Lock 'N' Load (Federal K-9 Series)

by Tee O'Fallon

  Her knees wobbled as she struggled to stand. Sgt. Connors reached out to steady her, helping her rise to her feet. She twisted her neck in every direction, although her vision was still blurry from not wearing her glasses.

  “Where is he?” Common sense told her she was safe in the circle of emergency responders, yet her chest tightened a bit just the same. “The g-guy who grabbed me, where is he?”

  “He got away.” A uniformed cop came forward.

  “I think my dog got a piece of him,” Sgt. Connors said. “I’ll swab her mouth in case he left any DNA to run through CODIS.”

  “Uh-oh,” someone new said, a voice she recognized as one of the Moose’s waiters. “Sorry, man. I, uh, gave your dog some water. She was panting so much, and I just thought… Fuck, I’m sorry.”

  “Forget it,” Sgt. Connors said, although from his tone, he sounded annoyed. “We probably couldn’t get a decent swab anyway.”

  “Matt.” A tall blond man in slacks and a dress shirt rolled up his sleeves and pushed his way through the small crowd of people encircling Trista. On his belt was a gold badge and a gun. “Thought I recognized your voice on the radio.” The detective held out his hand to Sgt. Connors, and they shook. “What’ve we got here?”

  “This is Trista Gold.” Sgt. Connors dipped his head in her direction. “She works at Langley. She was attacked in the parking lot.” He paused, pressing his full lips together in a hard line. “Her attacker got away.”

  “Ms. Gold, I’m Detective Sorensen. I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Detective Sorensen tugged a small pad and pen from his shirt pocket.

  “Jake, let’s go to my truck so she can get more comfortable.”

  Without waiting for a response, Sgt. Connors placed a hand at the small of her back, urging her in the direction of the parking lot. As they walked, she felt his touch clear to her toes. She knew he was only keeping his hand there in case she passed out or something, but she had to admit, it felt kind of good.

  “Kemne,” he said, and the dog trotted along beside them.

  Moments later, she was seated in the front passenger seat of his truck with the door open, Detective Sorensen facing her. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, pausing to watch Sgt. Connors wordlessly point. The truck swayed slightly as the dog leaped inside the open door behind her. Turning, she bolted upright, preparing to jump from the truck.

  “Relax, Tris. She won’t hurt you.” He leaned in front of her and slid the metal grating between her and the dog shut. As it had earlier that morning, his sexy scent came to her, and she couldn’t help but breathe him in.

  She cast a wary eye toward the dog that sat only inches from her, staring back with big, golden, satanic eyes.

  And when did he start calling me Tris?

  That was a nickname only her parents and close friends used. His use of it should have annoyed her, but it didn’t. Oddly, it sounded…natural.

  “Ms. Gold?” Detective Sorensen was staring at her with raised brows.

  “I drove into the lot just after midnight,” she recounted, pausing to watch the ambulance roll out of the lot.

  It took only a few minutes for her to relate what she knew, and it took all her resolve not to look at Sgt. Connors, who’d come to stand next to Detective Sorensen. Even the dim light cast from the passenger compartment’s overhead light was enough to make the thick muscles of his forearms stand out in vivid detail.

  “When I got here,” he said, pointing behind them to the woods, “some assho—” He paused and cleared his throat. “Some guy had his arm around her, a knife to her throat, and was dragging her into the woods.”

  Detective Sorensen scribbled on his pad. “Can either of you describe him?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I never saw him. He was always behind me.” She put a hand to her throat, running her fingers over the bandage covering the knife wound.

  “Matt?” The detective turned to Sgt. Connors.

  “About five-eleven, one-eighty, dark hair, wearing gloves, and he reeked of cigarette smoke.”

  “You saw all that?” She widened her eyes at the specificity of his description. And she couldn’t even remember the cigarette smell.

  Probably because he had a knife to my throat, and I couldn’t breathe.

  “I got a look at him. You didn’t.” Sgt. Connors then proceeded to recount his observations, including him tackling her attacker to the ground.

