Circle 0f Trust_K-9 Unit

by Kate Cambridge

  He’d been impressed with BRG’s facilities—who wouldn’t be? They had access to the best of the best, even better than the military in some respects, and all without the politics. It seemed like a dream come true.

  He liked the team. They were all intense in their own way, but he wouldn’t expect anything less from this caliber of elite soldiers. He liked the fact that they had women on their team in equal operations roles, and despite the fact that they didn’t know him yet, everyone had made him feel welcome and appreciated for the role he’d played in their mission today.

  He turned back toward the hotel, his muscles burning from the run, but it was a good burn. He lengthened his stride and slowed to a walk in the final hundred yards before he reached the hotel. He felt centered and more certain than he’d been in a very long time that he was on the right path.

  Eighteen

  Peyton

  After three rings Peyton got a text on her phone. She leaned heavily against the coffee table, pulling the phone away to glance at the display.

  Can I call you later? Indisposed.

  She took a deep breath and typed:

  Of course

  Now that Jax’s help was out of the picture, what were her options? She moaned as the pain continued to shoot up her leg. Her phone vibrated against her leg. Jax!

  But it wasn’t Jax, it was her sister.

  I’m back! Just landed.

  Grabbing my bags. See you soon!

  mwah!

  That gave Peyton thirty minutes to try to figure out what to do, and if she couldn’t, Paige would be able to help her when she arrived.

  Radar licked her face, sensing his human’s relief. “Everything’s going to be okay, buddy,” she said reassuringly, but she wasn’t at all sure that was the case.

  * * *

  “Peyton? Peyton! What happened? Are you okay?” Paige rushed to her sister’s side after dropping her bags when she saw Peyton on the floor with her back against the coffee table.

  “Hey, sis,” Peyton managed through gritted teeth. “I—I'm not okay. I went for a run. Pushed myself too far and now I can’t put any weight on my leg.”

  “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “No! I don’t want an ambulance. I could have called for one of those myself. I need a doctor or physical therapist. Tell me you know one,” she added with a grimace.

  “Um. Yes, I know one, but I don’t know one who makes house calls… although he might.”

  “You’re resourceful, Paige. Find one.”

  Paige lifted her eyebrow at her sister. “I’m going to forgive you for being rude, and I might just know a doc who will come to the house if he’s available,” she emphasized. “Can I help you up? Water?”

  “Water would be good, but only after you’ve made that call, okay?”

  “Yes, of course,” Paige agreed, pulling her phone from her handbag and scrolling through the contacts. Chris Mason, M.D.

  She selected his cell phone number and pressed. He answered on the second ring.

  “Hey Paige, what’s up?”

  “Hey Chris,” Paige’s voice softened and Peyton looked up at her sister, eyebrow raised. Paige rolled her eyes at Peyton and turned her back, but not before Peyton noticed the flush creeping into her sister’s face. “What are you up to right now?”

  “Right now as in right now?” he asked. “Everything okay?”

  “That depends on your answer.”

  “I can be there in ten.”

  Paige let out a long, slow breath. “Bring your bag, okay?”

  He hesitated. “Are you okay? Do you need to call 9-1-1?”

  She could imagine his crystal blue eyes with eyebrows raised. She knew that tone. “It’s not me—it’s my sister, and she’s refusing that.”

  “Got it, I’ll be there in five.”

  “Thanks,” she breathed, clicking end, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, and walking it back to Peyton.

  “So, Chris, huh?” Peyton managed a smile through the pain.

  Paige rolled her eyes again. “Don’t read into it.”

  Peyton bit her lip as pain shot through her leg into her hip. “Dang!”

  Paige rushed to her side. “What can I do? Can I get your aspirin?”

  “As much as I appreciate that, sis, I’m pretty sure aspirin can’t touch this. When is your friend arriving? Who is he?”

  “My friend is Chris Mason. He’s a medical doctor—internist—and just a friend. He said five minutes.”

  “Okay, good,” Peyton let a long slow breath through pursed lips and closed her eyes. “It would be a lot easier if I was on the couch, but I don’t think we can manage getting me there with just the two of us.”

  “Peyton…" Paige hesitated, “Chris is a bit intense." She paused again. "If he thinks you need to go to the hospital, he won’t be intimidated by your opinions about that. So prepare yourself—not everyone acquiesces to a woman simply because she’s an FBI agent.”

  Paige groaned and looked at her sister. They’d always been close, but she was pretty sure that was disdain she'd heard in her sister’s voice. “Thanks for the warning. Am I that bad?”

  “Sometimes,” Paige confirmed as a car door closed. Paige and Radar moved toward the door simultaneously.

  “Paige, put Radar in my room.”

  “Oh yeah, good idea.” Paige grabbed Radar’s collar, moving quickly toward the bedroom. “Stay,” she commanded as she nudged him inside and closed the door, heading back toward the screen door as Chris arrived.

  Peyton watched as Chris breezed in, taking the time to look her sister in the eye and give her a quick hug before turning his intense blue eyes on her. Peyton squirmed. There weren’t many people who could make her squirm.

