Operation Power Play

by Justine Davis

  “He can be. He can also be the most stubborn critter on the planet. And that’s a direct quote from his owner.”

  “It must be interesting, then,” Green Eyes said.

  He couldn’t help smiling at that. “He’s an interesting dog, all right.” Then, not sure why, he added, “And more company than I expected.”

  It was nothing less than true. The dog had been a quiet but solid presence, and even he couldn’t deny that the occasional nudge of the dark head or the warmth of the dog curled up beside him on the couch was...comforting. He didn’t like admitting that he might need comforting, but there it was.

  “May I?” Green Eyes asked, reaching toward Cutter. “Is he all right with strangers touching him?”

  Brett looked at the dog, whose attention had never wavered. “I’d say you’ve passed muster,” he said. “Or he wouldn’t still be sitting there.”

  She laughed once more, and he was glad she was focused on the dog, because he couldn’t help smiling at the sound of it. It took him a moment to realize that the strange tightness in his face was the result of smiling so much in the past few minutes, something he’d grown long unused to.

  “Hello there, boy,” she said, petting the dark head. “What’s his name?”

  “Cutter. At least, that’s what his tag said when he showed up.”

  The woman looked at the boat-shaped blue name tag that hung from the dog’s collar, then up at him. “He was lost?”

  He nodded. “Hayley—his owner—tried for months to find where he belonged. And by then he’d made it pretty clear he intended to stay.”

  Green Eyes smiled as the older woman spoke. “Your girlfriend takes in strays, does she?”

  “My—” He stopped short. Girlfriend was not a word he’d used in reference to himself for a very long time. “No. No, Hayley’s not... She’s on her honeymoon. That’s why I’m dogsitting.”

  “Well,” Green Eyes said, straightening up from her attentions to the dog, “congratulations to her. And her new husband.”

  “They deserve it. They’re good people.”

  “I’m Connie Day,” the older woman said abruptly. “And this is my niece, Sloan Burke.”

  “Dunbar,” he said automatically, as if he were on duty after all. “Brett Dunbar,” he amended awkwardly. Should he offer to shake hands? That was always iffy with some women. And if this was how out of it he was when it came to non-work-related contact with other people, he should probably give it up altogether.

  “We should be on our way,” he said, letting the fact that he was still a bit sweaty decide the shaking-hands question. Not to mention that he was going to start stiffening up here if he stood around in the chilly air much longer. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “You, too,” Green Eyes—Sloan—said.

  “Come on, Cutter. Get back to nagging me to pick up the pace.”

  She laughed once more, and Brett couldn’t help smiling a last time. But maybe it wouldn’t be the last. He’d be running this way the next time it rained hard, and this was the Pacific Northwest in winter, so that was never far off at any given time.

  But when he turned to go, Cutter didn’t move.

  “Dog?”

  Cutter turned his head to look at him, but his furry backside never left the grass he was sitting on.

  “Cutter, let’s go.” He took a few more steps. Nothing.

  He sighed. He dug into his pocket for the leash, tugging a length out from the reel.

  “Who was it who said when you get to thinking you’re important, try giving orders to someone else’s dog?”

  Brett’s gaze snapped to her face. She was smiling again, widely. And he found himself grinning back. It felt even stranger than the smiling had. He reached out to snap the leash on Cutter’s collar. “He’s usually pretty good about it. He must just like you.”

  “But we’ve only just met.”

  “He’s a quick study.”

  He couldn’t believe himself. He sounded as though he was flirting with her. Not a talent of his at the best of times. He turned back to the dog. Cutter was staring at him intently. Intensely. In a way he never had in the time he’d stayed with him.

  He tried to look away. Managed only a second. The dog was still staring at him. He remembered all the jokes that abounded at Foxworth about knowing how sheep felt.

  Mesmerized was the word that came to mind.

  And then other words popped into his head, spoken by almost everyone at Foxworth at one time or another.

  He just gives us that “Fix it!” expression, and we know we’re stuck.

  It all came together in a rush, Cutter’s sudden and unexpected course change, the older woman’s tears, his refusal to leave and now That Look.

  Uh-oh, Brett thought. Now what?

  Chapter 2

  Sloan Burke wasn’t surprised to learn that the lean, rangy man she’d occasionally seen running was a cop. Or a deputy, to be more accurate, she thought, although detective probably superseded that. Jason had explained it once, back in the days when law enforcement had been his life plan, before a terrorist attack had sent him to the military, determined to defend the country he so loved.

  There was a look, a demeanor about such men. Something that set them apart. In this man’s case, as in her husband’s, it wasn’t bluster or swagger, just a quiet strength that required no bragging and a straight, level gaze that told you whatever the job was, he would get it done.

  And yet the dog at her feet was apparently the one in charge at the moment.

  “I should have known he was only letting me pretend I’m in charge.”

  She laughed, both at the man’s wry tone and that he had chosen the words she had just thought. “At least you realize.”

  “I should have sooner. He’s got quite the reputation, this one.”

