Desert Rescue (K-9 Search and Rescue)

by Lisa Phillips

  Patrick scrubbed both hands down his face. When he looked, Tucker was leaning forward. Body straight, muscles tense. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Any second now he would flash his teeth and growl.

  He wanted to let the situation escalate in a way Martin would regret, but that would result in Tucker being hurt. Patrick pulled the long leash from the pocket of his cargo pants and snapped it on. “Heel.”

  Tucker shifted to his side, but didn’t back down. Much.

  Martin eyed the dog, then said, “We got a problem?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re going to find my truck.”

  Patrick didn’t even know where to start with that. “He can’t find a vehicle. Or a man who’s been in a vehicle. If the windows were rolled up, there’s no scent. And he’s not trained to find drugs.”

  “He’s a search and rescue dog, right? So search for my truck and rescue my drugs.”

  Patrick blew out a breath. What did this guy expect him to do? It literally wasn’t possible. “Do you have an idea of the location where he is, or somewhere he was, like, when you last saw your friend?”

  There were a million other questions rolling around in his head, but that was a pretty good start.

  “I’ll give you what I have.”

  That sounded more like a threat than an intention to share information. This man was a dangerous loose cannon. After all, he’d lived under the radar for the better part of a year since he’d walked away from the army and disappeared into civilian life—the criminal underworld.

  “And I’ll have to figure out how to do the impossible, I guess.”

  Martin shrugged. “The alternative is I kill you and Jennie, take Nate and raise him as my son.”

  Patrick surged forward. Tucker did the same, barking at Martin.

  Jennie’s brother lifted his gun and pointed it at Patrick’s face.

  That was the only thing that stopped him from tackling the guy. Take his son, when he’d just met the boy? Destroy his life, and Jennie’s, and all that could be?

  “No.” He practically stared down the barrel of the gun. Never a good spot to be in. Even with a K-9 partner by his side, Patrick was in serious danger.

  “Mmm. I agree.”

  So this was about control, then. “Just give me what you have and let me do my job. Then, you will let us go. Unless you want the army crawling all over this place and breathing down your neck until they finally catch up with you.”

  “As if they will. I’ve gotten away with it so far.”

  “They know you’re here.” Patrick shrugged one shoulder. “The call’s already been made. Wheels are in motion. In fact, it’s probably only a matter of hours before they descend on this place en masse.”

  Boy did it ever feel good to say that to this guy’s smug face.

  Until Martin slammed the gun down, aiming for the same spot where he’d already been hit. Patrick turned away from him in time. The butt of the gun slammed into his shoulder instead. He grunted at the impact as pain reverberated through his torso.

  He straightened. “Everything you have?”

  “Good choice.” Martin waved to one of his buddies.

  The gunman spread a map of the local area on the hood of the van that had brought them here. The kind of map you’d buy at a grocery store. Only this one had penciled lines. Notations. Asterisks. There was a clearly indicated route that cut through the foothills from what had been Patrick’s home, across the desert, through Jennie’s land, to the highway east of town.

  “This is where he was last seen.” Martin pressed a dirt-smeared finger north of Jennie’s land.

  “That’s why you were trespassing?” Or, at least, why there’d been an uptick in activity on her land recently.

  “He went missing five days ago.”

  “And you want your drugs?”

  “We all have our retirement plans.”

  Patrick had a lot to do before retirement—like get his family back. All of it. The way it should be. But he got what Martin meant. “What’s in that truck is your nest egg? How do you know the driver didn’t take off with the drugs and he’s in Mexico by now?”

  Martin pulled out a phone. “GPS. The tracker in the truck went offline. That’s how we lost him. Then he never checked in when he should have. But he couldn’t have disabled the tracker himself. He didn’t even know about it. Besides, he’s dumb as a box of rocks. Actually, that’s an insult to rocks.”

  Patrick faced off with Jennie’s brother. “Great. Let’s go out there and I’ll get Tucker to search for a scent. Assuming that item of clothing you’ve got is even something he can get a scent from.”

  He was waiting for a hitch in this plan that would mean Martin had no use for them.

  So long as his not needing them anymore didn’t mean he would execute them all and leave them out here. Or stage some kind of elaborate murder-suicide scene to throw off the sheriff.

  “Is the sheriff in your pocket?”

  Martin shrugged. “I might do that. If he actually cared enough to try to get rid of me, I’d probably offer to pay him money.”

  That didn’t answer Patrick’s question. Not really. “So he just leaves you alone?”

  Martin said, “I don’t care about him. Find my truck.”

  “Give me that sweater so I can use it for a scent.” That was better than trying to get a straight answer out of Jennie’s brother.

  Martin looked about ready to slam him with the gun again, but Patrick didn’t care. What more could Martin do, or threaten to do, that hadn’t already been done to him by the men in Jennie’s family? Then there was the damage they’d done to Jennie. To Nate. They’d been through enough—too much, in fact.

  One of the men retrieved the grocery bag holding the sweater.

  “Ready to go, Tucker?” He needed to get the dog excited about work. Focused on Patrick, and not the fact he wanted to be in the house with Nate.

