature. When she got closer to Bui Hui, the center of energy, she felt a burst of heat. The intensity of energy around the dog’s lower spine confirmed her diagnosis: Mitzi was highly stressed and in pain.
Grayce placed the first needle into the top of the poodle’s head. The dog’s thick curly fur masked any reaction she had to the needle’s insertion. Grayce visualized the waves surrounding Mitzi, taking her pain and fear out into the bigger universe.
She then placed the second needle at the base of Mitzi’s spine. She needed to balance the intense energy flowing from the Bai Hui center. Rubbing the dog’s springy coat, she whispered, “You’re a brave dog. You kept him safe. I’ll help you now.”
Mitzi lay down after Grayce inserted the second needl
e and slept soundly. Grayce continued to place the needles, raising her own vibrations to absorb the dog’s fear. She felt heat dissipating through the needles.
Grayce wasn’t aware of Davis during the treatment, not until she heard his voice, almost in a whisper.
“Unbelievable. It’s the most remarkable thing I have ever seen.” Grayce glanced his way. Davis’ bright eyes gleamed. “Dr. Herrick was right. You’re amazing with animals.”
She couldn’t look away. There was more to Davis than an eyeful of beauty. His feelings ran deep. She tore her gaze away and went back to moving several of the needles around Mitzi’s injury.
“I think I should see Mitzi again next week.” She ran her hand along Mitzi’s chest. “She’s strong and has a brave heart.” Her words, spoken from a deep place, didn’t only describe Mitzi.
Grayce stood and took the used needles to the disposal container, giving her more time to reflect on this confusing treatment. She had lessened Mitzi’s anxiety and pain but she hadn’t been able to remove the dog’s deep fear. Deep fear wasn’t part of the dog’s nature. Mitzi sensed that her owner was in danger and was on alert to protect him. Grayce always trusted an animal’s instincts.
She moved behind her desk and said her usual parting words to clients. “You can call me if you have any questions.” Somehow saying the words to Mitzi and Davis had a totally different meaning, a commitment not recognized until she had spoken it out loud.
Davis leaned over the desk. “Thank you. You… I….” There was a long pause. He looked confused, struggling with uncertainty. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure you helped Mitzi.”
A knock on the door jarred them both. Grayce startled, exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. She stepped away from her desk and walked to the door, relieved by Hollie’s timely interruption.
“It’s Dr. Herrick on the phone. He has an important question for you. Should I tell him you’ll call him back?”
The Grayce Walters Romantic Suspense Series Page 3
