Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls)

by Melinda Leigh

  Rain pattered on the window of Brody’s home office. Sitting behind his desk, he flipped through the search results from the query he’d run in ViCAP. Unfortunately baseball bats and strangulation were popular methods of committing violence, and Brody had far too many possibilities to sift through. The amount of rage directed at the victim pointed toward a significant other or a seriously disturbed killer.

  A raspy meow sounded at his feet. He reached down to gently scoop his ancient tomcat, Danno, into his lap. The old cat kneaded his thighs, claws digging in. Wincing, Brody rubbed the orange tabby’s head. “Am I keeping you up?”

  Danno butted Brody’s hand with his head.

  “All right. All right.” Brody scratched the side of the old cat’s face. The purrs that sputtered from the bony body sounded as rough as a lawnmower engine that needed a tune-up. “I get it. It’s late and we should be in bed.”

  The cat jumped to the floor, the sound of his paws hitting the wood surprisingly loud considering he weighed all of nine pounds. He trotted, loose-limbed, to the doorway and cast a Well? glance back at Brody.

  “I’m coming.” He closed his file. The cat was right. Time for bed. His eyes were starting to cross, but he was taking tomorrow off and wanted to make sure he hadn’t overlooked a clue. He hadn’t.

  His cell phone buzzed on the desk. He picked it up and glanced at the display.

  Hannah.

  His eyes went to the clock. Midnight. Alarm woke him faster than a triple espresso.

  “What’s wrong?” he answered.

  “I lost her.” Hannah’s voice was breathless, as if she’d been running.

  “Who?”

  “AnnaBelle. I lost Carson’s dog. She took off into the woods.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m looking for her.”

  Unease pulled Brody to his feet. “You’re in the woods?”

  “That’s where the dog went.”

  Striding down the hall and into the kitchen, Brody tucked the phone between his face and his shoulder and reached for his jacket and keys. “Get back in the house and lock the door. I’ll be right there.”

  “I’m not going back inside until I find this dog,” she said.

  “Hannah, it isn’t safe to be running around in the woods alone in the middle of the night.”

  “I assure you, I’m fine.” The sound of wind and fabric rustling came through the phone. She was out there moving through the dark. Alone. Vulnerable. Maybe vulnerable wasn’t the best word to describe Hannah. But she was alone, and that was enough to make Brody sweat.

  “I’m on my way. I will help you find her. All right?”

  “Yes.” Her voice hitched. Was she crying?

  Hannah had taken on a thug to help a young girl, but the thought of losing her nephew’s dog undid her.

  “I’ll be right there. Will you please go back into the house and wait for me?”

  “How long will it take you to get here?” Her refusal to answer told him she wouldn’t.

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll meet you in the backyard.” The line went dead.

  Swearing, Brody shrugged into his jacket. On his way out the door, he secured his weapon in the holster at his hip. The drive out to the Barrett place seemed longer than usual, even as he pushed the car over the speed limit. Parking in the driveway, he grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment and jogged around the house. Where is she? Spotlights illuminated the rear yard. The wind blew light rain into his face, and silvery shadows played under the big oak tree. Beyond the creek at the rear of the property, the trees loomed black as tar. Brody headed for the woods.

  He cupped a hand around his mouth. “Hannah.”

  “I’m here.” She emerged from the darkness. Her pale face shone in the light. Rain darkened her blond hair, and drops of water raced down her temples.

  Relief flooded his system with adrenaline. His boots clomped on the bridge as he closed the gap between them.

  “She went this way.” Hannah turned and walked into the forest.

  Brody fell into step behind her. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

  “I have to find Carson’s dog. I can’t let him lose anything else.”

  “It’s dangerous.”

  Hannah stopped and called for the dog. They listened for an answering bark. Nothing. Wind rustled in the trees and knocked droplets of water from the foliage overhead. Brody wiped a rivulet of rain from his forehead.