  “You saved m-my life.” Her words came out a harsh whisper.

  He shrugged. “Just doing my job.”

  “N-no, really.” She locked gazes with him, only now fully realizing how close she’d come to dying. Or worse. “Thank you.”

  The sides of his mouth lifted briefly in a reluctant smile, and again, she was struck by how incredibly gorgeous he was. Especially when he smiled.

  “Does Sgt. Connors’s description sound like anyone you know?” Detective Sorensen asked. “An old boyfriend, current boyfriend, enemies?”

  “No. I don’t have any of those.” Definitely not a boyfriend, not even an old one. At least, no one who’d lasted very long.

  “Did he try to grab your purse?” Detective Sorensen asked.

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  “No.”

  Detective Sorensen looked up from writing. “He didn’t say anything about what he was going to do to you?”

  “No. He never said a word. Like I told you, he pulled me from my car, grabbed me from behind, then dragged me to the woods. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground.” Helpless and unable to do anything, including breathe.

  “Did he say anything to you?” Detective Sorensen turned to Sgt. Connors, who shook his head, then frowned.

  The detective tapped the pen on his pad, pursing his lips. Whatever both men were thinking, it wasn’t good.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Neither man responded, just exchanged suspicious looks. “I may work for the CIA, but I don’t like secrets. If there’s something I should know, say it.”

  Detective Sorensen shoved the pad and pen into his pocket. “On the surface, this seems like either a robbery or a sexual assault. However, he didn’t go for your purse, and granted, he may not have had the chance to assault you sexually, but he didn’t say anything to you.”

  “I hadn’t realized rapists carry on lengthy discourse with their intended victims.”

  The detective nodded. “Normally, they say something.”

  “Some use words designed to lull you into a sense of safety,” Sgt. Connors said, his jaw hardening. “Some ask if you need assistance. Others use outright profanity. Some like to tell you exactly what they plan to do to you.”

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she shuddered at what an easy victim she’d made. Parking in a darkened section of the lot probably hadn’t been the brightest thing to do. She might have a kick-ass analytical mind, but when it came to practicality, she was as dumb as a stump.

  “Hey.” Sgt. Connors briefly rested his hand on her shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, she believed him. Or, at least, she wanted to. She’d been alone for so long now, she hadn’t fully understood how nice it was to have a man care about her well-being. But this wasn’t him caring for her. This was simply a police officer exercising his duty to protect.

  Detective Sorensen then proceeded to ask her a slew of other questions, which she answered to the best of her ability.

  “If it wasn’t robbery or rape, then what was it?” she asked him.

  “Don’t know. At this point, my guess is it was a random attack.” He waved his pen in the air. “We’ll review the Moose’s video cams, but last week they were offline. We found that out after a hit-and-run in the parking lot.” He made another note on his pad. “Since he wore gloves, dusting your car for prints is a waste of time.”

  Detective S
orensen pulled a wallet from his back pocket and handed her his business card. “If you think of anything else I should be aware of, give me a call. If you see or hear anything suspicious, don’t hesitate to call 911. In the meantime, we’ll run every tag in the lot and both adjacent lots in case he left a car here. If anyone red-flags with a criminal history, we’ll pay him a visit.”

  “Can you have a car run by her place for the next few nights?” Sgt. Connors asked.

  “Sure thing, Matt.”

  “Thanks, Jake.” Sgt. Connors extended his hand, which the detective shook.

  After Detective Sorensen walked over to the few remaining officers still processing the scene, Sgt. Connors faced her. “Do you have someone to stay with you tonight?”

  She shook her head, wishing there was someone. “I just w-want to go home. I have to feed my cat.”

  “I’ll drive you home.”

  “What? No! I have my c-car.” She began getting out of the truck.

  “Stay here.” He pushed gently on her shoulder, forcing her back into the seat. “I’ll have one of the uniforms follow us in your car.”

  She opened her mouth to object again, but he ignored her and carefully closed the passenger door in her face.

