by Radclyffe
*
Viv waited in the doorway of a small equipment room while Dusty pulled a navy nylon bomber jacket from a locker and shrugged into it. Atlas sat beside her, the cadence of his tail swishing back and forth increasing when she donned the jacket.
“He seems to know what’s about to happen,” Viv commented.
“He does.” Dusty zipped the jacket and murmured a command. Atlas followed at her side as Dusty joined Viv in the hall. “There’s nothing he’d rather do than work.”
“Sounds like a perfect partner.”
“Couldn’t find a better one.”
Clearly Dusty Nash meant every word. She and the dog were more than a team, they were a unit, apparently self-sufficient in every respect. Viv knew dog people. She’d been raised around them. Her mother bred champion Labradors. Some were used in police work but more often they worked in service areas. Their gentle nature and less threatening demeanor made them better choices where a great deal of social interaction was required. The Malinois were far more aggressive and tended to work better one-on-one with their handlers in solo situations, like Dusty’s, or in small units, as they’d been employed in the Middle East.
Dusty was like a lot of dog people she knew, more comfortable with animals than people. But she got the feeling it went further than that, as if Dusty had an invisible barrier around her that kept her apart. Viv had always been drawn to the quiet solitary types, like her father. She’d come to recognize at an early age that when praise or a smile or a gentle touch was given from someone like him, it meant even more. She wondered if there was anyone Dusty smiled for. Realizing she’d been daydreaming, Viv put her game face on. “How often does he need to train, now that you’re a working unit?”
“We train a little every day,” Dusty said, leading the way through a set of double doors into an open lot behind the group of low buildings. “Requirements are a minimum of ten hours of active training every week unless we’re deployed.”
“I don’t imagine he thinks of it as work,” Viv said.
“For him it’s just fun.”
“How about you? Is that what you do for fun too?” Viv realized a second too late her comment might be construed as flirtatious, and maybe it was.
Dusty regarded her solemnly, the merest hint of question in her eyes. “It’s not work for me either. It’s what I enjoy doing.”
“He lives with you, I take it?”
“That’s right.”
“And how is he…” Viv searched for a way that wouldn’t make it too obvious she was probing for personal information. “With family?”
“He behaves himself with strangers. He’s good with people, but not overly friendly. That’s just normal for his breed.”
That was nicely sidestepped. Viv made a noncommittal noise and followed along, hunching her shoulders against the brisk wind. The training area looked to be a hundred acres of field bordered on one side by woods. They veered away from the woods and along a narrow path that led to a group of buildings, more like sheds really, where a number of vehicles were parked haphazardly in tall grass.
“I already placed a hide earlier today,” Dusty said. “I was planning to bring him out for a little work before the Office of Public Affairs contacted me to meet with you.”
“A hide?”
“An explosive-impregnated package.”
“Is it dangerous?”
Dusty shook her head. “There’s nothing to arm or trigger the explosives. It’s the odor we care about. Atlas detects bombs by scent. He’s incredibly good at recognizing just about any kind of explosive.”
“Right. He alerts to the scent cone, isn’t that it?”
Dusty gave her a long look. “That’s right. Not many people actually know that.”
“I did a little reading before I came,” Viv said. “And my family’s in dogs. My mother raises and trains Labs, mostly for service but a couple go to handlers for law enforcement. Usually search and rescue, cadaver, sometimes protection.”
“Really? Labs?”
“Uh-huh.”
“They’re good dogs. A little distractible.”
Viv laughed at the understatement. “Oh my God, don’t you know it.”
“That’s why they’re not the best dogs for bomb detection.”
“How old was Atlas when you got him?”
“The pups are separated from their mothers earlier than normal so they bond with the human from a really early age. After I worked with some of the graduate dogs for a while, I got to choose my own for training. He was three weeks old.”
“He’s been with you his whole life.”
Dusty leaned down and unclipped Atlas’s lead. He panted softly, his ears perked and his eyes bright.
“Atlas, find it.” Dusty pointed at a bus twenty-five yards away, and he tore off like a missile fired from a fighter plane.
“Yeah, his whole life,” Dusty murmured as she trotted after him.
Viv ran to keep up, cursing the heels on her suede boots. She hadn’t anticipated anything quite so strenuous. She clutched her recorder in one hand and kept her coat closed at her throat with the other. The wind bit through the wool as if it was sheer cotton. Dusty, hatless with her jacket partially unzipped, appeared impervious, her gaze riveted on the dog. She slowed and Viv pulled up beside her, trying not to gasp. A few more weekly sessions at the gym seemed in order.
Atlas trotted along beside the bus, halting occasionally to hunker down and crawl partway underneath, then backing out and resuming his methodical foot-by-foot search along the carriage.
“What’s he doing?” Viv fumbled her camera out and got a picture of Atlas sniffing along the wheel well with Dusty a few feet away, her hands on her hips, her face in profile, staring into the wind in utter concentration. They were both beautiful animals.