  “I waited for you,” she said, continuing her path on the trail.

  “I appreciate that.” Brody’s voice went dry.

  “Brody, I’ve been running in the wilderness since I was born. My father was big on survival training. I can build a shelter, rig a snare for small game, find clean water, and start a fire without matches. Plus, I’m armed.” She patted her hip.

  “I know all that, but I was worried about you,” he admitted.

  Her sure steps faltered. She halted, her face turning toward him. “You were?”

  “I was.” He couldn’t read her expression in the dark, but her body language was unsure.

  The rustle of wet leaves punctuated a few seconds of silence before Hannah resumed her stride. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you’re concerned about the dog, but Carson would be much more upset if anything happened to you.” And so would I.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  How could that be? “Well, you should have. Do you really think Carson loves his dog more than you?”

  “No,” she said. “I just never thought about it at all.”

  “You are important to your family. You have a responsibility to them.” He reached across the darkness and took her hand. “No more impulsive risks, all right?”

  “I’ll try.” The sadness in her voice broke his heart.

  “Try not. Do,” Brody said in his best Yoda voice.

  With a short burst of laughter, she gave his fingers a quick squeeze. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being here, and for giving me perspective.”

  Brody tightened his hold on her hand. Did her step lighten, just a little?

  “But I’m still going to find this dog.”

  “I never doubted it for a second.” He sniffed. Over the smell of trees and rain, he smelled . . . meat? “What’s that smell?”

  Hannah pulled a package from her pocket. Brody shone the beam of his flashlight on it.

  “Ball Park Franks?”

  “AnnaBelle’s crack.” She opened the top and waved the package in the air. “Retrievers are hunting dogs. Theoretically, she should be able to smell the hot dogs if she’s nearby.” She stuffed the bag into her pocket and funneled her hands around her mouth. “AnnaBelle! Here, girl.”

  They paused and listened. Nothing. Hannah strode off again. She moved through the forest with more confidence than Brody. Clearly, her childhood lessons had stuck.

  They plowed through a thick layer of wet, dead leaves. He looked behind them. Dark, dark, and more dark. How far had they walked? “Shouldn’t we mark the trail so we don’t get lost?”

  “We’re not far from the house.” Hannah stopped at a fork in the trail. Crouching, she played her beam on the ground and examined a paw print in the dirt.

  Brody leaned over her shoulder. “That doesn’t look like a dog print.”

  “That’s because it’s a possum track.” She stood and pointed her light at one trail and then the other. “You want left or right?”

  Oh, no. He was not letting her out of his sight. “We stay together.”

  She propped a hand on her hip. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of calling you?”

  “We stay together.”

  “All right,” she sighed.

  “You realize she’ll probably return to th
e house on her own.”

  “Maybe. But I can’t just sit there and wait.”

  No, Hannah needed to take action. They tromped around the woods for another hour, until the wet cold seeped through the sleeves of Brody’s jacket and froze his fingers.

  He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “It’s getting late. Let’s go back and check the house. She’s probably sitting on the back deck.”

  Hannah turned around. Even in the dark, he could read the distress on her features. “I hope so.”

  How she knew her way around in the dark boggled his mind, but twenty minutes later, they emerged from the forest to stare at Grant’s backyard. They crossed the bridge, Hannah’s pace increasing to a jog across the lawn.

  She drew up at the deck steps. “She’s not here.”

  Brody wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. He didn’t realize she’d been crying until he saw the tears glistening on her face. Hannah rested her forehead against his chest for a solid minute. Then she pulled away and wiped her cheeks with her fingertips.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I don’t know what to do. I have to find that dog.” She sniffed. “I know what you’re going to say. I’m more important than any dog, but it’s not a contest. Carson shouldn’t have to lose either of us.”

  He sure as hell shouldn’t, Brody thought. “You’re right. I’ll ask whoever’s on patrol tonight to keep an eye out for her. If she doesn’t come back by morning, we’ll call animal shelters and veterinarians.”