  He looked from Paige back to Peyton. “Wow,” he affirmed, reaching Peyton’s side in two long strides, kneeling beside her. “I’m Chris Mason. Want to tell me what happened?” he asked as he opened his bag and took out a stethoscope.

  “I don’t need that,” Peyton insisted, waving it away. “It’s my leg.” She pointed to her right leg, wincing as she tried to pull her leggings up.

  He raised an eyebrow at her, wrapping the stethoscope around his neck. “Okay,” he agreed, eyebrows raised. “Let’s get a few things straight. Unless I’m wrong, I believe you called me to the house for help.” His eyes bored into hers and Peyton squirmed again.

  “Technically, it was my sister who called you,” she corrected, glancing at Paige, who appeared to be biting her lip, her eyes going back and forth between the two of them with rapt interest.

  He turned to Paige, his eyebrows raised. She mouthed, sorry.

  He turned back to Peyton and pinned her with his eyes. “You had your sister call me to the house for help, yes?” He waited.

  Peyton narrowed her eyes and hesitated. “Yes,” she agreed, visibly pained to admit it, lowering her eyes. There was no response, so she glanced back at him. As soon as she did he continued.

  “Glad we could establish that. Second, I’m the doctor, which makes you the patient. I’m not here to waste my time or yours, so here’s how this works. You can either agree that I’m the doctor and therefore you’ll do what I ask, and you’ll let me do what I need to do as your doctor, or I can leave and Paige can call an ambulance.” He paused for three long seconds. “Which would you prefer?”

  Peyton visibly bristled and gave a dirty look to her sister before looking back at him. “Okay, yes, I agree.”

  “Good. Now tell me what happened.”

  “I’m recovering from an leg injury. I went out for a run, and wasn’t paying attention to how far I'd gone until my leg started to hurt. —Hey, what are those for?” Peyton asked, eyeing the scissors he removed from his medical bag.

  “I’m going to cut your leggings so that I can examine your leg.”

  “These are sixty-dollar leggings, can’t you push them up?” she asked incredulously.

  “No,” he said simply. “The other option is for you to ta
ke them off. Do you think you can handle the pain if we go that route?”

  She sighed, staring at him. Why couldn’t the man simply probe through the leggings?

  “If the pain is this severe, Peyton, I really need to be able to examine your leg. If you’re not comfortable with that, they can take care of it in the ER.”

  Great, he was a mind reader, too. “Okay, okay. Cut away.”

  “Continue,” he encouraged, moving the scissors to the bottom of her leggings.

  “So, my leg was starting to hurt. I turned back, but by the time I reached the yard, the pain was—pretty intense and shooting into my hip. I could barely walk.”

  “Could you walk?” he asked, his eyes studying hers.

  “No,” she admitted.

  “How did you get into the house?”

  “I crawled.”

  “Oh, my gosh, Peyton,” Paige moved to her sister’s side and took her hand.

  “It’s okay, sis, it’s just good that you landed when you did,” Peyton managed, hissing as he cut the legging next to her injury.

  He stopped. “This was a bullet wound,” he observed. “Care to tell me about that?”

  “I’m an FBI agent out on IR.”

  He looked back at Paige. “Paige told me you worked for the government in a K-9 program, but I didn’t realize which branch. This is going to hurt,” he warned her, “but I need you prone. Can you scooch down if I stabilize your leg?”

  “I crawled in here, didn’t I? I can handle it,” Peyton confirmed, biting her lip as she slowly moved away from the table she was leaning against. Once she was flat on the floor, she pushed back up on her elbows.

  “Hurts?”

  “Yes, a lot.”

  “Let’s see what we’ve got.” He probed and moved her leg in various positions, seeming to know exactly what was going to hurt the worst. Peyton had avoided the movements that hurt, but he went straight for them. She couldn’t help but cry out when he moved her leg toward him.

  “Sorry, I have to assess the range of motion.”

  “I know,” she managed through gritted teeth.

  “Paige, can you get two pillows for me?”

  When Paige returned with them he put one under Peyton’s knee and the other under her head, reaching for the stethoscope.

  Peyton rolled her eyes and opened her mouth—.

  “Don’t even,” he said, quickly moving through the motions of a brief exam, despite her increasing annoyance. When she grimaced as he palpated her stomach, he moved her shirt and pants apart. “A second bullet wound?” His forehead creased.

  “Yes,” was all she offered.

  He assessed the area thoroughly.

  “You’re dehydrated, Peyton. It’s exacerbating the muscle issues, and beyond that, you have a possible stress fracture or a potential strained iliopsoas. You need X-rays, an MRI, and an IV saline drip for the dehydration.”

  Peyton held his eyes. “It won’t just get better if I rest for a few days?”

  “Unlikely, and there’s the issue of dehydration,” he reiterated.

  “I don’t want to go to a hospital.”

  He nodded. “I have the equipment at my office. I’ll agree with treating you there with one condition.”

  “You’re a conditions kind of guy, aren’t you?” she asked, rewarded by his lips turning up at the corners. “What is it?”

  “If at any point I believe you need to be admitted—“ he stopped her protest before she could utter it. “I’m serious, if at any point I decide you should be hospitalized, I want you to tell me right now that you’ll agree to it. Otherwise, I won’t continue to treat you.”