  “For?”

  “Finding trouble. And demanding his people fix it.”

  She started to laugh again, but something in his expression told her he was serious. “Detective Dunbar, why do I think you don’t mean typical dog trouble, like finding holes in fences or the cat next door to chase?”

  He seemed to hesitate, as if he wasn’t certain he should tell her, before he said, “Brett, please. And no. Last one was a kid with a messed-up family. Before that it was a kidnapping. Then a cold case, a long-lost brother. And those are just the ones I know about.”

  She stared at him. “Must really take away from their day job.”

  “That is their day job.”

  She drew back slightly. “You mean that’s actually what they do?”

  He nodded. “They help people. People who have nowhere else to turn.”

  “What are they, a charity?”

  “Might as well be. They don’t take any payment except the goodwill—and willingness to help them help someone else later—of the people they take on. They did it before Cutter came along, but now it’s all they can do to keep up with what he finds for them. He’s got a...sense about things. It’s hard to explain.”

  “So he finds people who need help, and your friends, they follow his lead?”

  He looked as if he half expected her to laugh. “It sounds crazy, I know.”

  “Which part?”

  She hadn’t meant it to sound sour, but it did. She saw it register in the slightest narrowing of his eyes. She didn’t elucidate—she wasn’t about to explain to a total stranger that while she could believe the dog would help people, she wasn’t so sure about people helping people. Not anymore.

  She glanced back at the dog. “Well, I can see I wasn’t according you the proper respect. I thought you were just a pretty face.”

  Cutter’s tail wagged as if he’d understood. He got to his feet then and crossed the distance between them. Coming not to he
r but to Aunt Connie, nudging her hand with his nose.

  Connie, who had been watching all this with interest—and, Sloan noted, without saying a word, which was unlike her—responded by petting the dog’s head. “You are a beautiful boy,” she cooed to him.

  The dog stayed still for a moment. Then he turned around and sat once more, now facing his running partner. And gave him that look again.

  It was odd, she thought. She’d seen intense dogs before. Jason’s best friend in the service had been a canine handler, and his partner, Eddie, had been a bomb-seeking machine. And she’d seen police dogs and the agility competitors that held events in the park a few blocks away.

  But this dog was different. The intensity was no less, but the focus was different. She couldn’t explain it herself; she could only feel it, so no wonder he didn’t even try.

  She looked back at the man then. She’d always enjoyed the sight when she’d seen him running. That part of her might be dead and buried with Jason, but she could still appreciate a good-looking man, and Brett Dunbar was definitely that. She liked his tall, lean build, found the touch of gray at his temples attractive. She had little patience for unlined youth these days. Or sunny, carefree attitudes. She’d lost her affection for naïveté long ago, in the halls of Washington, DC.

  And the impression in his gray eyes of dark things seen was all too familiar.

  He sighed. Audibly. He looked at Connie, then the dog, then Connie again. “I’m guessing you’re the one with the problem?”

  Aunt Connie blinked. “What?” She glanced down at the dog now sitting at her feet staring up at Brett, then at the man himself. “You mean he knows?”

  “I have a feeling that’s why I’m here. Why he led me here.”

  Clearly startled, Connie put a hand to her throat. “Oh, dear. My problem isn’t anything like that. No one’s missing, and certainly not one of those cold-case things.”

  “She’s having a problem with the county,” Sloan explained. “A permit problem.”

  “We need to build a new house,” Connie said, “a single-story, up the hill in back. My husband isn’t well, and the stairs are too much for him now.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “They’re saying we can’t subdivide the acreage,” she said.

  He frowned. “You own the property?”

  Connie nodded. “Twelve acres. And we can’t afford to build unless we sell this house.”

  Brett turned to look at the tidy Craftsman-style two-story. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sloan said. Uncle Chuck had maintained it immaculately, and the yard was a showplace cottage-style garden.

  “Yes. You should have no trouble selling it.”

  “It will be sad,” Connie said. “This was our dream house, but needs have changed.”

  Brett looked back at her. “Could you sell it all and build what you need somewhere else?”

  Tears brimmed anew in Connie’s eyes. “It’s already breaking Chuck’s heart that we have to move out of this house. It would just kill him if we had to leave this land altogether because of him. His family has owned it for five generations.”

  “I’d rent this house from them,” Sloan said, “but that doesn’t get them the money they’d need for building.” She put her arm comfortingly around Connie’s shoulders. “It’s awful. She’s dealt with so much since my uncle’s heart attack. And they’re just being ridiculous about it. The standard for this entire area is a minimum of two-and-a-half-acre parcels. But she’s suddenly not allowed to break up twelve?”

  “What’s their reason?” he asked.

  “Some nonsense about the entire area being under study for possible changes, and everything is frozen in the meantime.” She knew her voice was rising, but it was so unfair it just made her angry.

  “Sounds typical,” he said.

  “Except,” she snapped, “that they decided to study it only after my aunt and uncle put in their application. It’s a specious technicality, at best. County bureaucrats.”

