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

by Tee O'Fallon

  “Matt!” Nick Houston, a sergeant with the Massachusetts State Police, met him before he even made it to the bar, then bear-hugged him, lifting him clear off his feet. The sincerity in Nick’s steel-gray gaze confirmed that his best friend really had missed him.

  “Connors, you son of a bitch.” Jaime Pataglio, a tall olive-skinned Italian from the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey clapped Matt on the back.

  Dayne Andrews from the FBI’s Newark, New Jersey office shook Matt’s hand, his emerald-green eyes as piercing as ever.

  Next, Eric Miller, a blond, blue-eyed giant of an ATF agent, fist-bumped him, followed by a firm handshake from Markus York, a Secret Service uniformed officer with eyes as dark as the night sky and a fresh, angry scar over his left eye. Markus had recently transferred to D.C. and was bunking with Matt while he waited to close on a new house. Last but hardly least, considering he was over six-three, was Kade Sampson, a Homeland Security patrol officer from New York.

  “Good to see you, buddy.” Nick wrapped his arm around Matt’s shoulder, urging him to the bar.

  “You, too,” he replied, and meant it. It was good to see all his friends again. Knowing they were out there, only a phone call away, had kept him grounded during some of the crappiest of days, but it wasn’t the same as hanging out with them and shooting the shit in person.

  “Sheila, anything my friend wants,” Nick said to the bartender.

  The pretty twentysomething blonde Matt once had a brief fling with winked at him. “The usual, Matt?”

  “You sure we can’t convince you to have one beer with us?” Kade asked.

  “Nah, I’m good.” He nodded to the bartender. And he was good. Alcohol would always be a thing of his past and not a good thing, by any means.

  After Sheila handed him a large mug of club soda with lime, everyone held up their drinks for a toast.

  “To the dogs,” Jaime said. “And the women.”

  “Hear, hear,” they all repeated, clinking bottles together so loudly Matt was sure some of them would shatter.

  “Hey, Matt. Long time no see.” A curvy brunette with deep-red lipstick and carrying a tray of empties grabbed his arm, standing on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Heard you saved some girl out in the parking lot. And by the way”—she glanced behind her—“I saw Charlene lurking around here somewhere. She was asking if you came in anymore.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  His friends snickered.

  “Good to see you, too, Lynette.”

  “She’s cute.” Markus leaned around Matt to follow Lynette’s swinging hips as she rounded the bar. “You dating her, too?”

  He gave Markus a look of disapproval. “We dated a few times, but no sparks. Just be nice to her or I’ll have to kick your ass.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Markus flipped him off, then headed for the bar where Lynette was busy dropping off her empties.

  “So,” Nick said, “how is the woman in your life?”

  Trista?

  Shit, where did that come from?

  Probably from being in her house twice during the past week and from getting royally chewed out by her. Or more likely, because he’d had more conversation with her lately than he’d had with any other woman since he and Charlene had broken up. Yeah, that must be why.

  “You mean Sheba?” Though he knew full well Nick was referring to a human significant other.

  “Yeah, Sheba.” Nick laughed then took a sip of beer. “I take it you’re not getting any at the moment?”

  Rather than answer Nick’s question, Matt took a swallow of his soda, which only made Nick laugh harder and Kade grin. His friends understood him well enough to know he didn’t kiss and tell.

  “You guys all settled in?” Knowing he’d be working a double shift when the guys arrived, he’d left keys to his house and the kennels, along with the alarm code, in a coded lockbox.

  “We’re good,” Kade answered for the rest of them.

  “Hell, we’re better than good,” Nick added. “With all the renovation you’ve done on the house, the place is sweet. And the brand-new kennels are kick-ass. Saxon was so excited it was twenty minutes before I could calm him down.”

  The image of Nick’s black German shepherd, Saxon, scampering around the pristine kennels had Matt grinning. He was pleased that his friends appreciated his late nights and long weekends spent laboring on the house and the kennel addition.

  Dayne, the eldest of their motley crew at thirty-eight, clinked his bottle to Matt’s mug. “Jerry’s Place is taking shape. You done good.”

