Capitol K-9 Unit Christmas: Protecting VirginiaGuarding Abigail

by Shirlee McCoy

  “That’s not how this works,” he said, effectively taking away her small amount of control.

  “I see.” She paced again, turning away so he wouldn’t see her utter despair. Which was silly. She should be grateful and she was and yet...she wanted to have a pity party.

  “Hey.” He turned her around, his dark eyes bright with sincerity. “I know how difficult this is for you, being shut up in here. But...hopefully this trace will help us.” He pointed to her laptop screen. “You’ve got a lot of support out there and one nasty comment. That could be the one that gives us all the answers.”

  She shook her head. “I’m behaving like an immature ninny, but you’re right. This is hard, being back here during Christmas. It’s supposed to be the season of peace while we celebrate the birth of Christ. I miss the good times we had here...back when things were so special in my family.”

  His expression changed, softening. “This situation makes it hard to look back.”

  Glancing toward the closed blinds, she said, “We should always honor those special memories and hold them dear. We never know when things can change in the blink of an eye.” Then she turned back to face Dylan, a resolve weighing at her shoulders and making her broken heart heavy. “I’ll do whatever you decide. I want this over and these people brought to justice.”

  “So do I,” Dylan replied, one hand stroking Tico’s furry back. “I won’t rest until we make that happen.”

  When his cell buzzed, he gave her a soft smile and hit the phone screen. “Fiona, what did you find?”

  He listened, his brow furrowing, his gaze on Abigail.

  Abigail started pacing again, her mind whirling with speculation. Then she glanced back at her blog and hit refresh.

  Another message from a different screen name.

  We’re sorry for your loss and we watch with anticipation what you will do next. The screen name only showed the letters OD followed by an address she didn’t recognize.

  Dylan tapped his phone and let out a sigh. Then he walked over to see what Abigail had read.

  “We’ve got a lot going on here,” he finally said. “And you deserve to know the truth.”

  EIGHT

  “What do you mean?”

  Dylan saw the trace of fear in Abigail’s eyes and wished he could wash it away. But she had a right to know that things could get worse for her.

  “We think the same person is making different comments on your blog. It’s called trolling. They make a comment that will disrupt things, then they make another comment bashing the comment they just made, using a different IP address. And it keeps going.”

  She listened and shook her head. “So one person can agree with me and then post something hateful in the next comment, using a different email or screen name?”

  “Yes.” He studied all of the comments she’d received over the past few hours. “Someone could send you a condolence that sounds very sincere and then a few comments later, blast you for your beliefs.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “That’s the world of cyberstalking and trolling.”

  “So did you find the person who made that horrible comment?”

  “Not yet. Very sophisticated operation with lots of bells and whistles, things I don’t even understand. But Fiona and the lab techs are studying it closely. They’ve managed to trace most of the comments to an overseas server.”

  “The mysterious sleeper cell?”

  “Could be one and the same.” He hoped so.

  She sank down near a small fireplace and put one hand underneath her chin. “CiCi was my computer whiz. She knew all about how to navigate the internet.”

  Could that have been why CiCi was murdered? “Why don’t you take a break for today? Our techs are putting people in place to check this out.”

  “What happens if you discover this person or persons’ whereabouts?”

  “We go in and take him or them into custody for questioning.”

  “And possibly connect them to my father’s death?”

  “That could be a probability, yes. They could be sitting somewhere in Europe at an internet café. But if that’s the case, we’ll get them.”

  She turned pale, her porcelain skin silky white. “I don’t want to think about this anymore. It’s horrible to imagine that kind of evil power.”

  Dylan took her by the hand and lifted her up. “Are you hungry?”

  She looked down at their joined hands. “No.”

  “Why don’t you try to rest?”

  She pulled away and placed her arms around her midsection. “I can’t really rest. I see my father’s casket and I hear Tico barking. I see CiCi’s body lying there and I see the blood—”

  Dylan tugged her back around. “What would help?”

  Her gaze shifted from tormented to tender. “It’s nice of you to ask but I don’t think you can bring back my father and CiCi.”

  No, he couldn’t. But he could try to cheer her up. “I have an idea. Why don’t you go and get comfortable. Try to relax. Tico will be with you. I’ll come and get you for dinner and we’ll have a quiet night. We won’t talk about any of this.”

  Surprise dotted her face. “Are you asking me on a date, Dylan?”

  He grinned. “Let’s pretend it’s a date. I can’t date you right now, Abigail, but a man can hope.”

  With that, he admitted how he felt and watched a pretty blush color her shimmering skin. She didn’t speak at first.

  Dylan wondered if he’d overstepped but she finally smiled up at him. “I’d like to visit with you and get to know you. I want to hear all about your family and your dreams and how you came to be a K-9 officer in Washington, DC.”

  “I’m boring,” he said, relief washing through him. “I doubt we would have ever met before.”

  “Don’t doubt,” she admonished. “God sometimes has plans for us whether we see them or not. My mother used to say there are no coincidences.”

  “Good point.” He guided her out of the office and signaled to Tico to follow. Had God brought them both to this point?