Dusty glanced over. “Checking the exterior, the undercarriage, the wheel wells, the body, the places where someone could plant a charge. He’ll finish inside if he doesn’t find anything outside.”
“Will he?”
Dusty grinned and that breathtaking transformation happened again. She went from remote and cool and icily striking to warm and sexy. Viv stared as Dusty tilted her head much as Atlas had done earlier, studying her in return.
Viv’s face heated against the cold wind, and she hoped Dusty would write off the flush in her cheeks to the weather and not her embarrassment at being caught staring.
“There,” Dusty murmured, her focus back on Atlas again. “That’s a good boy.”
Atlas sat and woofed once, his head extended and his nose pointing to the grille at the front of the bus.
“Different breeds, different dogs, will alert in different ways,” Dusty said as she strode toward Atlas. “Once he alerts, he sits, his focus on the find.”
“How often does he miss?”
Dusty grunted. “Never.”
“And that’s what you’ll be doing during the president’s trip? Atlas will be checking the train?”
“Atlas will be checking everything.”
Chapter Four
Hooker slid onto the stool next to the county sheriff’s deputy and motioned to the bartender to refill the deputy’s beer. Early afternoon, the place was almost empty, the lights turned down low and the windows too grimy for much of the low, flat winter light to penetrate. The deputy, wearing two days’ worth of beard, mud-caked boots, and a sweat-stained, rumpled uniform, glanced at Hooker and grunted in greeting. The man was Hooker’s best source inside the local law-enforcement network, and he’d been combing through the wreckage of the militia compound just like every other LEO in that part of Idaho for the better part of a week. Hooker wanted to know what they’d found and, even more importantly, what they suspected, without giving away his stake in the game.
“Sounds like you’ve been pretty busy up there,” Hooker said.
The ruddy-faced middle-aged man, his salt-and-pepper hair cut close, his heavy straining belly showing his fondness for brew, grunted again. �
�Fucking waste of time.”
“Puts you boys in a tight spot. I don’t imagine anybody’s too eager to start arresting their neighbors.”
“No point to it,” the deputy said. “No way to prove who was up there that night, no way to prove they were even doing anything illegal, unless you can tie those illegal guns directly to them. Which we can’t.”
“I heard the bikers were the gun connection.”
“Looks like it, and that’s their style.”
“What about the Renegades? Are you picking up any of them?” Hooker sipped the beer the bartender put in front of him. It was a little too early in the day, but he made a show of it.
“The ones who could ride away, did. That left us with the dead and a dozen wounded. The ones in the hospital swear they don’t know anything about any guns and were innocent bystanders.”
“What happened to the guns?”
“They’re locked up in evidence. The ATF will try to track them, but they won’t get anywhere.”
“So the whole thing is pretty much going to die down.”
“The feds are pretty interested in finding out who was backing the buy, but since there’s no money to trace and no one’s talking, things will probably end up dead-ended.”
“Huh,” Hooker said. Someone had the money, someone who’d been in the compound that night. His boss wasn’t happy about losing their donors’ money, although they’d known the risks when they’d manipulated the bikers and the militia into believing each was double-crossing the other. All the same, losing a quarter of a million dollars wasn’t something to write off easily. “Maybe the militia was fronting the buy and one of them made off with it.”
“Most likely.” The deputy drained his beer and Hooker signaled for the bartender to fill him up. “Wherever it went, it’s gone, and I don’t think anyone’s gonna be looking too hard.”
“How’d the feds get pulled into it so quick?”
“Some big shot from back east poking around is what I heard.” The deputy scoffed. “Like they don’t have real enemies to be going after, they have to come looking at Americans.”
“They sure managed to find the place quick.”
“Probably the firefight between the bikers and the militia brought down the heat.”
Hooker wasn’t so sure. He’d never been to the compound, but he knew how well hidden it was. Graves always arranged a meet somewhere on neutral ground, and he couldn’t see Graves letting the bikers anywhere near the place. But the Renegades had shown up in force, and the feds had found the location in record time too. To him, that spelled inside information. But then, maybe someone in the militia got cold feet and tipped off the feds. Every group had its traitors. At least nothing was coming back on the senator, and that meant his job was secure for the time being.
“Yeah, you’re probably right—bunch of hotheads on both sides. Waste of time.” He left a ten on the bar, slapped the deputy on the back, and waved to the bartender on his way out. He was halfway across the street to his truck when his cell phone rang. He waited until he was inside the cab to grab it.
“Yeah?” he said, turning on the engine to get some heat going.
“I still have the money,” a woman said. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any guns.”
Hooker straightened, trying to place the voice. Youngish, maybe the slightest bit of a Midwest accent. “I understand things didn’t go well at the exchange.”
“Is that what you call murder?”
“Sorry. I know you took some losses.”
“That’s done now,” she said with a chilling absence of emotion. “I still have business to finish.”
“What, you still want to try for guns?”
“There’s no point to that, not without the soldiers to use them.”
“What exactly are you talking about then?”
“You didn’t give us the money because you support our cause. People like you want something. I want to know what General Graves promised in exchange for the money.”
