by D. D. Ayres
“Yeah.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I never—” Shay shook her head. She wasn’t much of a sharer. And he didn’t seem the sort of man you admitted all your weaknesses to. “I’m okay.”
It took her a moment to rise up off him. When she did, it was to slip on her sweater, which he noticed only came to the top of her thighs and revealed the lower curves of her naked butt as she walked away.
“Where are you going?”
She turned back from the entrance to the kitchen, her expression unreadable as she avoided his direct gaze. “You look like you need time to recoup. Want a beer?”
He grinned. “Whatever you got, I want it.”
* * *
James lay awake in the darkness, staring at the LED lights on the clock radio across the room. It was 1:41 A.M. Shay lay curled against him on the bed they’d moved to sometime during their second session. So deeply asleep, she snored like a truck driver. Bogart, too, could be heard dream-woofing softly now and then as he slept on guard by the front door.
What the hell had happened tonight?
He’d had good sex and bad sex. And a lot more in between. He’d never had sex quite like this. It was like sex at the end of the world, all desperate need and raw hunger and … anger. Shay Appleton defined enigma: an intense defiant contradiction that attracted him while messing with his head.
She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to hear words of praise or tenderness. She wanted what he wanted, sex. Lots of it. Hot, eager, pulse-pounding, body-rocking sex. Until, exhausted, they could no longer remain awake.
He should have guessed. She did nothing halfway. Angry, hurt, scared, all her emotions were expressed straight up, in your face. Now he knew what it was like to have sex with her. And he wanted to be reminded again and again.
He closed his eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow they’d have to talk.
* * *
Shay gazed straight ahead. It was very dark, so dark that when she shut her eyes and opened them again she couldn’t tell the difference. A moment later, she realized the covers were over her head. She flung them aside.
She lay on her stomach, head turned toward a doorway. Pale moonlight came from beneath it. A finger of dread slid up her spine. Was the bathroom door blocked? She always blocked it at night.
Even as she stared at it, the shadow of a pair of feet appeared at the bottom, partially blocking the interior light.
A moan escaped her. No! This couldn’t be happening!
* * *
Still half asleep, James opened the bathroom door.
A scream split the dark, lifting every hair on his arms and along his spine. Instinct made him reach for his weapon. But he was naked. No gun. In the sofa cushions. Too far away.
“No! No! Stay away! Stay away from me!”
He heard Bogart’s bark, bright and sharp. An alarm that meant he was coming to help.
James reached back and flipped on the bathroom light, adrenaline gushing through him so quickly his heart seemed to expand in his chest.
The light angled sharply into the bedroom, in stark relief to the shadows. He looked first toward the bed, empty. He swept the room, looking simultaneously for Shay and a makeshift weapon.
She stood in the far corner, only her feet lit by the partial light.
Bogart streaked in, barking loudly as his big head swung from side to side, trying to detect an aggressor. After a second, he paused, black eyes gleaming as he stared at James.
James shared his confusion. What the fuck?
He groped along the bedroom wall until he found a light switch and flipped it.
Shay stood with her back to the windows. Her eyes were wide and both hands covered her mouth.
James took a few steps toward her. “Shay?”
Her gaze did not track to him. Instead, she stared at the bathroom door. That’s when he realized she was still asleep. In the midst of a nightmare he did not share.
Bogart barked again, running up to press against his partner’s leg in confusion. James bent to stroke him.
“Gute Hund.” He pointed. “Geh raus.”
Bogart turned away and after a quick glance at Shay left the room.
James’s attention was still on Shay. He moved into her line of vision and said in a sharp, commanding voice, “Shay Appleton!”
She jerked and blinked, then her hands slid away from her mouth as her gaze focused on him.
“That was you?” The words sounded forced out of her, almost airless.
“Yeah. I needed to take a leak. Sorry if I scared you.”
“It was you.” She shook her head tightly then pressed her palm to her forehead. “This was a very bad idea.”
He smiled. “I thought it was really nice.”
She lifted her head, her expression empty. “You need to leave.”
“Now?” He glanced at the clock. “It’s 4:38.”
“I don’t care.” She moved across the room, seemingly unaware that she was naked, and began pushing him. “You have to go. Now. Please.”
“Okay, okay. I get the idea. Just let me put my clothes on.”
Shay backed off but only as far as the bed. She grabbed up the sheet and wrapped herself in it.
James shoved a foot into one leg of his jeans he had scooped up off the floor. “Look, I understand if you’re a little weirded out by how fast this all happened.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. You won’t ever understand.”
“You’ll never know if you don’t give me a chance.”
“You don’t know anything at all about me.” Her voice was suddenly all challenge.
“Fair enough.” He paused to wrestle himself into a sweatshirt he’d pulled from his backpack. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know you better.”
He straightened up to look at her. “Because I do, Shay.”
She shook her head again, not looking at him.
He thought about saying something else. But then he realized the argument was over. She’d told him to get out. The message was loud and clear.
James finished dressing in silence.