  Dylan couldn’t answer that nor could he explain why evil people did things to harm good people. But he could work hard to serve and protect. A small comfort for now.

  Abigail whirled at the door. “My laptop.”

  “I’ll take it with me and read over the comments again, show the others, too.” he said. “You need to rest, remember?”

  “All right. I am tired but I’m not used to taking naps during the day.”

  “Well, if you have to be cooped up inside at least you can nap when you want. It’s getting colder out. Might snow tonight.”

  “Snow,” she said. “At Christmas. Now, that will make things better all the way around.”

  Dylan smiled and thought about how the snowfall could cover sounds and hide footprints but he didn’t tell her that.

  If she wanted snow, he’d pray toward that end. And he’d find a way to let her see the snow, too.

  * * *

  Dylan called in his report and discussed this newest development with Captain McCord. He also mentioned the Washington gala that Abigail wanted to attend this weekend. The captain was aware of the gathering since General Meyer would be there.

  “Miss Wheaton seems determined to go, sir.”

  “Well, she’s not exactly a prisoner. We can’t make her stay secluded and Mr. Benison is a close family friend and her father’s attorney. If she feels a need to get out and see people, our job is to protect her no matter what she wants to do.”

  “It might be good to get her out of the house but...we can’t expose her to any more danger.”

  “That gala will probably be one of the safest places in Washington,” McCord said. “High security since a lot of movers and shakers will be a
ttending. The president won’t be there since he’s in Europe but the vice-president is attending. It’s your call, Ralsey.”

  “Thank you, sir. If she does connect with Dibianu there, we can make sure before she goes that he’s been thoroughly vetted. He has to be cleared before he sets foot on the grounds of that estate, anyway.”

  “Yes, but he still might have a hidden agenda.”

  “I’ll talk to her again and plan accordingly,” Dylan replied.

  He ended the call, then responded to texts from his fellow team members, Elizabeth Carter and John Forrester, checking in. He texted back his appreciation, then sat staring at the dining room table. He’d asked the chef to prepare Abigail’s favorite meal. Dylan had to be careful with this. He’d worked protection detail for a lot of people in the past few years. But never anyone compared to Abigail. She was like cut glass, delicate but strong all at the same time, with a shimmering essence that gave her a beautiful dignity and grace.

  Whoa. What was he thinking?

  You can’t go there.

  Abigail had come from a life of privilege and power. She could move through circles he never wanted to be a part of.

  You’re an average Joe from Brooklyn, he reminded himself. Blue collar meets lacy collar. It won’t work.

  It hadn’t worked the first time he’d fallen in love. He couldn’t forget that no matter how erratic his feelings for Abigail seemed right now.

  “You sure are lost in thought.”

  Dylan glanced up from staring at Abigail’s laptop to find John Forrester staring at him from the doorway.

  “Just thinking,” he admitted. “I’m reading back over the comments. We have a list of all the email addresses but it’s like sifting through flour to get through the maze of proxies some of the comments are coming from.”

  John lifted away from the door. “We’ve interviewed the remaining staff members regarding their whereabouts when Miss Janus was killed. Chef Louie, as he likes to be called, was at a Christmas party with his wife. Lots of people can vouch for him. The gardener says he was at home sound asleep. His wife confirmed that. And Poppy Sutton only remembers getting up to get some water around eight or so. After that, she put on her white noise and went to sleep.”

  Dylan nodded. “I don’t think she’d be capable of climbing up on the roof to take someone down with a silenced gunshot.”

  John smiled. “No, but she does brag about being an avid deer hunter.”

  Dylan made a note of that. “Hmm. Which means she must know a lot of the local hunters. We might need to ask her about that angle.”

  John pulled out a chair and checked his watch. “Samson is with some of the other dogs going through his paces before the storm hits. I’ll need to get back to him but, Dylan, do you suspect locals on this?”

  “I suspect everyone on this,” he replied. He glanced out at the growing dusk. “And I don’t like being here at all.”

  “We’ll keep a good watch,” John said. “I hear you’re treating Abigail to dinner?”

  He pulled a blank face. “She needs to eat a good meal. Chef Louie and Mrs. Sutton worked for hours making pot roast and baked rolls. And some kind of fancy dessert.”

  “I think it’s called Apple Brown Betty,” John replied, his expression as blank as Dylan’s. “And of course, she can’t eat alone, right?”

  He finally grinned, feeling sheepish. “Okay, you got me. I want some pot roast and some of that apple stuff.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. You’re in it for the food.”

  “You better believe it. I’m a bachelor, after all.”

  “Not for long, friend.” John got up with a cheeky grin and headed for the door. Then he turned and got serious. “Be careful, Dylan. I’m not one to judge since I fell hard for Virginia about five minutes after I met her, but you’re dealing with something that could be broad-reaching. Watch your back.”

  “Always.”

  He watched John leave and then he glanced out at the coming night. He figured John hadn’t only been warning him about the danger out there. His friend was warning him to guard his heart, too. “Always.”

