Dannette didn’t want to think about the scene that might have played out if they hadn’t found the elderly woman. Or if the corpse Dannette had found had been Mrs. Hanson instead of some hunter … or kidnap victim or whatever. She hadn’t examined the murder site—just made sure no one tampered with it before forensics hiked in.
Which felt like it took a couple of centuries.
The county ambulance honked, then moved slowly through the maze of vehicles. A bossy and confused Mrs. Hanson was inside strapped to a gurney. Dannette had gotten a good enough glimpse to confirm that finding her had been an act of God. Mrs. Hanson suffered from slight exposure, disorientation, and a sprained ankle, but she had plenty of kick left in her. Even with a blanket over her shoulders and her family trying to hush her. It was quite possible she would have kept trucking through the forest, her mind on a top-secret quest, until she hit Canada.
Sheriff Fadden seemed in worse shape than Mrs. Hanson. Mayor Tom Hanson had him in a verbal half nelson, wondering why it had taken the county two precious hours to call in the local, albeit temporary, SAR K-9 unit.
Dannette was sure that she or most likely Kelly would pay for the pasty look on Fadden’s face the next time the SAR K-9 team asked for funding. Unless, of course, she could get the mayor on her team …
“Missy!” Dannette turned to see Robby Hanson as his arms locked around Missy’s neck. Good-natured and kind, Missy stood still while the eight-year-old buried his face into her fur. “Thanks for finding my grammy.”
“Thanks, Dannette.” Julie Hanson, Tom’s wife, strode up. The blonde looked gaunt and as exhausted as Dannette felt. Her short hair had frizzed into a curly Annie bob, and her dissolved mascara streaked down her face. But she smiled as she touched Dannette’s arm. “You saved my mother-in-law, and we’re grateful.”
“Actually Kelly found her, but I’m thanking the Lord with you for His providence.” Dannette shot a glance at the departing ambulance. “Will she be okay?”
Julie nodded. “Well, as okay as an eighty-six-year-old Alzheimer’s patient can be. She’s so spry; it kills us to see her mind destroy her like this.” She rubbed her arms. “Poor Tom. He doesn’t handle his mother’s disease well. It’s so frustrating, not to mention heartbreaking.”
Dannette nodded, knowing all too well how it felt to stand on the sidelines and watch a loved one suffer. “I’m keeping you all in my prayers.”
Julie gave her a one-armed hug. “C’mon, Robby, time to head home.”
Robby gave Missy one last hug, then allowed his mother to lead him to their SUV, where Julie’s sister and her boys waited. Dannette watched as the sisters embraced. The emotional support of the Hanson family tugged at a soft place in Dannette, and she turned away lest memories swamp her. At moments like this, fatigue had the ability to play her like a marionette. In all likelihood she’d end tonight sitting by the window, staring at the stars, unable to face sleep.
Which would do marvels not only for her appearance but for her ability to file a decent incident report tomorrow. No wonder she felt—as well as looked—hollowed out these days, dangerously near snapping.
Maybe her SAR pal Jim Micah had been right when he suggested she take a break and head down to Kentucky instead of going canoeing with her NYC friend Sarah over Memorial Day weekend. Although Dannette had missed his and Lacey’s engagement party in the fall, she’d come to enjoy the occasional e-mail from Lacey Galloway Montgomery, soon-to-be-Micah. The ex-spy/NSA computer whiz had a frankness about life that Dannette appreciated, and Lacey radiated her salvation in a way that felt both dangerous and intriguing. Although Dannette had been a Christian since childhood and had a solid relationship with God as her friend and companion, seeing redemption in Lacey’s eyes made Dannette wonder why she had never wept for joy at the cross, never clung to God like Lacey did with every breath.
Perhaps Dannette had just never needed Him that much. Which was a good thing, right? She hadn’t lived a prodigal’s life, hadn’t walked the alleyways of darkness and sin. So maybe she’d never really understand the showering of grace Lacey felt.