  “You’re a hard-ass.”

  “I am,” he agreed.

  Nineteen

  Peyton

  I can’t believe I let him convince me to spend the night here.

  Peyton clenched her fists tight against her side as the nurse came to record her vitals once again. “You took them two hours ago, I’m here for a leg injury, surely this isn’t necessary.” “Doctor’s orders,” she quipped. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Yes, a release. What time does the doctor arrive for morning rounds?”

  The nurse, who could easily pass for a linebacker in the NFL, put her hands on her hips and glared at Peyton. “You’re not making it easier on either of us.”

  Peyton’s eyes flew to hers. “I’m sorry,” she managed. “I’m a terrible patient. Do us both a favor and help me get out of here.”

  The nurse nodded and Dr. Mason walked through the door as she turned to leave.

  “Nurse Graham,” he acknowledged, “How’s our patient?”

  “Still ornery, Dr. Mason. A self-prescribed terrible patient, in fact.”

  His eyebrows raised, “Really? Not quite ready to be released?”

  Peyton rolled her eyes and glared at him.

  “That’s your call, doctor,” the nurse nodded and walked out the door.

  “How are you feeling? he asked Peyton, moving to her bedside.

  “Like I want to be released.”

  He picked up her chart. “You were severely dehydrated, Peyton. Do you understand how dangerous that can be?”

  “I do.”

  “Any explanation?”

  She squirmed and her brows snapped together. “I’ve been distracted.”

  He waited.

  “Worried. Concerned that my recovery wasn’t happening as quickly as it should.”

  “Seems to me there’s strong evidence in front of us as to why that might be.”

  “Are you insinuating that I’m sabotaging my own recovery?”

  “I’m suggesting that you’re not helping yourself.”

  “I was,” she defended, glancing up at him. “I was starting to see improvement." She sighed. "I should have known better than to go at my run as though I were completely healthy rather than on an IR protocol.”

  “Peyton,” he paused as though choosing his words carefully, “your office contacted us, and they’re requesting a full release of your medical records.”

  “That’s normal,” she affirmed. “I have nothing to hide.”

  “I want you to talk to a therapist.“

  “What are you talking about?” Her voice shook, and she clenched her hands, releasing them only when he raised his eyebrows at her.

  “I think you’re still in shock from your injury, and potentially in denial about your injuries and — the long-term impacts.” He watched her carefully.

  Her eyes flew up to his. “How did you know?” she whispered.

  “The location of the bullet wound in your abdomen was my first clue, but you also signed a release of prior medical records. A good doctor always assesses them as part of your current treatment.” He paused. “Have you told Paige?” he asked gently.

  “No, and I don’t want her to know.”

  “Have you told anyone?”

  “No. Look, it’s not really that big of a deal. I’m a career agent, and that’s always been my plan.”

  He sighed. “Peyton, look at me.”

  She didn’t want to, she really didn’t, but it appeared he was going to wait there all day if she didn’t, so she did.

  He took her hand in his, and her eyes brimmed with all the unshed tears that had built up over the last six weeks. She blinked rapidly, afraid of what would happen if she let them loose.

  “I want you to talk with a therapist,” he reiterated.

  She nodded, not daring to speak.

  “He’ll be in to see you shortly. We’ll talk about your release after, okay?”

  She nodded.

  * * *

  Peyton had her TV tuned to CNN when she heard a knock at her door. “Come in.” She quickly clicked OFF on the remote.

  The door opened, but instead of the therapist she was expecting, Jax walked through.

  Her heart leapt into her throat, “Jax,” she whispered.

  He stood at the door, uncertainty knitting his brows before he walked through and let
the door close, moving to her side. “Hey, beautiful,” he smiled down at her, sat beside her, and gathered her into his arms.

  Tears sprung to her eyes, and she tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go. He held her, rubbing her back, “Are you okay?” he asked, finally pulling away, his eyes studying her face.

  She brushed the tears away, smiling through them. “Prognosis is, I’ll live.”

  He chuckled.

  “How did you fine me?”

  “I stopped by the farm hoping to catch you.”

  “You did?” she asked, biting her lip hard to manage the hope that simply wouldn’t die. “Why?”

  “To say goodbye,” he confirmed softly.

  “I see.” She paused for several seconds, forcing a curious look. “Going any place special?”

  “Colorado.”

  “Why Colorado?” she asked, intrigued.

  “A job offer. I still have a few assessments to get through, but all indications are I’ll pass and they’ll make the offer official.”

  “That’s great, Jax, I’m happy for you,” she said sincerely. “This is something you want?” She dug her nails into the palm of her hand, desperate to stop the sob building in her chest.

  “It is. It definitely is.” He nodded. “I thought I could get out of the Army and just chill for a while, but I need to have a sense of purpose—to make a difference. By week two I thought I was going to go crazy.”

  She smiled. “I get that.”

  “I know you do." His voice softened. "What happened, Peyton? What landed you here?”

  “Dehydration, for one, and I—I went for a run. I'd finally started to see some real improvement. I followed what you told me to do to the letter, and you were right—“