  “Thanks, Dayne.” Mixed feelings of pride and sadness flooded him. After nearly two years, the nonprofit he’d envisioned to help both troubled youth and rescue dogs was finally ready, although he still needed a major influx of outside cash to fulfill his promise. Not that he was broke. His wealthy grandfather had seen to that in his will. Still, if he wasn’t careful with his own money, he’d soon be eating kibble every night with Sheba.

  “How much land you got, anyway?” Jaime asked.

  “About twelve acres.” Which made him somewhat of a land baron in northern Virginia.

  Eric whistled. “Damn, that’s some high-priced real estate for these parts. You could sell the place and make a small fortune.”

  “I’d never sell.” Not only was the place his grandfather’s legacy to him, he was determined to make a go of Jerry’s Place someday. Without his parents’ handouts. No matter how many times they’d offered assistance, he’d refused. This was something he had to do on his own.

  “That’s an impressive security system you’ve got,” Dayne added. “Cameras outside, monitors in your office, and some pretty high-tech computers. Why no locking gates on the driveway?”

  Matt set his mug on the bar. “I want to keep track of things, especially when I’m not home, but I don’t want the place to seem like a prison yard. It has to have an inviting atmosphere, or it won’t work. The kids will feel like they’re incarcerated.”

  “Sheila here,” Jaime said, winking at the bartender as she wiped down the bar, “told us you had some trouble a few nights ago.”

  “Understatement.” As succinctly as possible, he described the attack on Trista and how the son of a bitch got away.

  “Any leads?” Nick asked.

  “Long shot.” He picked up his mug and took a long drink. “Sheba ripped off a piece of the bastard’s clothing. The locals are running it through CODIS, but I haven’t heard anything yet.”

  “And the girl?” Kade held up his finger to Sheila, signaling for another round “How’s she doing?”

  Frowning, Matt looked down at his mug, not realizing until just then that he’d emptied it. “Trista is…pissed at me.” He laughed bitterly. “Her security clearance was revoked pending resolution of the matter, and she’s mad as hell at me for filing an incident report with the agency.”

  “We’ve all pissed women off.” Jaime smirked. “Exactly how pissed is she?”

  “She ripped me a new one.” Unable to stop himself, Matt grinned. Then he thought about the hot kiss that had followed the ass-ripping, and he sobered instantly. He still couldn’t get that damned kiss off his mind.

  “No shit.” Nick barked out a laugh. “You save her life, and she chews you out? What the hell’s up with that?”

  “For Trista,” Matt said, “her job is her life. Losing her clearance about killed her.”

  “Why?” Nick persisted. “Is she a dog? Too hairy in all the wrong places? No offense to Sheba, of course. On Sheba, hair looks good.” The other men snickered. “Well?” Nick nudged him with an elbow. “What’s she like?”

  “Yeah, man.” Jaime waggled his eyebrows. “Was she, ya know…grateful?”

  Out of all of them, Jaime was by far the playboy of the group, and Matt found himself unexpectedly clenching his jaw at his friend’s implication that Trista had given him gratitude sex. Forcing himself to relax, he faced another truth.

  He
might not be as vocal about his exploits as Jaime was, but they probably had about the same number of notches on their belts. The only difference was that Matt exercised far more discretion. Sleeping around wasn’t something he planned nor was he proud of it. With him, it just…happened. Because he never stuck around long enough to give anyone a real chance.

  “Trista is…different.” He swirled the cubes of ice around in his empty mug.

  “Buddy?” Eric scrunched his blond brows together. “You’re scaring me. You’ve got this weird-ass, goo-goo-eyed look on your face.”

  Ignoring Eric, Matt struggled with how to describe Trista. “She’s definitely not like any other woman I’ve gone out with.”

  The normally reticent Dayne chuckled. “So you have gone out with her. Told ya. Pay up.” He held out his hand to Nick, who promptly slapped a twenty into his palm.

  “No, dammit.” Matt smacked his empty mug onto the bar. “I haven’t gone out with her, and I haven’t had sex with her.” Not that he hadn’t thought about it after that kiss, followed by ogling her sexy body in those skimpy clothes.

  “Okay, man.” Jaime held up his hands.