Lacey and her little girl, Emily, had embraced life on their Kentucky farm—a far cry from running from a paid assassin and trying to clear Lacey’s name. It seemed both had begun to shake off the horrors of Emily’s kidnapping, the event that had finally set them free. Even Lacey’s fiancé, Jim Micah, seemed free of the demons that had tormented him. He’d surrendered his twenty-year career as a Green Beret without so much as a flinch. In his last e-mail he’d hinted at wanting to start up some sort of official Team Hope SAR organization.
However, as Dannette mulled over the idea of heading south ASAP, the thought of seeing Lacey again face-to-face made her tremble. She’d shared in Lacey’s terror during the dark hours when Lacey thought her daughter might be dead and, well, seeing it firsthand stirred up too many memories.
“Ms. Lundeen?” Sheriff Fadden motioned her over with a wave.
Here to serve, she thought as she led her dog over to the Fadden-Hanson klatch. She pasted on a smile.
Tom wore a grim look. “We’ve done a tentative ID on the corpse, and we think the guy you found is from the community in Silver Creek, about thirty miles from here. Coroner guessed he hasn’t been dead long—probably only a few hours before you found him.”
Dannette couldn’t help the shiver that went through her. Did that mean that if Missy had found Mrs. Hanson’s scent sooner, Dannette might have witnessed a murder?
She let her thoughts stop there and focused on Fadden’s words.
“They’re a quiet bunch, religious even. But this guy has a tattoo on his hand. Maybe that will open up some leads.” He snorted. “Good thing your dog can’t tell the difference between an old lady and a dead guy.”
“That’s my mother you’re referring to,” Tom said in a low, cold voice.
Fadden’s face twitched.
“Missy is trained to follow human scent. Not to give me a full description of the type of scent. I’d say that this case shows exactly what an asset an SAR K-9 unit can be to a police force. Definitely worth the extension of funds to train. Don’t worry;
Kelly and Kirby will pass their certification. Especially after today.” She decided to blame the sharpness of her tone on her fatigue.
Tom held up his hand, shot her a warning look. “Have you already given your report to Fadden’s deputies?”
Dannette nodded. “A couple times.” She rubbed Missy’s ears as the dog sat at her side.
“I can’t tell you how grateful Julie and I are for your help today, Dannette. You and Kelly saved my mother’s life. Thank you.” Tom’s gray eyes held warmth to match his tone.
Dannette smiled. “That’s what we train for.”
Fadden shook his head at the undercurrent in her words.
Well, could she help it that her life was about SAR canine training? She said, “We can thank God for His intervention.”
Tom nodded. “What do you say, Fadden? Send this lady home?”
Fadden looked exhausted, bags of fatigue under his eyes. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with a beefy hand. “Yeah, sure. Somebody should get some sleep tonight.”
Dannette allowed herself a sliver of sympathy. Fadden would probably spend much of the night processing Dead Guy from the Woods after his brow-wringing from the mayor. Still, a little appreciation from his direction might salve her frayed nerves. She gave him a small smile.
He turned away. “Wouldn’t want to overwork you or anything.”
Overwork? She’d like to remind him who sat in his warm Suburban downing coffee while she tromped through the waterlogged forest for hours. So much for appreciation.
“See you in church Sunday, Tom.” Dannette led Missy away before her tongue could turn the moment into something dark and ugly. She usually had a handle on her emotions, but creeps like Fadden infuriated her. They didn’t get it that she put her life on the line so others might live and only saw their budget dollars being scraped away
for doggy treats. Right now she should remember wisdom, duct-tape her mouth shut, and hide out in the nearest java shop with a cup of chai and a biscotto. Or maybe a sweet roll. She wondered if Nancy’s Nook was still open.
She let Missy off her lead as they exited the ring of vehicles and made her way across the dark field toward the parking lot. Missy ran, finally free from the obedient confines of work. Dannette wished she had a ball to throw.
Headlights turned into the parking lot, scraped across her lonely pickup. Dannette’s heart lurched, and she started jogging. “Missy!”
The truck kept on past her parked vehicle and headed into the field.
Dannette stifled a scream as she saw Missy’s form pass through the lights. “Missy!”
The dog froze, looked at her. During the snapshot in time all Dannette saw was Missy’s sweet brown eyes, asking for directions.
Come.
The word clogged in her throat as she watched the truck plow toward Missy.