  A minute later, he got in and handed over her purse. “Where do you live?”

  “Uh, I uh—” Oh great, here we go again.

  His brows rose in question, his gaze locking with hers. Bonnie was right. Even blurry, Sgt. Connors was h-o-t hot.

  She gasped. “Wait, my g-glasses!”

  “I put them in your purse.” He guided the truck through the lot toward the road. “I hope you have a spare set, ’cuz they don’t look so good.”

  Digging into her purse, she found her glasses and tried shoving them on. Both lenses were still intact, but the frames were twisted and mangled beyond repair. She’d have to hunt deep in her bathroom closet for some contacts to tide her over until she could order new glasses.

  “Th-thank you.” She rolled her eyes. I sound like such a dork.

  “Where do you live?” he asked, checking his side mirror, probably to see if the deputy driving her car was behind them.

  “Arlington. 442 Roseb-bud Lane.”

  For the first few minutes of the drive, neither of them said a word. Trista couldn’t. Tonight, her social ineptness was at an embarrassingly all-time high, although not with the paramedics and not with Detective Sorensen. Only with Sgt. Connors.

  “You shouldn’t be parking in lots that aren’t well-lit at night,” he said, gunning the truck onto the ramp for I-66.

  “Thanks for the t-tip.”

  “What are you doing out at this hour?”

  “I was working late and needed f-food.”

  “Great minds think alike.” He chuckled, and she liked the way his laugh came out all rumbly and rich. “I was waiting at the light to turn in and grab some grub myself. Best burgers in town.”

  She laughed. “Definitely.” At least she’d managed four syllables without tripping over her words.

  “What were you working on so late?” he asked, then held up his hand. “Never mind. Top secret, right?”

  She gave him a brief smile. “New assignment. I was stuck on something and didn’t want to leave until I broke through it.”

  “That’s job dedication.” He nodded. “How often do you have asthma attacks?”

  “Not often anymore.” She shook her head. “Stress can trigger one, b-but it’s not usually this bad.”

  His hands tightened around the wheel. “Getting attacked at knifepoint definitely qualifies as stress.”

  “My doctor always told me to avoid mental pressure, and to exercise d-daily to keep any stress under control.”

  “Do you?” He glanced at her. “Exercise every day?”

  “The only parts of my b-body that get any exercise are m-my fingers.” She let out a heavy sigh.

  “You okay?” he asked, giving her a quick glance.

  “Fine. I was thinking that if I’d b-been stronger, or had taken some self-defense cl-classes, this m-might not have happened.” At least, she might not have been so totally helpless.

  “Don’t kick yourself.” He slowed as he took the exit. “Even if you worked out every day with weights, you probably wouldn’t have been strong enough to fight him off. But the self-defense classes are a good idea. I can get you a list of courses in the local area.”

  “Okay.”

  The rest of the ride passed in silence until they braked to a stop in front of her modest ranch house. She watched her car pull into the driveway, then a marked unit parked in front of them at the curb.

  A snort and a puff of hot air at the back of her head made her jump, twisting in the seat to find Sheba standing directly behind her, the dog’s golden gaze holding her transfixed. Her heart beat faster, and she forced herself to breathe slowly, praying she wouldn’t have another asthma attack.

  “Sheba, lehni.” Sgt. Connors turned to her as the dog lay down obediently. “One day you’ll realize she’ll never hurt you. I promise.”

  She swallowed, only somewhat comforted by the cage between her and the dog, then cast him a disagreeing glare. “Sure I will.”

  This time, his mouth lifted into a full-fledged smile, and her heart rate kicked up even more but not from stress this time. Hardly. The sight of all that manly deliciousness bestowed upon her mousy, dowdy little self did all kinds of unexpectedly appealing things to her body. Like making her belly tingle.

  Even though there was no chance a man like him would ever be hers, she was gratified to know her body was at least functioning on a normal level around this guy. Even if her brain wasn’t.

