by D. D. Ayres
She slid her arms from his neck. She wasn’t going back to bed with him. No matter how much she ached to do so. And she ached.
“You don’t know me that well.”
“I’m trying.”
He rubbed a hand down his face. “I know some of what’s made you so tough. But surviving has changed you. And not all for the better. You’d make a great drill sergeant. But you know shit-all about being a woman.” He saw the stricken look on her face. And it stunned him. “Look, I didn’t mean it like—”
“No. You meant it.” She backed up a step, forcing herself not to bolt. “And that’s okay. We’re done.” She turned and walked away.
Kye let her go because what he was thinking was insane. What was trembling on his tongue was the admission that he liked her just the way she was. Thought she was the sexiest, most female woman he’d ever set eyes on. Tough made her better. The challenge to get her coal-black eyes to smolder with sexual surrender called to everything male in him. Gave him a rush of primitive satisfaction. He liked her as much as he had the first time.
Hell. If he was being honest with himself, he liked her more now.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Agent Jackson stared at his breakfast on the desk of his D.C. office. It was a ham sandwich from the night before. It was cold. It was thin. It was—no other word for it—sad. A stingy smear of mustard formed an adhesive that after refrigeration tore the center out of the piece of white bread he lifted to inspect the sandwich’s insides. No lettuce. No tomato. No fresh cranberry relish. Worst of all, no crackling bits that made a fresh ham sandwich worth eating.
Jackson’s assistant poked his head through his boss’s doorway. “Sir, we’ve had contact with Dr. Gunnar.”
Jackson dropped the sandwich, forgotten before it hit the foil it had come wrapped in. “Where?”
“He called the U.S. marshal’s office in Phoenix. They’re on line two.”
Jackson wiped his hands and picked up the phone. “Tell me everything.”
“Dr. Gunnar called just after five a.m. local time and identified himself.”
“You’re sure it was him?”
“He gave us his safe word.”
“Did he say where he is and why?”
“No, sir.” The officer on the other end of the line made shuffling-paper sounds, no doubt checking his notes. “Dr. Gunnar said he ‘felt claustrophobic and had to get away.’ He went on to say he’ll be returning to custody shortly.”
“Sounds rehearsed.” Jackson glanced at his clock and did the math. “Why did you wait an hour to notify me?”
“We’re a bit busy here tracking the call.” The deputy marshal finally sounded annoyed. He must have had about the same amount of sleep Jackson had had. “We just got confirmation that the call came from a prepaid phone he purchased here in Phoenix. It may take a few hours but we should be able to trace it. We do know he’s not in the immediate area.”
“A search won’t help you. He’ll have dumped it after that call. Have you checked to see what other calls he made before he called your office?”
“There was only one other. An unlisted number in Virginia.”
“Another burner phone. I need you to keep a tight lid on this. Oh, and if Dr. Gunnar should call again, patch him straight through to me. Only me. Got it?”
When he’d hung up Jackson squeezed his right eye shut, the better to concentrate. Virginia was where Yardley Summers lived. Coincidence? He’d bet a month’s salary it wasn’t.
He smiled when his assistant appeared in the doorway a second time. “Get DEA agent Glaser on the line. The Summers woman has just become a person of interest.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fine ice particles sifted through the midmorning air. More shards than snowflakes, they stung Yardley’s face as she and Oleg made their way across the field where four inches of white stuff had fallen during the night. Judging by the tinkling sounds of the iced branches of distant trees, the temperature was well below freezing. The sun was up, barely. Its light and potential warmth were being shouldered aside by slate-blue clouds bringing the promise of more snow. Not that the weather was ever a factor in the decision to train at Harmonie Kennels. K-9 teams needed to be prepared to work in all weather, all conditions, at any time.
They weren’t doing endurance today but as her boots crunched through the layer of ice beneath the snow, she wondered how Oleg would handle the change of terrain. Dogs, even well-trained K-9s, were notorious for not wanting to do their poop duty on snowy ground. Often they had to be taken out hourly after the first snowfall until they adjusted to the idea that the only options until the thaw were slick and cold.
