Back to Life

by Linda O. Johnston

  The good thing was that crimes—at least crimes requiring K-9 assistance—were at a lull. The dogs trained in crowd control were called out to patrol highly attended sports events. They’d been taught to sniff out narcotics.

  Unfortunately, genuine leads on the warehouse incident were few, and dwindling at that. Marinaro still remained at large. The entire department was on alert—and tempers grew short about what was perceived as a major failure.

  “What?” Vesco snapped back at Skye.

  “I think Bandit’s a little confused—maybe getting some mixed signals. Let’s give the dogs a rest, start again early tomorrow, okay?”

  Vesco looked at her, sweat beading on his dark-complected face. He was clad in a bulky blue jacket with heavy padding that allowed dogs to attack without injuring their handlers. Vesco was essentially an okay cop. He got the message. “Sure thing.” He clipped the lead on his partner and gave him a quick pat on the head. “Sorry, boy.” He then looked at Skye. “Sorry, lady.”

  She grinned.

  As she turned to head into the side door to the long, gray concrete building, she saw the captain at the main entrance. Trevor Owens was with him, and probably had been with him at court earlier in the day.

  That was the other reason everyone was on edge. The murder trial of Eddy Edinger, a man arrested around the time Skye joined the department about eight months ago, was in progress. There had been delays in starting that had been engineered by the suspect’s showboating lawyer. And from what she’d heard, the trial was not going well for the prosecution.

  Trevor would return to active duty next week—which amazed everyone. Considering the extent of his injuries, that was a fast recovery.

  Only Skye wasn’t surprised.

  He’d been around the station nearly every afternoon when court recessed. Skye had seen him around. Often. It was as if she was somehow drawn to him, whenever he was there. Or maybe he was drawn to her. She didn’t always seek him out, but when they didn’t run into each other in the hall, he seemed to drop in at her cubicle to say hi. Or he hung out and watched her training session with Bella.

  Each time, he’d regard her with expressions she wished she could read. Sometimes he seemed quizzical. Other times she had a sense he wanted to tear her clothes off right there and engage in hot sex with her. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part.

  At least he didn’t really know about her role in his survival. Anything he might remember now would have a dreamy, unreal quality to it. That’s what Skye was always told by those in Minnesota whose lives were saved by others like her.

  But the more time she spent with Trevor, the harder it might become to keep her secret.

  “Come on, Bella,” she told her dog. They’d go inside, change out of training gear, then go home—and avoid Trevor.

  She still didn’t know why Trevor attended the Edinger trial each day. He wasn’t a witness. SWAT hadn’t been called in during apprehension of that suspect. But the arrest had been difficult. Shots were fired and a bystander was injured. Edinger’s alleged victims had been a real estate broker and a home owner. Edinger burglarized the house and then murdered the vics. The deaths had been especially brutal, as if the killer had wanted the victims to suffer. And it wasn’t the first time this kind of murder had occurred—only the first time the suspect had been caught.

  The buzz around the station was that the evidence against Edinger—who worked for the landscaping company that had been hired to spruce up the yard of the house, which was for sale—had been unassailable. He was absolutely guilty.

  In the locker room, Skye changed from her dog training attire into civvies, with Bella keeping her company. She peered into the hall when she was dressed and saw several officers—none of whom was Trevor. Then she ducked into her cubicle and retrieved her purse and keys. “Okay, Bella,” she said to her eager dog. “Let’s go.”

  Although she was trying to avoid Trevor, she felt disappointed that he hadn’t sought her out. Dumb, she told herself. She would run into him more than she wanted to when he was back on duty. She could fret then about his attitude toward her and toward what had happened at the warehouse. No need to punish herself now by seeing him any more than necessary.

  Only…when she used the remote to open her K-9 black-and-white in the parking lot, she glanced toward the building—and there was Trevor, striding out. He looked good in his khaki trousers and light yellow shirt—a dressy enough outfit, she supposed, to be an observer in court.

