Capitol K-9 Unit Christmas

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Am I?” He stepped into the kitchen, and her blood ran cold.

  It was Kevin again, standing in the bedroom, the gun in hand.

  You can’t leave me. Won’t leave me. Not now. Not ever.

  She’d seen insanity in his eyes that day. She’d known she was going to die.

  She saw it now, felt the same mind-numbing fear.

  She had to act, but she didn’t know which way to go, what way to turn.

  “What do you want?” she managed to say.

  “Your signature.” He pulled a paper from his pocket, the gun still pointed in her direction. “It says everything goes to me if you die.”

  “There’s no way anyone will ever believe that.”

  “So?” He laughed. “It’s the irony I want. You handing everything over to me right before you die. It’s perfect justice.”

  “Even if you never get a penny?” She eased toward the kitchen counter, the knife block that was there. If she could grab one, she could defend herself.

  “I don’t want money. I want you to suffer like I’ve suffered. Simple as that, Ginny. You took my brother from me before I had time to really get to know him. You took my grandmother from me. You took my inheritance. My life. Everything that should have been mine.”

  “Nothing in this house is yours. It was Laurel’s, and I had nothing to do with her death. I hadn’t spoken to her in eight years when she died.”

  “She died from a broken heart. She lost everything. You did that to her.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Shut up!” he screamed, rage contorting his face. She’d seen the same in Kevin’s face too many times to count, and every time, she’d run from it, cowered from it, tried desperately to assuage it.

  Not this time.

  There was nowhere to go. Nothing she could do but fight.

  She lunged forward, slamming into him as the pantry door flew open.

  A dog snarled and snapped. A man shouted.

  Feet pounded on the back deck.

  She heard it all, felt the cold metal of a gun pressed to her temple.

  “Stop!” Luke screamed, and the world went silent.

  Not a sound from Dylan, who’d jumped out of the pantry and stood with his gun trained at Luke. Not a sound from his K-9 partner.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Miller,” John barked.

  He stood in the doorway, his firearm out, Samson growling beside him.

  A frozen tableau of men and dogs and insanity, the gun still pressed to her temple.

  “One move and she dies. You hear me?” Luke said.

  She caught a glimpse of someone moving outside.

  Chase or Gavin heading to the front of the house?

  Probably, but they’d get there too late.

  She could have told them that.

  Could have told John that doing what Luke said wasn’t going to save her. She didn’t say anything, though. Didn’t dare speak as Luke dragged her toward the hallway.

  She thought she knew where they were heading. To the front yard. To the spot where she’d collapsed. To the place where Kevin had died.

  Irony to die where her husband had killed himself.

  She met John’s eyes, saw determination there, knew that he would risk everything to save her.

  She couldn’t let him die.

  Couldn’t let anyone else be hurt.

  The gun was still there, pressed to her temple, the metal cold and hard, but Luke was distracted, his grip loosening as he tried to keep everyone under control.

  This was going to be her only chance.

  She had to take it.

  She slammed her elbow into Luke’s side, letting all her weight fall against his arm.

  Someone shouted. A gun exploded.

  Pain seared her temple, stole her thoughts, and then she was falling, Luke’s laughter ringing in her ears, mixing with memories of Kevin’s voice, his shouts, his tears and moans and apologies, all of it there together, filling her head, pounding through her blood, carrying her away.

  * * *

  John tucked his revolver back into the holster, every cell in his body focused, every bit of who he was dedicated to one thing—keeping Virginia alive.

  He’d seen the intention in her eyes a split second before she’d acted; he hadn’t had time to tell her to stop, to wait, to let the plan play out—Chase and Gavin flanking Luke, taking him down from behind while John distracted him.

  Only Virginia had acted first, and now she was lying on the ground, blood seeping from her head.

  Luke lay a few feet away.

  Dead.

  John had taken the shot and had hit his target, taken him out with one bullet to the heart. He knew it. Couldn’t find it in himself to feel more than rage for what Luke had done, what he’d been trying to do. The sorrow would come later. For the life that was lost, but not for the man who was gone. Luke had brought this on himself, and it had ended the way he’d wanted—with blood and death and violence.

  John leaned over Virginia, Samson nosing in, trying to lick Virginia’s cheek.

  “Down,” John said, pulling off his coat, pressing the sleeve to the seeping wound.

  His hand was steady as he felt for her pulse, but his soul was shaking, everything in him shouting that he had to save her.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, groggily, her eyes still closed. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

  “This—” he said, wiping at the blood, relief coursing through him. A millimeter in either direction and the bullet would have gone through the skull and into the brain, killing her almost instantly “—is more than a flesh wound.”

  “Probably,” she responded, finally opening her eyes. “But I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  That made him smile.

  She made him smile.