  I know how you feel.

  Martin’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and muttered under his breath. “The sheriff is headed here. Everyone load up. Now!”

  “What about Jennie and Nate?” He wasn’t going to give them back to the sheriff, was he? That would mean he’d lost all his leverage.

  “They come, too.” He turned to his gunman friend. “Get them. Two minutes. Let’s move!”

  Patrick was shoved toward a car as Jennie and Nate came out.

  “What’s happening?”

  He got close enough to grasp her hand. “The sheriff is coming.”

  But the happiness on her face was short lived.

  One of the gunmen grabbed Nate around the waist and hauled him away from them.

  “Mom!”

  NINETEEN

  “Nate!”

  She’d been shoved into that room. Then, only minutes later, she’d been dragged back out. Now Jennie didn’t even know what was happening.

  The sheriff is coming.

  Patrick moved with her. But Martin stepped in front of them, blocking the path to their son. Who had been ripped from her arms.

  “Move!” She screamed in her brother’s face, tears streaming down her cheeks once again. Maybe they hadn’t ever stopped. “You can’t keep me from my son.”

  “Get in the van.” Martin looked deadly serious, like he was inclined to shoot whenever he decided to.

  She halted, though everything inside her wanted to shove him out of the way—gun or no—and race for Nate.

  Her son was currently being dragged away. He kicked and screamed against his captor, struggling to break free of the man’s grip. A man who looked like he’d go up against a biker without breaking a sweat. Ruthless. Evil, maybe.

  Did she believe in her heart that Martin would actually kill her if she ran for Nate? Maybe not. But he would sh
oot to maim her.

  “Let’s go. In the van. Now.”

  Jennie’s body jerked with the force of his order. A sob worked its way up her throat, but she didn’t let it out. Crying wouldn’t help.

  Tucker barked. Jennie sniffled and Patrick tugged her toward the van. Didn’t he want to go after Nate? Instead, he was hauling her toward the van. Doing what her brother ordered them to do. Why? Johns was on his way, so that meant they should delay as much as possible to ensure they were still there when he showed up.

  The sheriff wasn’t in on it. She’d wondered before, but if Martin was purposely avoiding him then the man was a threat to Martin’s plans. He wasn’t in Martin’s pocket. If he was, then it wouldn’t make sense for them to run.

  She turned to glare at Patrick. Nate.

  “I know.” It was like he knew what she was thinking. Probably it was written on her face. Good. He said, “Come on.”

  He wanted to help Martin by cooperating?

  Patrick tugged her on, the muscle in his jaw flexing. Tucker hadn’t moved when they had, causing them to bump up against him. The dog barked at the man currently holding Nate where Jennie couldn’t reach him.

  “Tuck. Heel.”

  Her brother motioned with the gun. “You keep that dog in line. And no commands to bite anyone.”

  “He isn’t a protection dog. He finds people.”

  “Good.” Her brother nudged the gun into her back. “Now get moving.” Then he told the man holding Nate, “Take a walk.”

  The man nodded. He already knew what that meant? Jennie watched, her eyes stinging they were so wide, as Nate was taken from her between the house and the dilapidated old garage Patrick’s mom had used for storage.

  Martin shoved them to the van. “Get in.”

  She spun around instead. “Don’t let that man hurt him. And don’t you let him even touch my son. That is your nephew. If you have any good inside you at all, you won’t leave him in the hands of someone who could hurt him.” Or worse. Some wounds healed. Others were never visible to anyone else, and yet the bearer carried the pain for years.

  God, please. Not my son.

  Martin shoved her back again. The gun glanced off her collarbone and his other hand slammed into her, toppling her over into the van. Backward, so she fell awkwardly.

  Patrick sucked in a breath, sounding like he was in pain. Tucker’s tags jingled. Jennie pushed off the floor of the van and winced at the ache where she’d landed.

  “Let’s go!” Her brother’s voice rang out.

  Patrick climbed in the van, and she heard Tucker move around her. Jennie curled up. After a second, she realized she was crying.

  “Okay.” Patrick gathered her into his arms. “Come here, Jen.”

  She sucked in a choppy breath and let the tears flow.

  He pulled her close and held her in the strength of his arms, one hand rubbing up and down her back as the van rumbled along.

  “Nate.” Her voice was barely a whisper, more like a moan. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed he would be safe. Unharmed. She could no longer pray he wouldn’t be traumatized by this. That was a fact they would all now have to live with. It was real, and it was going to be part of Jennie’s future as a mom.

  Because they were going to get past this. She would get Nate back and they’d move on. With Patrick in their lives.

  No matter what, she was going to have God to thank for everything if they were all alive. Life went on.

  Jennie lifted her forehead from Patrick’s neck and pushed off his shoulders as she sat. She wasn’t going to fall apart anymore. Not when God would always be there for her.

  “Hey.” He touched her cheeks, wiping away tears.

  Jennie didn’t have any words. She touched her forehead to his and shut her eyes.

  “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll find his guy, and his drugs, and all this will be over.”