  But as he drew closer, she saw the thunderous expression that turned his well-defined features even sharper. Was he angry with her?

  Bella was already in the back, and Skye started to get into the driver’s seat, then stopped. He didn’t even look in her direction.

  Okay, she shouldn’t feel hurt that he was ignoring her…but she did.

  Plus, she was curious. If he wasn’t upset with her, then why was he angry?

  After she told Bella to stay and rolled down the windows a little for ventilation, Skye strolled in the direction Trevor was heading.

  “Oh…hello, Skye.” He seemed almost surprised to see her.

  Searching for something neutral to say, she blurted out, “You’re looking good, Trevor. I mean, healthier. You must be improving every day.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Reaching a silver SUV, he stood beside it, his eyes finally focusing on her. His expression remained grim, and she forced herself not to cringe beneath it.

  “Anything wrong?” she asked.

  “You could say that.” His tone suggested that whatever was going on was awful.

  “Damn lawyers!” he exploded, slamming the side of a fist on the hood of his vehicle. “And damn our whole miserable legal system.”

  Oh. Something at the trial, then. But what would bother him this way? Quietly, she asked.

  “The judge excluded some of the most important evidence against Edinger at the trial today. Said that it was gathered during an illegal search, that a warrant had been required because there were no exigent circumstances for the investigative team to take apart the vehicle. Not only that, but other evidence they found as a result of some paperwork that turned up…that’s excluded, too. ‘The fruit of the poisonous tree,’ the lawyer called it—ever heard that expression? It means that if illegally seized evidence leads to further evidence, none of that evidence can be used against a suspect at trial. The prosecution’s rested its case, the defense only has about a day of testimony, and then the thing will go to the jury without their being told some of the most damning stuff against Edinger. Damn lawyers!” he repeated.

  “Oh,” Skye said softly. “I didn’t know you were so involved with this case.”

  “I wasn’t. But I followed it, saw the extent of the evidence against this murdering slimeball, and now it looks like he’ll walk. But not if I have anything to—” He stopped abruptly, then looked down at Skye blankly, as if he had taken strict control of his emotions. “Sorry. I’m just venting. Call me some kind of stupid idealist, but I really hate it when justice isn’t done and murderers go free. Don’t you?”

  “Well…yes,” she admitted, suddenly wrapped up in his utterly sexy and disarming smile. How had his mood changed so quickly?

  And what was she doing here, talking with him?

  “It’s not so bad to be an idealist,” she said gently, “except that for those in law enforcement, like we are, it’s easy to become disillusioned. Justice doesn’t always triumph, after all.”

  “Yeah, I got that,” he said. “Well, anyway, maybe I’m wrong and the guy’ll get what he deserves. Marinaro, too, whenever he’s finally in custody. Look, I’m back on duty next week. We’ll talk then. So far, the leads to that jerk haven’t gotten anywhere, but I want to talk to you more about how Bella might be able to help find and apprehend that cop killer. What do you say?”

  Under his winsome, sexually suggestive gaze, Skye suddenly thought she might wind up saying anything he wanted her to. Instead, she took control of hers
elf—she hoped—and said, “I’m always willing to talk. But I’m not sure—”

  “Good. I’ll see you around before that, but maybe we can go out for lunch, coffee, whatever, to discuss it next week.”

  As they got into her car, Skye muttered to Bella, “Guess I blew that, didn’t I, girl?” She was irritated with herself for not making it clear that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—work with Trevor that way.

  Sure, she would love to help track down Marinaro, and Bella was the greatest resource they had.

  But being in Trevor’s presence any more than she had to could only lead to trouble—especially if he started asking her more questions about why he didn’t die in that warehouse.

  Trevor sat in the driver’s seat of his SUV, watching as Skye drove away.

  Hell, maybe he was being too pushy. Just because her dog had once gotten Marinaro’s scent didn’t mean she’d necessarily find the SOB any faster than the rest of the guys in the department who were actively—and officially—looking.