When he was done she followed him into the living room. “Don’t come back. Don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t anything.”
James swung around. “Why? Just tell me why. Was it something I did?”
She just stared at him, her expression as closed as a fist.
“Okay. Right.” James glanced down at Bogart, who had been watching them. “Hier.”
Bogart trotted over to his handler’s side.
James made it to the front door before turning back to Shay. “I don’t know all that went on between you and Eric, but don’t judge me by him. Not all men are assholes.”
CHAPTER TEN
Yardley Summers, owner of Harmonie Kennels, held a hand folded over her eyes to shade the rising sun as she watched K-9 partners Officer James Cannon and Bogart go through their paces. It was a drill they had been through so many times they should have been able to do it in their sleep. Yet something was off today. James didn’t seem to fully trust Bogart, keeping him on a short leash. Bogart was clearly insulted by the lack of freedom and giving attitude.
“Let him run. Get out of Bogart’s way.” Her voice carried rapid-fire across the otherwise quiet, misty chill of the morning. Weather was never a factor when they drilled. It only made things more interesting.
She watched as James let out the leash but it wasn’t enough. She’d chosen a routine task for them, pick up the trail of a suspect and track him down. They were botching it.
Clamping down on the temptation to say more, she watched in mute exasperation as two of her best graduates fumbled around like newbies.
Bogart seemed unable to settle down to the task. He kept looking back at his partner for reassurance, as if this were his first trial.
James wasn’t giving back confidence. Instead of smiling and encouraging his partner verbally, his expre
ssion was tight and his hand too heavy on the lead.
Bogart began jumping and leaping around James, clearly riled up for the hunt but frustrated by the lack of direction.
Yardley muttered under her breath then gave vent to her feelings. “Just unclip him. Dammit. Give him the scent again and then get out of his goddamn way.”
James did as she directed.
Finally, after another sniff, Bogart swirled around, long tail moving in slower loops as he sniffed and then ran on ahead, free now to find his way. Suddenly he paused and lifted his head. His panting ceased. Two seconds later, he wheeled and headed off into the brush where the culprit had been told to hide.
James ran after him, offering encouragement in a high-pitched rapid tone now that they both knew they had the scent.
Yardley didn’t bother to follow. She knew the conclusion so well it wasn’t necessary. She swore under her breath as she set her cap on her head and then folded her arms, one booted foot thrust forward so that her hips were cocked, to wait for her students to return.
Through sweat, determination, and by what her grandmother called “just plain cussedness,” Yardley had made Harmonie Kennels one of the top breeding farms for K-9 service dogs on the East Coast. Teams were sent here for her rigorous training programs. Using her sterling reputation in the business, she insisted on having the final say-so in the pairing of her animals with their human partners.
She had put this team together because they shared similar natures. James had the same energetic yet tenacious quality as Bogart, and good instincts. Good instincts couldn’t be discounted. Partners who trusted their instincts often solved cases using details that by-the-book partners missed. She was certain James and Bogart could become one of the finest K-9 teams she’d ever produced, but only if they learned to trust each other completely. Just now, they were acting like a couple who’d had the Big Fight. The bond between them had been disturbed and they were both the worse for it. That made her furious.
James and Bogart came back from their trial at a trot. The sight of the pair of healthy male specimens drew a half-smile of begrudging admiration from their coach. She pinched if off immediately and placed a fist on each hip. It was time to chew their asses.
James stopped before her, not at all winded. “Sorry. We’re a little rusty.”
Yardley ignored the gorgeous smile he slanted her way. “Rusty can let a suspect escape. Or get you killed.”
He sobered instantly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“How long have you and Bogart been off required training?”
“Four weeks, ma’am.”
“Eight hours a week minimum, times four weeks. Well, hell. You’ve missed thirty-two hours of training. That’s enough to ruin you as a team.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s why I came out here first thing. To be assessed.”
Yardley walked slowly around the pair, assessing the tension running through the young officer’s body and the concern expressed by the way his canine companion was watching his partner’s every twitch.
“You youngsters get a few takedowns under your belts and think you don’t need to learn anything else. But without constant discipline and training, you’re not K-9 officers. You’re just a boy and his dog.”
“We’ll do better tomorrow, ma’am. I’ll work him day and night between shifts.”
“Did you not hear me? You’re not fit for street duty.”
Stung by her assessment, James had to bite back the comment that came to mind. It wasn’t Bogart’s fault he was rusty. It wasn’t his … Hell. Maybe it was.
“Come with me.”
They were both silent as they walked back to the main office. Hard as she could be, James was grateful for Yardley’s close connection to the partners she paired up. Without it, Bogart might not have been found.
Aware that Bogart was missing, Yardley had paid special attention when she received a call from a young woman who said she had recently adopted a Belgian Malinois from a shelter. The caller said the dog was so well trained she thought he might have professional abilities. Yet when Yardley asked her to describe the dog, the young woman hesitated. That hesitation was enough to prick Yardley’s curiosity. When pressed for details, for instance where exactly she had adopted the dog, she’d only say it was near Lake Gaston. When asked if the dog was tattooed or tagged, the caller had hung up. Even more suspicious. Following a hunch, she had called James.