  He wanted her to believe that? Maybe she did and maybe she didn’t. But she could agree on faith that the assurance would come later. Despite the circumstances. Despite the prognosis.

  That was what faith was.

  “The sheriff will show up at my house. Eric, too. They’ll realize what’s happening and track us all down. This many people together won’t go unnoticed for long.”

  She nodded and lifted her head, opening her eyes. “Thank you for being here.”

  He’d been called to this job because of his position. Not because of her—at least, not that she could surmise. All she wanted to think about was Nate. But Patrick had come. He was the only man she’d ever loved. Her son’s father.

  She touched his cheeks then pressed her lips to his. “Thank you.”

  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  God, keep our son safe. It was like a mantra, rolling through her head over and over again.

  Patrick held her gaze with his. Soft. Determined. “I’m not leaving. No matter what. I’m going to do this for your brother, and we’ll get Nate back. That’s nonnegotiable. Okay?”

  Like him, she could hardly contemplate losing her son.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  She lifted her gaze. Why repeat that? Unless he was coming to care for her, as she was for him. Probably she was way past that right now. Falling for him, when she’d been in love with him for more than ten years?

  Jennie was going to trust him. “Good.”

  The van bounced over a rut in the dirt road and her mouth bounced against his. Her cheek slammed into his jaw. He gritted his teeth. “Sorry.”

  Jennie squeezed her eyes shut. “Let’s just pray for Nate.”

  “Okay.” His arms tightened for a second, imbuing her with another dose of comfort as she spoke her prayer aloud until the van pulled to a stop.

  Patrick kissed her forehead and she opened her eyes, shifting so the gunmen and her brother didn’t see how close they’d gotten. She felt better, but that didn’t even touch the fear she held for Nate. Nothing would cure that. Not until her son was back in her arms.

  Safe.

  * * *

  She pulled away, but Patrick still felt her weight against him. Shared warmth. The echo of the feelings roiling inside him. Nate, alone with a dangerous gunman. Held captive until Patrick found this truck, its driver and the drugs inside.

  The van door slid open. She scooted away from him, but he touched her arm. “Let me get out first.”

  He wanted to protect her. It was an imperative now. There was nothing else he could do but keep her as safe as possible. God, help me keep them both safe. It was coming more naturally now to lift up a prayer. Something to be thankful for, even in the middle of everything that was happening. Faith grew in him, incrementally with each new occurrence.

  Except it seemed like things were only getting worse, not better.

  Tucker hopped down.

  “Heel.” Patrick shortened the distance between them and kept the tension on the leash. Now, more than ever, Tucker needed to know that Patrick was the one in charge.

  With his free hand, he kept Jennie behind him, hopefully out of the line of fire. She closed in, one hand on his left hip as she peered around his right shoulder. Close enough she could touch her cheek to his arm.

  Martin came over.

  “This is where the truck was last seen?” Patrick asked.

  They weren’t too far from the back portion of Jennie’s land. Maybe five miles. They were parked in a dirt lot of an abandoned bar, shut down long enough ago that the windows were boarded up and what remained had been smashed by rocks—probably thrown by local kids messing around.

  This place? Jennie’s father had reigned as king here. Not surprising Martin had gravitated toward it. Seemed like he’d been trying to take over his father’s empire. Resurrect the old days. Because he wanted to be as lucrative as his dad or because he simply missed
the old man? This might even have been the place Martin had been living in since he’d walked away from the army. Squatting in an abandoned building was no kind of life, no matter how much cash he had from illegal operations. It wasn’t like he was putting it in a savings account for wherever he moved next.

  Patrick didn’t want Martin trying any of his father’s methods for keeping people in line on him, Tucker or Jennie. Or Nate.

  God, help us.

  Martin studied him. “So eager to get started?”

  “Let’s just do this. The quicker I find your stash, the quicker we’re all done with this,” Patrick said. “You know the cops are on your heels. It’s only a matter of time before the sheriff’s department—and the army—is breathing down the back of your neck.”

  Martin grinned. He pulled out his phone and made a call. When the recipient answered, the only thing he said was “Do it.” Then he hung up and looked at the scenery to the west.

  An explosive blast shuddered the sky. The fireball rolled up into the air from a structure over there, and wind blew at them in a single gust.

  Jennie huddled closer to Patrick’s back. “Was that the garage?”

  Nate. His son hadn’t been inside. But that didn’t mean Martin lacked the means to make good on his threats.

  “Don’t worry about the sheriff, or anyone else finding us,” Martin said. “I’m not.”

  Well, he was. Patrick was also worried about Eric. His partner was smart, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t ever be caught unawares.

  “Give me the bag. Tucker can get started.”

  If there was even a scent to find and the truck driver had been traveling with the windows down to leave a trail, and recently enough that the scent would still linger. And yet, given everything Jennie had told him had been going on, it must have been long enough at least one weather front had rolled across this desert.

  There was probably nothing left to find.

  He still figured the most likely thing that had happened was that the man had taken the drugs and made a run for it. He was likely hiding in Mexico, or somewhere he could stay under the radar, and off-loading the merchandise to someone who would pay cash and ask no questions.