  But it gave him an excuse to talk to Skye. To stay in her presence, drink in how beautiful and sexy she was even while in uniform. To try to understand why he wanted to be with her so much. But there was something more. He sensed she might be able to help him figure out those odd hallucinatory memories he had of the day Marinaro shot him.

  Almost unconsciously, he gently rubbed the side of his neck. Not surprisingly, it was still sore. It had only been a couple of weeks. And he could live with it.

  What he couldn’t live with was how dumb the legal system was. If the rest of the evidence wasn’t enough, that jerk Edinger would get away with murder. Two murders. Because of a stupid legal technicality.

  But not if Trevor had anything to say about it.

  He started his engine, put the vehicle in gear and started driving slowly from the station. No use speeding and putting himself in danger.

  He laughed aloud.

  This was the first time he’d had two miserable suspects on his radar at the same time. And his way of dealing with lowlifes like that wasn’t exactly designed to prolong his life.

  He could have died at Marinaro’s hand.

  Once again, Skye Rydell’s lovely face popped into his mind, as if she hovered over him. Crying. Somehow calling him back.

  Hell, he had to do something about his overactive imagination. Maybe he could set it back on the path to reality if he spent more time with Skye. A lot more. Really got to know her.

  In all ways.

  That would definitely convince him she was one living, breathing, hot lady, completely separate from any woo-woo fantasy triggered by his near-death experience.

  With that thought, he smiled slowly again, even as he had to shift in his seat.

  For now, he’d settle for enlisting her assistance, hers and her dog’s, in trying to track down the jerk who’d nearly killed him.

  And maybe, just maybe, he’d figure out why he’d suddenly developed such a vivid imagination where Skye Rydell was concerned.

  Chapter 7

  O n Tuesday morning, Skye parked her K-9 black-and-white in a space at the side of the station, leashed Bella and led her out the driver’s door.

  The station was near enough to the Pacific that the early morning haze had not yet burned off. It also muted the noise of traffic on the nearby freeway, giving the area an otherworldly aura.

  But not quite the otherworld of Skye’s heritage….

  Her footsteps crunched on the pavement, while Bella’s pattered alongside her. They’d been off duty on Sunday and Monday, and not much had happened on Saturday.

  To Skye’s chagrin, there still was nothing new in the search for Marinaro. To her relief, though, there had been no new major crimes requiring their presence, so they spent most of the last few days working on following scents and training to attack dangerous suspects.

  They’d kept busy—a good thing. It kept Skye from thinking too hard about anything other than what they were doing. Otherwise, she’d do exactly as her mother and others with her abilities insisted should not be done: obsess over someone she had saved.

  Not that she had any further doubts about whether she should have brought Trevor Owens back. She was certain now that she had done what was necessary.

  What about him had made her decision so clear at the time? Other people who died still believed they had much to accomplish. But she had been so sure about Trevor’s need to survive. Why? And what about him felt so compelling?

  She had almost reached the door when Bella whined her need to visit the outdoor canine facility.

  “Okay, girl.” Skye changed directions.

  All K-9 officers had the combination to the lock on the chain-link fence that enclosed the station’s rear training yards. Skye opened the gate and Bella preceded her inside.

  “Go on.” Skye unleashed her partner. Bella loped off, sniffing the mown grass for the right location.

  Seeing motion beyond the far side of the fence, Skye headed that way. Then stopped.

  The field where humans trained was not empty. Only one person was there, though.

  Trevor Owens.

  He wore gray sweatpants and an Angeles Beach P.D. blue T-shirt and was obviously working out. Back in training—at a punishing pace, especially considering what he had recently gone through.

  As Skye drew closer, he stopped doing push-ups on the grass and jumped to grab on to the high parallel bars, where he pulled himself up and straightened his arms. She could see the strain on his biceps as he again lowered and raised himself. His teeth were gritted, and his face glistened with perspiration in the misty air.