  “Well, lookee here.” Nick reached behind him for the next round of beers and another mug of club soda that Sheila had served up. “As if life wasn’t exciting enough around our nation’s capital these days.”

  Matt accepted the mug from Nick, eager to change the line of conversation. “Where’s everyone assigned?” Each of his friends was in town working protection details at various high-profile events leading up to the presidential election in November.

  “I got the White House,” Eric said just before gulping his beer. “Probably a boring detail.”

  Matt nodded, thinking Eric was right. Having been in office for nearly eight years, the president and his administration were outgoing, and as such, had cut back on publicity events, save those to support his party’s next candidate.

  Nick waved his finger between himself and Jaime. “We’re both at the Capitol. Anyone got Ashburn? Should be a happy occasion for him, come November. I think he’s got it in the bag.”

  The other men nodded, and Matt had to agree. U.S. Senator Michael Ashburn from Nebraska was by far the favorite candidate, already tipping the polls at 60 percent. Ashburn was the first candidate in decades who seemed honest and well-intentioned. Ohio Governor Thomas Hughes, on the other hand, had baggage, including extramarital affairs and questionable fundraising tactics.

  “We’ve got Hughes’s detail.” Dayne nodded to Kade. “That should be a hoot. That guy’s so far down in the polls he’ll probably hit every news show on TV to boost his ratings. We all start first thing Monday morning. What about you?”

  Matt shook his head. “My office hasn’t come out with pre-election assignments yet. They should be posted in the next day or two.” He was looking forward to a change of scenery. Langley was nice, but every once in a while, he missed the action of being on the street, throwing himself out there into the mix.

  No sooner had he taken another sip of his soda than an arm slipped around his waist, and he flinched. Before she uttered a single word, he knew who it was. The perfume preceded the woman, and it nauseated him.

  “Hiya, baby.” Charlene slithered her arm across his back as she came to stand close, doing her best to cuddle against him as if they were a couple. Hell, they’d never been a couple, as far as he was concerned, and they never would be.

  Somehow managing to extricate himself from her clutches, Matt cleared his throat, then nodded to each of his friends. “Jaime, Nick, Kade, Dayne, Eric, Markus, this is Charlene.”

  “Hello, boys.”

  As she held out her hand to each of his friends, giggling and batting her eyelashes the entire time, he wondered what he’d ever seen in her and instantly began comparing her to Trista.

  Charlene was a model-perfect redhead, with perfect clothes, perfect jewelry and makeup, and expertly coiffed hair. Trista, on the other hand, was about six inches shorter, no jewelry, no makeup, but with a knockout body she hid behind seriously frumpy clothes.

  Charlene was good in bed, but he’d quickly discovered that was the only place he enjoyed her company. It wasn’t that the woman was dumb. But she just didn’t make any attempt at a real-life, honest-to-God, back-and-forth conversation about anything that mattered in the world. He hadn’t even had sex with Trista, and probably never would, but he enjoyed her company ten times more than he did Charlene’s.

  One of Charlene’s hands slid from his back to his butt while she leaned in tighter to massage his chest. Christ, he felt like he was being mauled by an octopus. Her damn hands were everywhere.

  Nick pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to burst out laughing. Kade and Dayne merely smirked at him while Jaime did his best to garner Charlene’s attention and get her away from Matt. Unsuccessfully, that was. She was stuck to Matt like a giant burr no amount of shaking would kick loose.

  “Uh, Charlene,” he finally said, about to do his best to politely make it clear he wasn’t interested, when the cell phone on his belt vibrated. There is a God.

  He slipped the phone from its cradle. Jake Sorensen.

  “Excuse me.” He looked down into Charlene’s blue eyes, then at her dark-red lips twisting into a disappointed pout. “I have to take this.” Figuring on heading outside to take the call, Matt turned to the door, only to have Charlene’s perfectly manicured fingers curve around his bicep.

  “You don’t really have to go, do you, Mattie?” More pouting.

  Fuck, but he hated being called Mattie.

  “Ma’am?” Jaime to the rescue. “I would be honored to buy you a very large, very expensive cocktail. Something with a lot of rum and an umbrella perhaps?” Without waiting for a response, Jaime miraculously tugged Charlene off Matt and put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her to the bar with smooth finesse.