Chapter 3
AMINA. THE WORD throbbed in her brain like Morse code as Fadima Nazar walked through the causeway into the Winnipeg International Airport. Canada. Amina.
The instructions her father had given her felt like a gnarled tangle in her head. She tugged her backpack over her shoulder and fisted it, finding some courage in the press of the crowd around her. Fadima held her chin up, eyes roaming over her fellow passengers. Would Hafiz meet her here? or at the compound?
She felt naked in her Western attire. Her arms and legs hadn’t seen light in about ten years, and at the moment, it didn’t feel nearly as freeing as she had supposed it might. An American teenager. That description was enough to earn a spittle of disgust where she came from.
Amina. It meant “truth.” Her father had written the word on the inside of her arm—high, where no one but she could see it—just in case. But she was hardly going to forget the one word that would set them all free.
Then again, maybe she needed the word imprinted on her arm to help her believe that she could actually pull off this charade. That she could be the person her father counted on her to be to save his life and many more.
While she didn’t know the exact details of Hayata’s next move, her father did and had told her enough to make her feel the weight of humanity on her shoulders. And only she knew how to find her father.
Fadima probably felt the same fear and disgust her mother had. But did she also possess her mother’s courage?
No crowd greeted the British Airways passengers at the gate, another sign of Canada’s crackdown on terrorism. Still, Canada was the highway into America, and people like her father and his cohorts counted on its more liberal immigration policies.
It was now, if ever, that she should bolt. Run to the bathroom, cut her dark hair, and blend into the crowd. She’d be free. Just like her father hoped and dreamed.
But if she didn’t meet her new family, her father would be dead before sunset. Along with Kutsi, her brother. No, for them she would walk like a sheep into the wolf ’s lair and wait for her shepherd.
She moved down the causeway and into the clean, well-lit terminal. Her gaze darted across the crowd waiting for the disembarking passengers beyond the security checkpoint. She plunked her backpack down on the scanner and walked through, holding her breath.
No buzz. Not that she carried anything of suspicion, but right now anything out of the ordinary might send her out of her skin and make her courage flee across the ocean to the relative safety of her sotnya, the Hayata cell she called home in a village in central Kazakhstan.
Seventeen years old felt way too young to hold the fate of thousands of lives in her hands.
She retrieved her backpack and exited the line, standing for a moment in confusion. A sea of people streamed by her, no one paying any attention to the dark-featured girl in the low-cut jeans, running shoes, and Gap T-shirt. She hardly recognized herself for that matter. Makeup. Her hair long and loose. She even wore a dab of perfume. Westerners weren’t noticed, her father had said, at least in Western countries. It was her everyday garb that would solicit attention.
But she’d left that world. Hopefully, forever.
She stiffened when she spied her contacts coming toward her, like jackals closing in on their prey. She sucked in a breath. “Be brave, my Amina.”
“Fadima Nazar?” asked the taller of the two.
Fadima looked up into his dark eyes and pasted on a smile. “Yes,” she said in her native tongue. “Ataman Erkan Nazar sends his greetings.”
The other, a blond-haired white man with more cruelty than years on his pierced face, smiled. “Welcome to the promised land.”
“Missy!”
The dog startled, jumped.
Dannette screamed.
The truck threw mud as the driver slammed the brakes. It shuttered to a stop.
Dannette froze. Missy? She advanced, her legs shaking, her eyes glazed with heat. “Missy?” she choked.
The dog barreled out of the darkness and jumped into her arms. Dannette landed hard on her backside and held on, her heart jumping out of her throat and landing somewhere in the dark forest beyond. “Missy.”
“Are you okay?” A voice emerged from the dark void of near disasters and held enough concern to keep her from launching at him, claws out. Instead, Dannette closed her eyes and tightened her hold on her dog, burying her face in Missy’s smelly, wet fur.
“Miss?”
She felt a hand on her arm, large and strong against her rubber muscles. Then she blew out a breath and looked at him.
He did look sorry. She read it in his furrowed dark eyebrows, the grim slash of his mouth under his dark goatee, even the worry pulsing from his way-too-brown eyes. The fury she felt dissipated from her muscles, leaving only relief. “I’m okay. And so is Missy.”