They agreed. Why would the caller contact Harmonie Kennels unless she was aware of some connection to the dog in question? It could be a setup. Someone who’d steal a police dog might have a vendetta against the owner or the department. Worst-case scenario was the go-to mode of operation. The benefit of the doubt could get a law enforcement officer killed.
James and his sergeant had come up with a plan. On his own time, James would do some investigation in the general area of Lake Gaston, by pretending he was a civilian with a missing pet.
It was amazing what a local gas station or café owner knew or observed about her or his customers. One glance at the photo James carried of Bogart, and the owner of a café located on a farm road off Interstate 95 just east of Littleton gave him the location of a recent customer with a dog that fit the description. But, he added, she wasn’t a local. Just visiting. Using one of the old 1950s cabins located on a cove on Lake Gaston. Sure enough, that’s where he found Bogart, and Shay Appleton.
James found himself wondering what Shay was doing now.
“That’s your problem right here.”
James paused, looking guiltily at Yardley. “What?”
“Your mind just wandered. That single-minded obsession to do your best, it’s missing today.”
“Yes, ma’am. I was just thinking how lucky we were that Shay was the one to get custody of Bogart.”
Yardley noticed that he called the woman by her first name but let that slide. “Did she know anything about handling a dog with Bogart’s special talents and needs?”
“No, but she has good instincts. They developed a relationship very quickly.” He told her about the incident in the woods the night he’d discovered Bogart was alive and then, the next day, how his partner had alerted him to the man’s return. “Both times Bogart understood without prompting that she was in danger.”
She regarded Bogart thoughtfully. “That’s quite remarkable.”
James grinned with pride. “Bogart has a sixth sense about such things.”
“You need to keep that in mind.” Yardley then bent down and gave the Malinois a big hug. “Good boy! Such a smart boy, too.”
James waited patiently as Yardley lavished affection on his partner. Her voice became light and girlish when she dealt with the dogs. Then her smile would betray the sensuous woman behind the military posture. She was an enigma in a male-dominated field of K-9 law enforcement. Once in the armed services, she had left to train K-9s. Yet she commanded the respect of a general whenever she entered a room or came on the training field. It didn’t hurt that she was one helluva good-looking woman.
Not that you could mention that around her. She was tall and lean but with curves in all the right places. She had eyes so black rumor was she was part Apache. But then there was that long dark red hair, almost mahogany, usually stuck under a fatigue cap. Her strong-boned face held a hint of sensuality most often disguised with a no-nonsense expression. Her friends called her Yard. Everyone else called her ma’am.
James wondered from time to time what sort of man would be able to get behind those defenses and claim the woman only rarely glimpsed, like now? So far, he’d seen every man who tried get shot down. He hoped he’d be around when that changed.
Yardley came to her feet, produced a ball from her pocket and threw it. Bogart was off like a missile, chasing it. “What happened with Ms. Appleton’s boyfriend?”
“Her ex.” James flexed his shoulders, revealing more than he knew. “I leaned on him a little.”
“Can’t she take care of herself?” Yardley’s tone was that
of a woman who wouldn’t need a dog or a man’s help to put anyone in his place.
That question had been on James’s mind, too. “She was doing okay with Bogart around.”
Yardley frowned. “You think she’s still in danger?”
He retrieved a ball from his pocket as Bogart waited patiently for another toss. “Not really my business. She made that clear.”
Yardley nodded. “Then she’s got some grit. Good.”
She took the ball from James and sent it sailing away. Bogart hustled after it as if it were a sirloin steak.
Yardley used the pause in conversation to think about what she should do next.
She knew more about her K-9 teams’ private lives than most trainers. It was that kind of a business. Man or woman, and dog, needed to be part of a support system, an extended K-9 family, which included keeping up with one another’s business, even if it was personal. Everything affected the bond between officer and canine. Nothing could be allowed to come permanently between that. When something did, they often needed help to work it out quickly, or they would fail.
While visiting a German breeder two years ago to observe their methods for selecting dogs to be trained, Yardley had had a chance to watch Bogart come into his own. And fell a little in love with this scrappy runt of the litter.
Bogart needed a master who knew when to hold him back, and when to get out of his way. From the beginning, James seemed to have an intuition about that delicate balance. But today, everything possible had gone wrong. Now there was something else in the mix.
She could tell James’s preoccupation had something to do with the young woman named Shay. Bogart had bonded with her quickly. Perhaps James had, too. There was no way to know how important she was to them. And neither man nor dog was going to be back in top form until that issue had been worked out.
She seldom made command decisions for her teams, but she wasn’t above steering from the rear.
“I’ll sign off on your readiness for duty, temporarily, but I’m going to recommend sending you and Bogart down to a place near Raleigh where you can get an intensive week of retraining. A sort of K-9 boot camp.”
James looked startled. “I’d prefer to work with you, ma’am.”