“I’m just a middleman.”
“Then I suggest you find out from the man on top. If you can’t, I’ll take the money somewhere else to someone who can help me.”
“Wait a minute—”
He swore as the line went dead. The senator was not going to be happy.
*
Blair nodded to the uniformed officer at the south gate of the White House, crossed to the mansion, and called Lucinda Washburn, her father’s chief of staff. Lucinda guarded her father’s time with an iron fist, and even Blair had to check with her before getting in to see him. She understood. Besides, Luce never kept her waiting unless he was really, truly busy.
“Hi, Luce. Is he free?”
“For about two hours. Have you had lunch?”
“Uh—no.”
“Neither has he. I’ll have something sent over. He’s in the library.”
“Thanks.”
“Make sure you eat.”
Blair laughed. “Roger that.”
Lucinda disconnected and Blair walked to the library, nodding to the agent and military aide outside the closed door. She knocked and entered. Her father sat in a red-cushioned, wing-backed chair in front of the fireplace, reading a thick file. His shoes were parked beside the chair, his sock-clad feet up on a hassock.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, honey.” He smiled when she settled in the matching chair across from him.
“Playing hooky?” she asked.
“Hiding,” he said, removing his reading glasses and setting them and the file on an antique table next to him. “How’s Cam?”
“Healing. Stubborn. On her way to the countdown.”
Andrew Powell, in his early fifties and looking a decade younger, his hair still golden brown, his blue eyes sharp and clear, laughed. “Back to her old self, then.”
“Almost. I tried to get her to stay home.”
Andrew nodded. “I suppose you had about as much success as she did in getting you to stay behind.”
Blair smiled wryly. “That would be a good bet.”
“The trip should be relatively straightforward and not too strenuous.”
Blair laughed. “Dad. Have you forgotten what the campaign trail is like? If we even manage to stay on schedule it’ll be a miracle, and you know Adam is going to end up adding extra venues all along the way.”
“Still, Cam shouldn’t have to do too much.”
“You’re probably right.” Blair set her concerns aside. Her father did not need to worry about Cam. That was her job. “Some of the opposition has been making noise ahead of your arrival that you’re making the trip due to slipping approval ratings. Do you want to address that out in Chicago?”
“Familiar song.” Andrew snorted. “I think we should stick to our original plan to press our platform and not engage. Responding only gives credibility to their arguments. They’re going to be fighting like dogs over a bone for the next few months until a clear contender emerges. Until then, addressing their issues and arguments is fruitless.”
“I’m surprised Russo hasn’t made a statement yet,” Blair said. “He’s clearly the man the press is pointing toward as the next candidate.”
“He’s still pretty far right, but he’s got momentum, no doubt,” Andrew said. “We’ve got people watching. I hope he does come out on top. He’ll have a hard time winning over the center.”
“You know we’re going to take some heat over the wedding in a few places out there,” Blair said.
Andrew shrugged. “Gay rights is always an issue. We’ve dealt with that before.”
“But not like this. Come on, Dad. Don’t pretend I haven’t put you on the spot.”
Andrew leaned forward, his gaze deep and intense, a look of such certainty that even television cameras couldn’t mute it. That look had won over a great many voters. “Your personal life does not create a problem for me. The country already knows my views. If anything, what you and Cam have done only makes us stronger. People respect thos
e who live by what they preach.”
Blair’s chest tightened. She’d spent so many years resenting her father’s ambition, his driving need to lead. She refused for so long to acknowledge what she knew in her heart—he sacrificed too. The burden of power, of responsibility, wore on him. “You never let me down.”
“I wish that were true.” He shook his head. “You’re more likely to get heat than me.”
Blair grinned. “I can’t wait.”
He laughed. “You’re going to give Adam fits, you know.”
“Oh, I’ll be good.” Serious then, she said, “I’d never do anything—at least not intentionally—that would reflect badly on you.”
“I know. And I’m sorry you’ve had to think about that first for all these years.”
She waved her hand. “Dad. How many people in the history of the world have been able to say their father was the president of the United States? It’s okay.”
“Thank you for that.”
“So we’re all good. We’ll take Middle America by storm.” Blair looked at her watch. They had an hour. “Any chance we could sneak away for a burger somewhere?”
He grinned. “We can try.”
*
“This has been great,” Viv said, standing in the hall of the training facility, unspeakably grateful to be inside, out of the wind. “Atlas is incredible. I love how he zeroed in on everything out there.”
Dusty stood with her jacket slung over her shoulder and Atlas’s lead lightly looped in her hand. “He was showing off for you today. He knew you were watching.”
Viv extended a hand. “Do you think he’d mind me petting him now?”
“I think he’d like it a lot.” Dusty gave a command to let Atlas know he was off-duty, and he gave a vigorous shake, as if relaxing after a strenuous workout. He sat again as Viv knelt slowly and held out her hand.
Atlas nosed it and she petted his head. “You are such a gorgeous guy.” She looked up at Dusty. “I can’t wait to see him on the job again.”