  “I guess you’ve achieved your life goal, then,” he said, applying pressure to the wound.

  She winced, but didn’t complain. “Luke?”

  “Gone.”

  “I think I should be sorry for that,” she said, her words slurred, her eyes hazy. She had a concussion at best. A fractured skull at worst.

  She was alive, though, and that was something John would be forever thankful for.

  “You will be one day. But not now. Not after everything that happened.”

  “Thanks for saving me,” she said, as an ambulance crew moved in.

  “You saved yourself, Virginia.”

  “No,” she insisted, grabbing his hand when the paramedic tried to shoo him away. “You did. You made me believe in things I’d given up on. You made me hope for things I’d stopped believing I could have.”

  “What things?” he asked, brushing hair from her cheek, his heart aching with a love he’d never expected to feel. His life had been too busy, too devoted to his siblings, then his job. He hadn’t had room for anything else until Virginia had come along.

  She fit perfectly. In his life. His heart.

  He wouldn’t give that up.

  Wouldn’t turn away from it.

  “Happy endings,” she murmured, as the paramedics lifted her onto the gurney.

  Her eyes were closed, but she clutched his hand, refusing to release him as they carried her out the back door.

  She fell silent as they rounded the house, her hand going slack, her hold loosening.

  He climbed into the ambulance, settled into a seat the paramedic indicated and nodded at Gavin, who was standing at the back of the ambulance, Samson on the lead beside him.

  “I’ll take him to my place,” he said, and John nodded.

  “I’ll call as soon as I hear something.”

  “Trust me. That won’t be necessary. Cassie is looking for someone to come
sit with the kids. We’ll be at the hospital as soon as she finds someone.”

  “No,” Virginia mumbled. “That isn’t necessary. Tell her to stay home.”

  “That would be like telling you to stop caring about your kids,” Gavin responded gruffly. “Stay with her. Those are direct orders from Cassie,” he said to John.

  There was no need for the orders, because there was no way John was leaving Virginia’s side.

  The ambulance doors closed, and the vehicle raced toward the hospital. Virginia didn’t speak, didn’t moan, barely seemed to be breathing.

  “Virginia?” he said, touching her cheek.

  “I have a pretty bad headache, so this isn’t the best time to talk,” she responded.

  “Too bad, I wanted to hear more about the things I helped you believe in.”

  “You just want to keep me awake, because you’re afraid I’ll lose consciousness and drift away for good,” she accused.

  “Guilty as charged,” he said, and she opened her eyes and met his gaze, offering a soft smile.

  “Don’t worry, John. I’m not going anywhere.” She reached out, touched his cheeks. “Not when I’ve finally found what I’ve spent my life looking for.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A place to belong. Someone to belong with. A chance for something that can last. I thought I had that with Kevin, but it was just a dream that I created. There was no substance to it.”

  “There will be plenty of substance to us,” he promised, and her smile broadened.

  “We’ll see how you hold up under the pressure.”

  “What pressure?”

  “Of Christmas shopping with a bunch of kids, of baking cookies with little people under your feet. Decorating with babies on your hip and a toddler whining for a candy cane. It’s a busy month at All Our Kids, and I can’t wait to get back to it.” Her eyes drifted closed again, the smile falling away, a tinge of pink on her cheeks. “But I guess I’m getting ahead of myself. You’ll probably be—”

  “Doing all those things with you,” he said, cutting her off, because he could see himself with her and the foster kids she worked with. He could picture Christmas in the house filled with children who needed more than gifts and treats. Who needed love, affection, constancy.

  “Really?” She took his hand, lifted it to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. “Then you’re a brave man, John. Much braver than I thought.”

  He laughed at that, squeezing her hand gently.

  She had a long recovery ahead of her. He knew that, and he planned to be with her every step of the way. Through Christmas, the New Year, beyond. That was what commitment meant, it was what love meant, it was what he felt every time he looked into her eyes.

  He wanted more of that. For himself. For her. He wanted to offer Virginia all the things she’d been searching for, all the things she deserved. Happiness. Joy. Security.

  Love.

  She seemed willing to ride things out, see where they led, what the two of them could create together. That was a beginning, and he thought it would also be an end—of walking the road alone, of forging his path without any commitments or obligations to anyone but himself. Just his job, his dog, his friends, his neighbors. No deep connections that could mold the heart and shape the soul.

  He hadn’t realized how much he’d longed for something more until God had set it in his life, shown him how much he was missing out on.

  Snow was falling as the ambulance pulled into the hospital parking lot, heavy white flakes that coated the ground and seemed to bring a sense of renewal, of hope and of happiness.

  Or maybe that’s what Virginia had brought when she’d barreled into his life.

  A perfect early Christmas present for both of them.