  Taking a deep breath, she held out her hand to him. “Thank you, Sgt. Connors. For the ride home, and for saving m-my life.”

  Smiling, he took her hand in his. “So formal. Call me Matt.”

  Before she could process how his large hand completely engulfed hers, he was out of the truck and walking up to the officer who’d gotten out of her car. Matt took the keys, then shook the other cop’s hand.

  When the marked unit drove off, she reached for the car door handle when the door opened.

  “C’mon. I’ll walk you in.”

  She slipped off the seat and nearly plowed into his chest. Standing so close to him made her realize just how big he was. “How t-tall are you?” she blurted out, then felt silly about the childlike bluntness of her question.

  With his hand at the small of her back, he closed her door, chuckling. “Six-four. Six-five or more in these shit-kicker boots.”

  “Wow. I’m f-five-one.”

  “Don’t shortchange yourself. You’re at least five-two in your shoes.”

  A squeaky laugh bubbled from her throat. When they got to her door, he handed her keys to her and waited while she opened it and turned on the porch and living room lights. She turned to see him standing just outside the door. “Th-thank you again, Sgt.—”

  He held up his hand, interrupting her. “It’s Matt. And from now on, maybe you’ll stop to say hello on your way into Langley. Although I expect you to call in sick later.”

  “Why?” She frowned.

  He gave her a duh look. “Really?”

  “I feel fine, and I need to g-get back to my assignment.”

  Dark brows bunched as he watched her thoughtfully. “You know you have to file an incident report.”

  “What?” Her stomach knotted. She’d totally forgotten about that. Or maybe it was selective memory.

  “Agency policy requires any employee involved in a police matter to report it to the security office within twenty-fours after the incident.”

  “I kn-know.” She quickly averted her gaze, hoping he wouldn’t detect her hesitancy.

  “I can help you fill it out,” he offered.

  “No! I’ll take care of it.” Not.

  There was a rumor in the analysis branch that an analyst who’d once had a seemingly inconsequential interaction with the police had his se
curity clearance revoked. If her clearance was yanked, she couldn’t do her job. And if she couldn’t work, she might as well not exist. Her work was everything to her.

  Matt continued staring at her, saying nothing. Blood pounded in her ears as her heart began beating faster, something it did whenever she told a lie.

  Uh-oh. She gripped the doorknob tightly. He was a cop and could probably see right through her.

  “Is there someone you can call and talk to about what happened tonight?” he asked. “Your friends from this morning, Bonnie and Kevin?”

  How did he know everyone’s names? Cops know everything, remember? Worry boiled in the pit of her stomach. Bonnie and Kevin were the last people she would ever tell. If she did, word would get out. She couldn’t put her clearance at risk.

  “Why would I d-do that?” She heard the telltale quiver in her voice, and sure enough, he scowled down at her.

  “Because they’re your friends, and after a traumatic experience, it helps to talk about what happened.”

  “Maybe.” Maybe not. “I’ll think about it,” she lied again, hating herself for doing it. He’d saved her life, after all.

  “Where’s your cell phone?” he asked.

  “Here.” She indicated her purse.

  “Get it out.”

  She crossed her arms. “Why?”

  “I’m going to put my cell number in your phone. That way, if you need anything tonight, you call me.”

  “Why would I c-call you? Shouldn’t I call 911 if I need help?”

  “Humor me.” Mimicking her, he crossed his arms, too. Then he surprised her by leaning in so close that their noses almost touched. “Now get out your damned phone.”

  “Okay, okay.” She dug the phone out of her purse, and unlocked it. “What’s your n-number?”

  Sighing, he grabbed the phone, entered his number, then handed it back to her. “Call me if you need anything. Anything,” he reiterated but remained standing at her open door.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Close the door and lock it. I’m not leaving until you do.”

  “Fine,” she said with a huff, then slammed the door in his face, cranking the dead bolt with more force than necessary, so he’d be sure to hear it. Muffled chuckling sounded on the other side, followed by receding footfalls. Hurrying to her living room window, she watched his taillights as he drove off.