She bent and unleashed him then gave his coat a good scrubbing with her gloved hands. “Va porshed.”
Uninterested in her affection, Oleg danced away from her touch after a few strokes and bounded off a few yards, kicking up the fresh snow as if it pleased him. Then he turned, going perfectly still, and gave the distant stand of trees his full attention. She wondered with a shiver of remembered fear if he had known, as she now suspected, that Stokes had been hiding there watching them the day before. If so, she’d failed to pay attention to his alert. She didn’t do that now. Despite the fact that she knew Stokes was in the county jail, she stared at the tree line with her full attention. Nothing stirred in the blue shadows beneath winter-bare limbs that the snow had thrown into sharp relief.
After a few moments more, Oleg turned back and with a sharp high bark bounded toward her and grabbed at the leash dangling from her hand. He was stronger than he looked and almost pulled it out of her hand. He growled and released it before she could correct him. Then he ran behind her and play-attacked her from behind, growling and using his teeth to tug at her coat hem.
As Yardley swung around in surprise, Oleg grabbed her sleeve and tugged then released before he danced away.
“Oleg—” She stopped herself. She didn’t want to give him a hard command because she sensed he wasn’t really attacking her. But he was moving quickly around her, growling and jumping against her as if he was testing her for vulnerable spots. He growled and snarled but did not sound angry. He hadn’t done this before with her.
Yardley suddenly laughed in understanding. He was playing. The snow seemed to have invigorated the Czech wolfdog. He was practically prancing across the frozen earth like a pony.
She tucked the leash away—a serious tool for serious training—and took several strides away, pretending to ignore him.
Oleg stopped, checked the terrain for a few seconds, then came after her, leaping up repeatedly as he soft-mouth-grabbed at her coat from behind.
She dropped to her knees and began pushing him away with a straight arm and the flat of her hand each time he leaped on her, snarling and growling but only barely nipping at her with his teeth. Even so, he played rough, thrusting his full muscular body weight against her. More than once he almost knocked her over.
He continued scrambling around her to throw her off center. Then when he had found a weak spot, he’d nip in and grab her coat or hoodie and tug in a kind of catch-and-release tag. Her coat would be in tatters if she allowed him to continue. But his playfulness was a good sign. The first from Oleg that signified that he was adjusting. She was becoming more than another alpha he was trained to obey. They were becoming friends.
Determined to defend herself in a playful way, she grabbed up handfuls of snow and packed them into a ball to toss at him.
Sensing this was a new game, Oleg leaped up to catch the snowball in his mouth. It disintegrated and he was left switching his head left and right, as if he expected to see it bouncing away. She quickly made a new one and tossed it. Again Oleg stretched up in a graceful leap to snatch it out of the air. This time it hit him full mouth and shattered, pasting his muzzle in flakes. He shook it off and barked, ready to go again.
She threw three more before he went still and swiveled his head, listening. After a second, he turned away from her, tail curving up and
ears going forward.
Yardley paused to follow his gaze. This time he stared at the bunkhouse. She frowned. Kye had been prepared to bunk there the day before but had ended up sleeping beneath her roof. And she in his bed.
Just the thought gave her a hot rush she had to work to ignore. Not now, she told her unreliable emotions. She needed space from all things Kye.
She glanced back at Oleg. He was growling, low. The ridge hair on his back had lifted. High alert.
She glanced back toward the house. Instinct told her to go and get Kye. She slapped the instinct down because she was certain that it was more about an excuse to be near him again than it was about the need for help. She’d never hesitated to walk her property before. She wasn’t going to ask for help now. Not when she had Oleg with her. “Oleg. Knoze!”