  She realized suddenly that the man she was talking to worked for that same county.

  “Sorry,” she said hastily. “I didn’t mean anything personal.”

  He gave her a crooked smile that again reminded her of her thought when he’d first laughed: he looked like a man who didn’t do it very often.

  “I’m not one of them,” he said. “And sometimes I get as angry at them as you are.”

  She felt even worse. “I didn’t mean to imply you were. It’s just that the whole thing is so unfair.”

  “It certainly doesn’t seem right,” he said. He glanced at his watch, a complicated-looking thing like the one Jason used to wear.

  “I’m sorry—we’ve truly spoiled your run,” she said quickly.

  “I’m sure you have other, more important things to do than talk about my little problem,” Connie added.

  “It’s not little to you,” he said, and Sloan thought she could have hugged him for that. When she caught herself wondering what that would feel like, she nearly jerked back in shock.

  “I was just checking the time to see how long before they’d be in at the county offices,” he said. “I know somebody over there. Maybe I could make a call, find out more about what’s going on.”

  Sloan stared at him. Connie took an audible breath and again put her hand to her throat.

  “No promises,” Brett said hurriedly. “I may only find out that what they told you is right.”

  “Of course,” Connie said, “but that would be so helpful. They didn’t want to explain much to me. I’m sure they just thought I was a nuisance of an old woman.”

  “Then they need to be slapped silly,” Sloan said, her anger rising again.

  Brett looked at her with an expression she couldn’t read. Perhaps, being a cop, he was assessing her capability for such violence. Oh, I’m capable, she told him silently.

  But he said only, “Or reminded that they’ll also be there one day. If they’re lucky.”

  She liked that. Liked that he’d said it. Liked that he’d looked at Connie so kindly when he’d said it.

  Didn’t like the pain that shadowed his eyes when he’d added, “If they’re lucky.”

  “I’ll call the first chance I get,” he said. “But again, no promises.”

  “Thank you,” Connie said fervently. Then she looked at Sloan. “Give him your number, will you, Sloan? I don’t hear the phone half the time.”

  Sloan frowned. As far as she knew, Connie’s hearing was fine. She glanced at Brett, realized he seemed taken aback himself. But after a moment he pulled a smartphone out of the pocket of his sweatpants, and she gave him the number.

  And nearly laughed aloud when the dog, who had been sitting quietly through all this, got to his feet. As if he had somehow figured out they were done now.

  “Told you,” Brett said.

  She looked up to see him shaking his head in amusement at his furry companion.

  Somehow this made her like him even more. And that made her a little twitchy.

  “Well, now,” Connie said, watching as man and dog resumed their run, “wasn’t he nice?”

  “Yes,” Sloan agreed, still a little bemused by it all but more fascinated by Brett Dunbar’s long, easy stride.

  “And nice looking,” the older woman added archly. “Just the type I would have gone for at your age.”

  She couldn’t deny that, since she’d thought it herself. But she knew where Connie was headed and didn’t want to go there. Again.

  “Please. You’ve been in love with Uncle Chuck since you were teenagers.”

  “Indeed I have. That’s why I want the same for you.”

  “And so you want to set me up with the first good-looking guy who comes along?”

  “He’s hardly the first, b
ut he is the first I’ve seen you react to.”

  Oh, Lord, had she been that obvious?

  In the instant before she dodged away from her aunt’s scrutiny, she saw something twinkle in the older woman’s eyes. Her gaze snapped back to Connie’s face.

  “You hear perfectly well,” she accused. “And you’ve never missed a call if you’re home or your cell’s got a signal.”

  “There’s always a first time,” Connie said sunnily. “I wonder if he’s married.”

  Of course he is, Sloan thought. Look at him. But she focused on her aunt’s deviousness. “I can’t believe you...used that.”

  “It got him your phone number, didn’t it?” Connie gave her a wry look. “Besides, honey, when you get to be this age, sometimes the only weapon you have is making people think you’re less than you are.”

  For a long moment Sloan just stared at her. Then she laughed and hugged the woman who had been her anchor for so long. “Have I ever told you I want to be just like you?”

  “I believe you have once or twice,” Connie said. “And it makes me very proud.”

  “As well you should be.”

  “Good. Then you’ll eat breakfast this morning without telling me it’s too much.”

  Sloan laughed again. “You are shameless.” But she walked back toward the house without protest.

  And denied even to herself that she was glad the subject had veered away from their neighborhood jogger.

  Chapter 3

  Brett drummed his fingers on his desk as he considered his options. The physical action and the slight noise seemed to help him focus. Or at least reminded him to keep his mind on the matter at hand and not on the woman who had been such a pleasant interruption in his routine this morning.

  Besides, for all he knew, she was married and had kids. She hadn’t been wearing a ring—so sue him, he’d noticed—but that didn’t always mean anything. Or it could mean she was divorced with those kids. Not that he had anything against kids; he just knew a little too much about the ways they could go wrong. They’d planned on kids, someday, he and Angie—