He supported her arm as she rose.
Dannette was a tall person, able to look most men in the eye, but this near killer stood a nose above her, and in his rumpled leather jacket, faded jeans, and cowboy boots, he emanated a quiet, unobtrusive power. Maybe it was the way he held himself, feet planted and his head slightly angled. She felt his gaze run over her, and it wasn’t at all invasive. “I didn’t see her. It’s a good thing you yelled,” he said without defense, with sincerity.
Still, Dannette felt another swell of anger forming in her chest, the residue that follows a soul-deep scare. She bit it back. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have let her off her lead. It’s just that it’s been a long day.” She ran her arm across her forehead.
He glanced at the party of lights and conversations beyond the darkness. “You a part of that over there?”
Dannette sighed, shoved her hands into her pockets, and glanced at the chaos. “Yeah. Missy’s an SAR dog, and we spent all day in the woods.”
When she looked back, she was startled to see his gaze on her, searching her face. His tiny frown spoke more concern than she could deal with at the moment. “Did you find the dead body?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Uh … well, yeah. How did you know about that?”
“I’ve got a scanner in my truck.”
Oh, a cop. No wonder he radiated this you’re-okay-nowma’am aura. Funny, with him standing a foot away from her, she sorta felt that way. Okay, now. All he needed was a badge and maybe a beat-up Stetson to complete his old-West-hero guise. “Well, I gave my statement to the deputies. I’m sure you can get the lowdown from Sheriff Fadden.”
One side of his mouth drew up in a smirk. “Yeah, I’ll bet.” He squinted again at the lights behind her. “Hey, have you eaten?”
Eaten? She had begun to move away from him and now froze. He gave her a full-powered white smile, and suddenly she knew fatigue had already taken possession of her brain. She let herself wrap around the idea of making a friend, decompressing from the carnage of the day with a person who might nod and listen with his eyes, his smile.
She was reading way, way too much into this near hit-andrun. Down, girl.
“No,” she heard herself answer, her mouth obviously out on its own tonight. And then it smiled, giving her the look of a teenage girl besotted with the quarterback. Oh, brother. She should turn and run and not look back.
“They make a great bowl of chili down at Nancy’s Nook. How about you let me apologize for nearly running over … Misty?” he said, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets.
“Missy,” she corrected. But his attempt to get her dog’s name right had Dannette nearly to yes.
“Missy.” He whistled. Missy, the traitor and all-knowing judge of good character, bounded over. He held out his hand, let her sniff it. A few moments later she was on her back, in complete, embarrassing surrender, wiggling as he rubbed her stomach. “She’s a sweet thing.”
So much for holding out in an attempt to be coy. Besides, he was a cop. And Nancy did serve great chili.
Will had redefined his definition of pretty over the years, and while this lady didn’t have the exotic look of the women he’d met overseas, she had a simple, honest prettiness. Tall, with hazel eyes ringed with wariness, and short rain-wetted, breeze-dried hair, she sat and leaned on her hand and twirled her fork into her napkin, exuding a certain authenticity that made her intriguing. The fact that she hadn’t tried to wipe the dirt from her high cheekbones before she joined him in the café said that she felt comfortable with who she was—what you see is what you get.
Too bad he couldn’t say the same thing.
“Do you know what you want?” he asked.
She said nothing and shook her head, looking exhausted.
Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea. But he was out for answers or at least the clues locked somewhere in that tousled blonde head. And he would wheedle them out before the night was over.
He’d been right to follow his instincts and head up to the SAR site. After the dispatch on the radio, he’d weighed his options for all of 3.02 seconds, then floored it to the incident site to confirm that it was Simon/aka Hafiz they were zipping into a body bag.
Thirty minutes later, he’d pulled into the parking lot and nearly mowed over the lady’s dog—something that had scared him more than he wanted to admit. Or it might have been the way the lady dropped down in the dirt and hung on to the animal, her heart in her contorted face. He’d felt a little unnerved and slightly raw when he walked out onto the field, considering the possibilities. He didn’t want to be the guy who destroyed something so well loved.
Escape to Morning Page 3