He assumed the heel position so that she could reattach his leash. But he never fully broke concentration on the bunkhouse, glancing from her to it and back, waiting for a command to search. A rill of anxiety snaked up her spine. Could there really be something going on there? Occasionally hikers cut through her property when they thought no one was about. Once, when all the staff was away, local teenagers had broken into the empty bunkhouse to drink beer and party. She’d returned to find a dozen underage drinkers being held hostage by two of the Belgian Malinoises who’d freed themselves to patrol the kennel grounds. K-9s were nothing if not resourceful.
She hadn’t trusted Oleg yesterday, to her regret. But Oleg was in stealth mode now.
Feeling the first pump of adrenaline, she patted her pocket for her phone. It was there. If she needed help, it was a speed dial away. She could do this, inspect her own property. Meanwhile, no trespasser, if there was one, would get past Oleg to her.
She found the main door to the bunkhouse unlocked. Another bump of excitement pumped up her heartbeat. She wouldn’t have thought Kye was the type to leave a door unlocked. But perhaps in all the excitement of the night before he had forgotten. She ran a gloved hand over the latch. It did not feel jimmied. She pushed the door a little wider.
Oleg was there before her, wedging his strong lean body through the opening. Unlike a police K-9 who would have announced his presence with ferocious barking, Oleg simply simmered on low growl. Covert on alert.
Czech wolfdogs didn’t protect property. They would watch a thief steal everything in a house, empty but for them. But if a wolfdog perceived ill will in someone sneezing in the direction of his handler, the sneezer might need a lot more than a tissue to mop up the response. Oleg was reacting to someone. Not something.
Yardley kept a tight grip on the leash he was straining against. Along with her growing anxiety she realized she felt a rush of excitement. Though she’d taught hundreds how to, she’d never actually cornered a suspect in real life. Those who can’t, teach. What a stupid cliché. She could so do this. She needed this. After Stokes, she was determined to prove to herself she could face anything, when prepared. Oleg’s presence would be enough to hold an intruder at bay, if need be.
I’ve got this.
In some unexpected kind of way, the night before was spurring her courage now. She was nervous but that didn’t mean she would live in fear. It wasn’t her style.
Oleg pulled her toward the door of the first bedroom, stretching as far ahead as possible, silent now but riveted on the room beyond. She saw why before she reached the doorway. Alarm zipped up her arms. They weren’t alone.
A man was propped up on a bunk against the far wall. His denim-clad legs were half sprawled off the mattress. Melted snow mixed with mud dripped from heavy boots onto the planked flooring. She knew it was a man by the shoe size and the heavy corded thighs pulling tight against his denim. She couldn’t see his face. His head was in shadow against stacked pillows. He was still. Very still. Asleep?
She took a step forward, trying to see who he was. Oleg had bared his teeth, sharp fangs glistening in the meager light. He barked once, high and sharp.
The man jerked, caught himself in what sounded like a painful choked-off cough, and opened his eyes. A pale gaze met hers from across the dim room. And then his tight mouth stretched and his teeth showed. “I knew you’d find me.”
Yardley froze, uncertain that her eyes weren’t playing a cruel trick on her in serving up the sight of the man she’d been longing to see for months. “David?”
“God. It’s good to see you.” He paused, seeming to need to catch his breath. Yet so far, he hadn’t expended as much energy as needed to sit upright. “You didn’t bring your boyfriend along, I hope.”
“Who?” Her confusion seemed to please him, for his smile deepened.
“I’m asking if you came alone?”
“Yes.” The shock was wearing off, leaving Yardley a little dizzy with joy, but something held her back from launching herself at him.
Are you alone? That kind of question was asked only when it mattered. If it mattered now, it meant he was in trouble. And that made her hesitate.
She stuffed away the feelings of relief and joy that had come bursting out of her at the sight of him. None of those thoughts and feelings were helpful at the moment. Not until she knew why he was here. For her, or for another reason?
“You can call off your dog. I promise I don’t bite.” His teeth gleamed in the dim light. “Much.” His voice sounded stronger now but he still hadn’t moved.