  NINE

  Abigail woke up and glanced at the clock.

  6:00 p.m. She’d fallen asleep curled on the couch in her sitting room and dozed for close to a half hour or so. She sat up and watched bemused as Tico did the same.

  “Dinner?” Abigail asked, thinking she would miss Tico when this was over. She’d also miss Tico’s human partner.

  She got up and went to wash her face, her thoughts a constant mixture of despair and determination. In the past few days, she’d fallen asleep every night with tears streaming down her cheeks. She missed her father with an open-wound ache and now she mourned poor CiCi with a heart already weighed down by grief. She’d made a call to CiCi’s family but Dylan had suggested she not watch the news or read anything online since this whole turn of events was probably the lead item on all the news shows and political blogs.

  After she’d changed into jeans, boots and a long cardigan sweater, Abigail realized she was actually nervous about this dinner. But why? Why should she be nervous around Dylan? Sure he was handsome, competent, demanding and interesting. But...she should stay in her room, alone with her tears and her worries.

  Fear not, for I am with you always.

  That verse calmed Abigail and reminded her that no matter what, she’d find a way to hold steady. And she’d certainly find a way to get through this enticing dinner.

  She hoped. Her cell buzzed and thinking it was Dylan, she smiled. But her whole system stilled when she read the text.

  Urgent. I need to see you. Perhaps at the Benison event this weekend? Omar.

  Why would Omar Dibianu send her a text?

  When a knock came at her door, Tico and she both hurried to make sure it was Dylan. After hearing his deep voice, Abigail opened the door and gave him a shaky smile. She was pretty sure Tico was doing the same. “Right on time.”

  He offered her his arm. “Your meal is ready.” He seemed different, more relaxed.

  “What is it?” she asked, needing to know. “I can tell you’re not quite as somber and brooding as you usually are.”

  He stopped her by the door to her suite, a wry smile moving across his face. “I have good news. Based on our foreign intel, a team made a raid in an obscure little village and arrested several people in this so-called sleeper cell. Abigail, I think we’ve got them.”

  Abigail put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, that is good news.” But it was a bittersweet victory. “It won’t bring them back, but...Dylan.” She reached up and hugged him. “Thank you so much.” She stood back. “Is it really over?”

  “We need to make them give up their faction here, but I hope so,” he said, his dark eyes holding hers. “And... I’m suddenly starving.”

  “I smell something wonderful,” she said, amazed. Tucking her phone in her pocket, she decided she’d tell him about the text from Omar as soon as they’d eaten. At least now, she might not have to question Omar’s motives. “Is that Poppy’s Yankee Pot Roast?”

  “She says it’s your favorite.”

  “It is. It was my father’s favorite, too.”

  “I’m sorry.” He stopped before they came to the open spot where the window had been shot out. “I didn’t consider that.”

  “It’s all right,” Abigail said, the cryptic text still on her mind. “In fact, it’s perfect. Father would approve completely.”

  Dylan’s features relaxed again. “Good. Because it smells wonderful and I’m pretty sure the whole gang will want sandwiches later.”

  “We are feeding them, too, right?”

  He nodded. “Are you kidding? I think I’d be run out of here on a rail if I didn’t offer them some of this dinner, especially since we got positive news.”


  Abigail wondered if they’d all be at dinner with Dylan and her but she refrained from asking since that would sound too obvious. “Glad to hear that. Poppy always makes way too much for two people.”

  Her heart did that little skip of regret and grief. She longed for her father to be sitting at the table, waiting for her. But...Dylan was here and she was glad to have him. She noticed how he blocked her from the windows when they moved past the lone Christmas tree. And how he shielded her when they reached the closed door to her office.

  Dylan was not only a good officer. He was kind and considerate, too.

  They made it to the main dining room, where someone had placed poinsettias and blooming amaryllis plants along with a glittering gold reindeer figurine on the antique buffet and placed the good Christmas china out on the long table.

  “I see Poppy and Louie have continued in the Christmas tradition,” she said, touched beyond words. “This is so lovely.”

  “I think it was a combined effort,” Dylan said. “Lots of elves hanging out around here.”

  She laughed at that. “I’m picturing you with big ears and an elf hat on your head.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen,” he quipped before pulling out her chair. “Consider this as part of our own Operation Santa Claus Mission.”

  Abigail sat down and enjoyed the warmth of his smile along with the beauty gracing this room. “I haven’t been feeling very festive but this helps a lot.”

  Dylan sat down and served up the sliced roast, complete with potatoes and carrots. “This looks great.”

  “And Poppy’s yeast rolls, too.” Abigail thought she might actually weep with joy. But it would be a joy tinged with pain. “Thank you for doing this,” she said to Dylan. “I didn’t think I’d ever have an appetite again but I’m actually hungry.”

  “Well, let’s say grace and dig in,” he replied with a boyish expression.

  She let him speak and he gave a short but spiritual prayer, asking God to protect them and others in danger.

  Soon they were quietly eating. Conversation flowed but with a somber low-voiced discussion that highlighted the grief shrouding the house.