  A faint bark drifted through the trees. Brody lifted a hand. “Wait. Did you hear that?”

  Her head tilted. She shook her head.

  Brody strained to listen. The barking grew stronger. “There’s a dog coming this way.”

  “I hear it now.” Hannah’s voice brightened. “Which direction?”

  He pointed toward the woods. They hurried back onto the trail. They picked up the pace, excitement fueling their legs. A squeal and a high-pitched whine echoed. Hannah broke into a run. Brody kept pace. Mud splashed under his boots. A hundred yards down the trail, they entered a clearing. AnnaBelle stood in the center, head down and whimpering. The dog swiped a paw at her face.

  “Here, girl.” Hannah approached the retriever. “Oh, you poor dog.”

  “What is it?” Brody directed the beam of his light on the dog’s face. Dozens of quills poked out from her muzzle. “Ugh. Looks like she tangled with a porcupine.”

  Hannah fastened her collar around her neck. “Let’s get her back to the house.”

  Luckily, the dog had been nearly home when she’d been quilled. They tracked mud and water through the back door into the laundry room. In the bright light of the kitchen, Brody and Hannah examined the dog’s face.

  “That’s a lot of quills, and some are in her mouth.” Hannah stroked the dog’s head. “She needs a vet.”

  Brody whipped his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “I’ll call mine.”

  “I doubt they’ll be open.” Hannah glanced at the clock. “It’s two in the morning. Is there a twenty-four-hour veterinary clinic nearby?”

  “Dr. Albert will pick up,” Brody said. The vet’s groggy voice answered the call on the third ring. Brody explained the situation and disconnected in less than a minute. “He’ll open his office for us. Let’s get her in the car.”

  They wrapped the dog in a beach towel and put her in the backseat of Brody’s vehicle. Hannah sat with the dog to keep her from pawing at the quills. “I know it hurts. It’ll be OK.”

  Brody drove into town. Rain glittered on the blacktop. He kept one eye on the rearview mirror and listened to Hannah croon to the dog. The tough hotshot lawyer turned into a marshmallow when kids and animals were in need.

  Ten minutes later, Brody turned into the parking area. The vet’s office was in a small building next to his house. Light glowed in the clinic windows.

  Dr. Albert opened the door. He’d pulled his lab coat on over flannel pajamas and boots. His white hair tufted out from the sides of his head. “Bring her in here.” He gestured toward a lighted exam room. A tray of instruments, including a set of pliers, was laid out on the counter.

  Brody introduced Hannah to the old vet as he picked up the big dog and hefted her onto the stainless steel table.

  The vet set a pair of black-rimmed glasses on his nose and frowned. “I’m going to give her some anesthesia.” He patted the dog on the side, shaved a patch of fur on one foreleg, and set up a butterfly catheter. With a syringe, he pushed some medication into the line. The dog’s breathing eased, and her body went quiet on the table. For the next thirty minutes, the vet pulled quills out of the dog’s muzzle with pliers.

  “Does anyone see any more?” He moved the overhead light and lifted AnnaBelle’s lips to inspect her mouth.

  “I don’t,” Brody said.

  Hannah shook her head.

  “Then I’m going to give her a shot of antibiotics.” He filled a syringe and injected the retriever’s flank.

  The dog stirred. Minutes later, her eyes opened, and she gave them a feeble wag.

  “You can take her home. She’ll probably be tired tomorrow, and you might need to give her soft food for a day or two, but she should be fine. Don’t worry. She’s not my first patient who thought chasing a porcupine looked like fun.”

  “Thank you.” Hannah reached into the slim purse that hung from her shoulder.

  The vet waved her off. “I’ll send you a bill.”

  Brody carried the dog back outside. The rain had picked up, falling from the sky in a curtain.