Yardley glanced down and double-fisted the thick leash that Oleg strained against, eager to put himself in charge of the encounter. “Lehni!”
The K-9 didn’t so much as glance back at her but ceased straining against the leash. “Pozor.”
As soon as Oleg lay down facing the doorway to guard it, she dropped the leash, assured that they wouldn’t be disturbed without warning.
She turned back to David, still ten feet away. Her feet wouldn’t move forward. Details and context, that’s what she taught her handlers to stay prepared for when working a dog. She felt like a K-9 herself, all senses on alert as her gaze roamed the man she’d been searching for against everyone’s advice.
He wore a cheap puffy jacket, plaid shirt, and jeans. Nothing like the casual but expensive clothing she’d most often seen him wear. The hard angles of his jaw and slash of dark brows were the same. As was the shock of choppy hair streaked blond in places by the sun. There were changes. The pleats around his eyes and mouth were etched more deeply. But it was his eyes that made her draw careful breaths. They weren’t the same. The once clear-sky-blue gaze of a man accustomed to making life-and-death judgment calls with confidence was clouded. Something significant had changed. It electrified the space around them.
“Did you get my text?”
She nodded and made her voice sound casual, as if he’d just dropped by without notice and rung her bell. “Why are you here, David? What’s going on?”
He frowned. “Aren’t I welcome?”
“Of course. But it’s weird. Three months of silence and suddenly you show up here. Why the silence? Where have you been?”
“Come closer.” He held out his hand to her, seeming to sense her reluctance. “You’re not afraid of me?”
She crossed her arms and cocked a hip. “You haven’t answered my question.”
He patted the mattress with his left hand. “I’d rather not shout.”
That’s when she noticed that something dark streaked the red-and-cream-striped coverlet on his right side. Then her eyes homed in on the dark-rust-red spill from a tear in his jacket’s right sleeve above the elbow. Blood.
She gave up the pretense of indifference and came toward him. “You’re hurt.”
“Shhh.” He lifted his good arm and pulled her down beside him. “I’ll survive.”
Yardley didn’t think of herself as squeamish but at the sight of his bloody arm things took a nasty turn in her mind. All of them translating into danger. A dozen questions rushed to mind. Who wanted to hurt him? And why? Why was he hiding? Because, obviously, he was hiding. Most of all, why had he come to her?
But that couldn’t be her first consideration.
She glanced with a troubled expression toward the doorway that Oleg was guarding.
His left arm slid across her possessively to hold her by the waist as she perched on the edge of the mattress. “I thought you’d be happier to see me.”
Yardley pinned him with a stare that made even marines follow her orders. “Tell me what’s going on, David.”
He seemed surprised by the hardness in her tone, which made her regret it. She should be worrying about him. She touched his face. “You’re hurt. I need to know how to help you.”
He closed his eyes and turned his face into her caress, his stubble tickling her palm. “It’s nothing. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” His voice had begun to get sketchy again, as if breathing was a chore. He frowned suddenly. “What happened to your face? Jesus! Have they already been here looking for me?”
He began to sit up but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “No, David. I’m fine. But you’re not. Let’s talk about you. Who’s looking for you?”
“That’s not important. Now.”
Not happy with his answer, Yardley glanced again at Oleg, who had stood up but made no move or sound. “Could you have been followed?”
“No. I made certain of it.”
When she looked back at him David smiled at her, and a familiar tide of longing rolled through her. But she’d spent her life around men and women who knew how to prioritize needs over feelings. “How can you be sure of that?”
He grimaced, definitely in pain. “I just know. Like I know there’s a man here with you. Who is he?”
Yardley’s turn to be surprised. “His name’s Kye McGarren.” She felt herself blush as she mentioned Kye.
David didn’t relent. “Is he responsible for what happened to your face?”
“No. He actually— I don’t want to talk about a few bruises. I want to talk about you. I thought something had happened to you.” Her gaze strayed again to his bandaged arm.