  After shooting Jaime a grateful look, Matt answered the call. “Hold on.” Unable to hear with the loud music and chatter, he deftly deposited his mug of soda on a passing waitress’s tray and pushed open the front door. “What’s up, Jake?” The pounding from inside still beat in his ears, so he walked into the parking lot toward his truck.

  “That bloody piece of clothing you gave me? We got a hit in CODIS.”

  “And?” Matt snapped his head up. What Jake said next had him bolting to his truck, shouting, “Meet me at Trista’s house.”

  With his heart pounding, he yanked open the door to his F-150, jumped in, and cranked over the engine. Every cop instinct he had told him this was bad. Really bad.

  Luckily, no one had parked in front of him, so he slammed his foot on the accelerator. Tires squealing, he tore out of the lot onto the road and punched it.

  He cued up Trista’s cell number, but it went directly to voicemail. After leaving a message, he tried her number again with the same result.

  He’d always suspected something about Trista’s attack hadn’t been random. Now his gut told him it was true.

  Chapter Nine

  “Oh, sh—pooh.”

  Trista rubbed her eyes, then stared at the computer screen. Since being relegated to the “rubber computer squad,” she’d been on the verge of inventing new curse words. “Shpooh,” a combination of “shit” and “pooh,” was her latest effort. Sadly, her mother still wouldn’t approve.

  In the days since she’d been put on administrative leave, she’d managed to find Karakurt only once, in a sneaky chat room that was tough even for her to find. But as soon as she’d gotten in, he’d ended the chat. In between her Dark Curtain forays onto the black net, she’d taken a breather here and there to research the place referenced in Karakurt’s chat from Monday: Iqaluit.

  Picking up one of the hundreds of sheets she’d printed, she began reading again. Though she’d never heard of Iqaluit, she’d quickly discovered it had been in the news quite a lot lately, with numerous domestic and international news sources referencing it.

  Iqaluit was the capita
l city of Nunavut, a snow-capped Canadian territory situated opposite Greenland, and one of the northernmost populated areas in North America. From its strategic position on Baffin Island in Frobisher Bay, Iqaluit was poised to bear witness to major changes affecting the Northwest Passage, a shipping route connecting the Arctic regions and the Atlantic that was normally blocked by ice. She was surprised to learn that in the next two decades, the Northwest Passage was expected to open up year-round due to global warming.

  Trista flipped to another article, noting that Iqaluit also had something few other locations in those parts had: an airport. One of the unidentified participants in Karakurt’s chat had said he was leaving for Iqaluit in an hour. Why?

  Poofy burrowed his head against her leg, demanding his usual position of honor on her lap, which was currently filled with internet printouts. Reading on, she learned that for such a small town by global standards, and inhabited by less than eight thousand people, plus caribou and Arctic foxes, Iqaluit had grabbed more than its share of headlines over the past few years.

  Canadian officials had met there on numerous occasions to discuss building a military base somewhere in the Northwest Passage in order to closely monitor Russian incursion into the Arctic.

  Leaning back in her chair, she noted that Poofy had abandoned all hope of sitting on her lap and was now sitting three inches from the front door, staring at it intently like a dog waiting to be walked. Except that Poofy was an indoor cat. Absently, she thought the behavior odd, then selected another article.

  Even though Canada was the second-largest territorial country in the world, its military power had weakened significantly over time as the country chose to invest in other aspects of its economy rather than national defense. Both Canada and Russia controlled thousands of miles of Arctic shoreline, but with all the recent Russian aggression around the world, Canadian officials worried Russia would take advantage of a weak Canadian military and assert its dominance to seize the Arctic’s vast energy resources.

  Not being an exploratory scientist, Trista had no idea that as much as 25 percent of the world’s remaining oil, gas, and other natural resources were located on the Lomonosov undersea ridge in the Arctic. But with her knowledge of the current Russian regime’s political agenda, she did know that the Russian economy was based primarily on energy exportation. The Russians were constantly searching for untapped sources of energy, exploiting them with insufficient, and, at times, zero, regard to protecting the environment.