  “Good night.” With a wave, the vet jogged across the gravel parking area and disappeared into his one-story house.

  Rain hit Brody’s head, and the cold was a slap to his still-damp body. He shuddered hard, a wave of exhaustion sliding over him. Hannah opened the SUV door so he could put the dog inside. Rubbing her biceps, she huddled on the leather seat.

  “You know your vet well enough to call him in the middle of the night?” Her voice quivered. A shiver shook her body.

  Brody cranked up the heat in the car and directed the vents at Hannah. “My cat is a hundred years old.”

  She raised a brow and tilted her head. “You’re a cat person? I thought men preferred dogs.”

  “The cat came with the house. I’m not home enough to have a dog, but I like them both.” Brody turned the car toward Grant’s house. “You’re pretty good in the woods at night for a lawyer.”

  “I told you. My childhood wasn’t typical.”

  “Because your father was disabled?”

  “That was part of it.” Hannah glanced in the back. Seemingly satisfied that the dog was fine, she settled down and raised her hands to the heat vents. “Even after he became a colonel, my father was an army ranger in his heart. After the explosion, he decided that if he couldn’t be a ranger anymore, it was his job to pass along all his skills to his sons.”

  “Just his sons?”

  “I had to beg to go along on all the survival training weekends.” Her face turned toward the passenger window.

  “Survival training?” Brody prodded. “That sounds serious.”

  “The Colonel didn’t do anything halfway. I remember one particularly bad trip when we lost Lee.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hannah dropped her backpack in the foyer. “I’m ready.”

  The Colonel gave her a quizzical look. “Are you sure you want to come?”

  “Yes.” Hannah dropped to one knee to lace her hiking boot.

  Her father spun his wheelchair to face her. “This is not going to be a leisurely camping trip.”

  She wasn’t slouching, but the Colonel’s scrutiny made her feel as if she were.

  “I know.” She stretched her head toward the ceiling. In school, she didn
’t advertise her height. At twelve, being taller than most of the boys in your class wasn’t an asset, but the Colonel valued size, strength, and intelligence.

  “Wouldn’t you rather stay home and bake with your mother?” the Colonel asked. “She really enjoys doing that with you.”

  Hannah flinched. “No.”

  The Colonel didn’t understand why his daughter would want to traipse around the woods with the boys. The Colonel didn’t understand her.

  “The boys aren’t going to slow down for you,” he said, maneuvering to inspect her pack. “And the weather isn’t on your side. It’s going to be cold and rainy.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hannah lifted her chin.

  “Women don’t belong in the field.” The Colonel had never been shy about voicing his opinion on women in combat. “You know I don’t believe in all that politically correct bullshit.”

  “I do,” Hannah said. And so did everyone else. She had to fight for inclusion. Every. Single. Time.

  He sighed and shook his head. “You can go.”

  Why did he not see that she consistently kept pace with his sons, and in some areas, outperformed them? Because he didn’t want to admit his beliefs were outdated and maybe even wrong. The Colonel was old-school military.

  Even though Grant was physically superior in every way, Hannah was the marksman. Mac never got lost. He had a wolf’s sense of direction. Sometimes she swore he smelled his way through the forest. Lee was the one the other three would have to carry for the next forty-eight hours, and they all knew it. They didn’t mind, though. It wasn’t his fault.

  “Hannah won’t hold us up.” The oldest of the Barrett siblings, Grant, stepped up next to her. Six-three, well-muscled, and still growing, he shifted until he was shoulder to shoulder with Hannah. His sheer bulk filled her with confidence and simultaneously intimidated her. On one hand, she knew Grant would see them safely through the weekend. He always did. On the other, how could she ever compete with the likes of him? He was perfect in the Colonel’s eyes. Top of his class at the military academy and athletic, he was the boy his classmates turned to for leadership. Even at the age of seventeen, Grant was clearly senior officer material. But then, he’d been raised to continue the Colonel’s military tradition.