  * * * * *

  Dear Reader,

  When I wrote Protection Detail, the first book in the Capitol K-9 Unit continuity, I was really taken with Virginia’s character. I knew she had a story that needed to be told, and I was thrilled to have the opportunity to tell it. She’s been through a lot of trauma, has faced a lot of trials, but she still has faith that things will be okay. As she faces her deepest fears, she learns that the darkest of times can lead to the biggest of blessings. I hope and pray that, whatever trials you face, you know the bounty of God’s love and compassion for you.

  I hope you enjoyed reading Virginia and John’s story! I love hearing from readers. You can reach me at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com or visit me on Facebook or Twitter.

  Blessings,

  GUARDING

  ABIGAIL

  Lenora Worth

  To Shirlee McCoy, my friend and fellow writer.

  Enjoyed being here with you.

  The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life. The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forevermore.

  —Psalms 121:7–8

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DEAR READER

  ONE

  Dylan Ralsey held open the door of the sleek SUV and waited for the petite redheaded woman who wore all black, her eyes shielded by dark sunglasses. Out of respect for her grief, he didn’t speak but he did offer her a hand getting inside the big vehicle. Giving her a quick nod, he watched as she stepped up and with a practiced turn slid onto the leather seat and then abruptly removed her gloved hand from his.

  Once she was inside the vehicle, he opened the back and waited for his K-9 partner, a Belgian Malinois named Tico, to hop into his kennel. After Tico did a circle and settled down, Dylan scanned the street outside the row of brownstones that sat between two stately embassies on Massachusetts Avenue in Washington, DC. All along the row, ornate wreaths decorated the private homes.

  Christmas was coming.

  Hard to see when you were on a funeral detail. Even worse for the woman he’d been assigned to protect. Abigail Wheaton had lost her father, a popular diplomat at a foreign embassy, to a terrorist attack overseas that had blown up the car carrying him, along with two other vehicles. In all, five people had died.

  And now Washington was on high alert.

  Both ahead and behind the motorcade, Dylan saw official vehicles full of Secret Service teams, FBI agents and several officers from the Metro Police, all here to help escort this one tiny woman to her father’s funeral.

  After confirming the all clear, Dylan finally turned to the woman he’d been assigned to protect. Pulling off his aviator shades, he said, “Ma’am, I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” The woman looked ahead, her upswept curls glistening burnished and rich in the faint light that penetrated the darkened windows. Whipping off her shades, she sent Dylan a green-eyed gaze. “I’m not your ma’am. Please call me Abigail.”

  “Of course.” Dylan watched the driver, a Secret Service special agent, to make sure all systems were go, and tried to recover from the flare of aloofness in her gaze. “I’ll be with you twenty-four-seven for the unforeseeable future, so call me Dylan.”

  “For how long?” she asked as if she didn’t understand.

  Dylan had to make sure she did understand. “You mean, how long will we be together?” Besides every day, all day?

  She slanted her head in irritation. “How long will I have to put up with y
ou?”

  “For as long as you need me,” Dylan replied, determined to make her see the risk. “We’ve had enough threats against you to determine that you’re in imminent danger. And until we pinpoint who’s threatening you, I’ll be your shadow.”

  “I’ve always had threats against me,” she countered, a deep sadness darkening her exotic green eyes. “It comes with the territory.”

  “This is a new territory,” Dylan said. He did not need a difficult subject. His job wasn’t easy on a good day but when he factored in an uncooperative subject, well, that amped up the danger even more. “Considering how your father died, we need to take every threat seriously.”

  “I understand and I appreciate the protection.” She lowered her head and cut him with another questioning glance. “But don’t you have a life? People to be with during the holidays?”

  “This is my life,” Dylan said. A true statement. He was single and dedicated and because he was recovering from a gunshot wound he’d received last summer, he’d actually been glad to be assigned to help someone in need. Tico had been just as eager. They were both tired of hanging out on desk detail and going through their required paces on the K-9 practice yard.

  Other than assisting fellow officer John Forrester a couple of weeks ago during a shoot-out with a stalker who was harassing John’s neighbor Virginia Johnson, Dylan and Tico had been on light duty.

  Two bachelors stuck in a rut. He prayed he could get back into the swing of things by being in charge of this protection detail.

  Now, at least, they had some action going. But if all went as planned, this should be a quiet, easy assignment. Easy on the eye, anyway. She was a very attractive woman.

  “I don’t think I need that much protection,” she said, her voice husky. “My father was truly a diplomat but he was used to receiving threats. He never met a stranger and he was loved by people the world over.”

  “But...he died at the hands of people who don’t care how much he was loved by anyone. People who hate all Americans.”

  She turned toward Dylan with a cold glance. “You don’t have to remind me of how my father died, Officer Ralsey. I’m well aware since I’ve seen the horrific details in all the papers and on every channel of the evening news.”