  She felt a stirring of sexual sensation deep in her body. He was a hunk. But a lot of officers around here, especially those who trained hard for special operations like SWAT, kept themselves in shape. Sure, she noticed them. But she knew better than to allow herself to become attracted to any coworker—especially one who might have seen her using her special abilities.

  But looking at this man surely wouldn’t—

  “Morning, Skye,” said a voice to her left as Bella loped up beside her. She turned abruptly, mortified she’d been caught staring at Trevor Owens.

  But it was just Ron standing there, in uniform and obviously reporting for the day’s duty. He was smirking at her. “Admiring your handiwork?”

  “Wish I could take credit,” she joked. “But I think Officer Owens did it all himself.”

  “He’s apparently not suffering any ill effects from his wounds.” Ron narrowed his eyes teasingly. “Maybe you should go ask how he’s feeling.”

  “I can tell how he’s feeling,” Skye said. “Better. You ready to go inside?”

  “Sure am. I’m getting some special training in controlled substances today.”

  Skye knew that was a special interest of Ron’s, and that Narcotics was one of several units within the department that he’d set his sights on. Back when they were in high school, a good friend of Ron’s had OD’d on drugs, and he wanted to do what he could to put drug dealers behind bars.

  “Great,” she told him, then motioned for Bella to come along. They all headed to the station’s rear door.

  She let Ron precede her inside, then Bella. Skye stopped just for a moment to take a final look toward where Trevor Owens was still working out.

  He’d seen her watching and decided, however stupid it made him feel, to ramp up the show.

  Exhausted and panting, Trevor pulled himself up one final time, then dropped to the ground, bending forward from the waist, his body heaving with effort.

  Slowly, he headed for his bag and pulled out a towel, using it to wipe his face. Then he looked toward the door where Skye had entered the station with Gollar and her dog. Stared for a long moment as if trying to see inside. See her. What was it about her that got to him this way?

  It was time to put his fantasies far behind him. What he needed was to get himself back into as good a shape as before the shooting. He’d engaged in enough self-pity to last the rest o
f his career while stewing about the force’s inability to find Marinaro. And then he’d watched the travesty of Edinger’s trial.

  The jury had gone into deliberations on Friday. No verdict yet. Maybe he was wrong about the system. Maybe the twelve jurors would see past the idiocy of the judicial system and make the right decision.

  But without the excluded evidence…

  There was no sense driving himself nuts. He headed inside for a shower. He stood under the stream of warm water for as long as he could stand it, then toweled himself off and headed back to get dressed.

  “Hey, Trevor. You heard?” Captain Franks was in the locker room.

  Trevor had a sinking feeling about why the captain was here. “Heard what, sir?” he asked quietly.

  “Your buddy Edinger. Jury deliberated over the weekend and came back this morning.”

  Trevor grew very still, seeing the grimness on the captain’s deeply lined face. “And?” he asked quietly.

  “Acquittal. On all counts.”

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “Yeah,” replied Captain Franks.

  By the time Skye slid into a seat in the station’s sizeable roll call room, it was filled with fellow officers, male and female, from nearly all units. She liked this part of the day, when everyone starting their shifts seemed to be part of the same team—even if not everyone spoke much to one other.

  Like the elite SWAT members. Those on duty always sat together at the back of the room and cracked jokes, or so she supposed since they always elbowed each other and laughed. She’d found this rather childish which was one reason she didn’t go out of her way to talk to any of them. Besides, they seldom deigned to do more than nod hello to an ordinary K-9 officer like her.

  “As if we’re ordinary,” she whispered into Bella’s ear, hugging her partner.

  “What’s that?” Ron asked from beside her, his voice raised over the roar of conversation.

  “Nothing.” Adjusting her utility belt, Skye glanced back again toward the SWAT enclave. Trevor Owens hadn’t come in yet, and she wondered why.