Lethal Redemption

by April Hunt

  “Police are en route. The silent alarm went off when he broke the perimeter. I’ll wait here for them; you take Atlas back. Go around the trees so I have you two in my line of sight.”

  That, she could do. The farther away she could get from the man, the better. “Okay.”

  She fumbled for Atlas’s leash with her bad arm, ignoring the ache in her shoulder. Didn’t want to chance letting go of his collar until she had the leash in hand. When she stood, she had to tug twice for Atlas to come with her, but he did.

  They made it a couple of yards before she noticed Atlas was walking funny. She turned to look him over, bending to run her hands over his chest and shoulder.

  “Oh no.” She’d thought the blood splashed across his chest belonged to the man. But as she ran her hands through his fur, her fingers found a gouge in his flesh.

  Sirens approached in the distance and two men came running from the main building. David’s partners.

  “What happened?” Forte skidded to a stop next to her and Atlas gave a warning growl. Rojas continued on past, toward David and the intruder.

  “Easy,” she murmured to Atlas. Not good if he went for one of the trainers. Not good. They needed them. “He needs help. He dove through the trees over there and must’ve gotten torn up on his way through.”

  “Seriously?” Forte started to kneel but halted and straightened as he took in the dog’s posture. “Okay, Lyn, he’s not going to make this easy. I need to talk you through this.”

  “What do I need to do?” Too much time was passing and Atlas was hurt.

  “Kneel down and get your arms around him. Don’t lift him. Don’t hurt yourself. Just hold him. Talk to him. Let him know it’s okay for me to take him from you. If you don’t, he’s not going to let me touch him.”

  It wasn’t what she’d been expecting. But she didn’t waste time waiting for an explanation. She squatted in the grass next to Atlas, murmuring soothing nonsense phrases as she did. His growl quieted but he didn’t take his gaze off Forte. Copying what David had done the day before, she wrapped her arms around Atlas’s chest and hindquarters. Her shoulder ached but she ignored it. Instead, she kept talking to Atlas, coaxing him to calm and listen to her.

  When his posture relaxed, Forte kneeled next to them both, nice and slow.

  “It’s okay. He’s going to help.” She kissed Atlas’s head, whispered against his fur. “Good boy. Good boy.”

  It wasn’t what the dog was used to hearing, but his ears turned back in her direction. He was listening.

  Forte got his arms around Atlas, keeping up a steady soothing monologue of his own. The dog remained still with the handoff, heavy panting the only sign of his distress.

  “Let’s get him to the main building. We’ve got a triage room.” Forte’s words were grim. “Grab the phone out of my back pocket. Vet’s on speed dial.”

  Embarrassed, Lyn fumbled at his backside as he strode across the field. “Which…?”

  “Left cheek, my friend. We’re friends now, right?”

  A laugh slipped out before she had too much time to think. One more fumble and unintentional grope and she had the phone. It was easy to find the vet on speed dial. She was in the top five favorites on the front screen and labeled as “Vet.”

  Easiest thing to do in the last twenty-four hours.

  * * *

  Cruz strode through the doors of the triage room they kept on site. Atlas lay on the table and Doc Medicci was shaving away the fur around a nasty slice across his shoulder.

  Forte stood by, helping with the now calm dog.

  And there was Lyn.

  He zeroed in on her. “Is any of that blood yours?”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her gaze locked on Atlas. “He went right through the trees and must’ve tore himself up on a branch. It didn’t even slow him down.”

  “It’s not the first time we’ve seen something like this.” He was concerned. Of course he was. But the intensity and prey drive these dogs had resulted in accidents like these in the past. In this case, Atlas had moved to protect Lyn.

  Currently, Cruz was fairly overwhelmed with the need to take care of her himself.

  “Relatively superficial this time.” Medicci didn’t even glance up from her work. “I’m not finding any other damage. I’m going to put on a dissolving suture. Keep it clean and restrict him to light exercise until it heals. If it gets red or irritated, call me.”

  In short order, Atlas was back on his feet.

  “Go get cleaned up, Lyn. He’s fine now and you’re swaying on your feet.” Forte’s tone was gentle, not angry.

  Cruz caught Forte’s attention and his friend gave him a brief nod.

  “Let’s go.” Cruz reached out for Lyn and herded her toward the door, careful not to touch her.

  Did she realize she was shaking?

  “The man. He was the same from yesterday.” Lyn’s voice trembled. She took a breath and the rest came out in a rush. Atlas padded over and leaned against her leg. “He had a ski mask on but I recognized his grin. The way he looked at me. It was the same guy, I swear.”

  Cruz clenched his teeth against the wave of anger as it washed through him. He sucked in cooler air as he struggled to rein in his temper. He hadn’t recognized the man, possibly because the man’s expressions through the ski mask the night before and the grimace of pain he wore today when Cruz had gotten a good look at him were vastly different. But he could understand why Lyn had recognized the grin. And he wanted to wipe the guy from the face of the earth for putting that kind of fear into her with just one expression.

  “I’ll update the police.” Forte’s cool helped anchor him. “You go on and wash up or Sophie will have all our heads for not showing up to dinner.”

  His heartbeat pounded in his ears, but he focused on Lyn. “They’ll handle it for now. Let me take care of you.”

  Not going to think about his words too much. It was what he meant, so he said it.

  The cabin he’d put her in late last night wasn’t far. Its proximity to the main building and kennels was the reason he’d given it to her in the first place.

  When she fumbled at her pockets for the key, he reached up behind the lamp fixture high above the door and pulled out the spare. Once he had the door open, he kept an eye on Atlas. The dog didn’t signal that he detected any humans.

  In fact, Atlas had simply walked along with Lyn calm as you please, as if he hadn’t broken training and gone after a man not so long ago.

  They entered the cabin and he flipped on the light, then nudged her toward the kitchen.

  Once he had her there, he turned on the brighter kitchen lighting and turned to her. “Let me get a look at your wrist.”

  She held both hands out to him, palms up.

  “Don’t strain your shoulder.” He tucked her left arm back in its sling. As gently as he could, he touched the angry red abrasion around her right wrist.

  “He didn’t mean to do it.”

  “He had other things on his mind.” Cruz agreed. She must’ve tried to hold Atlas when the dog had lunged after the intruder. Atlas had literally ripped the leash off her wrist. “Any sharp pain when I do this?”

  He bent her hand at the wrist, carefully testing the range of motion.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think anything is broken. Only lost a couple of layers of skin is all.”

  “Well, let’s make sure it heals up quickly.” He put a hand on either side of her waist and hoisted her up—hiding a grin as she squeaked—and sat her on the kitchen counter. First of all, he liked her sound effects. Wondered what others she might have. Second, she didn’t flinch at his touch. A good sign she was recovering from the previous night’s scare even better than she might notice herself.

  Atlas gave a short bark.

  “Af.” Cruz watched as the dog’s ears came forward, considering. Then he lay down on his belly, head up, watching.

  Dog definitely had a thing for Miss Lyn Jones. And wow had Atlas woken up.
The difference between yesterday and right now was night and day.

  Cruz shook his head.

  “I’m sorry.” Lyn shifted on the counter.

  “No. Not you.” He turned and pulled a go bag from under the sink. A quick rummage inside and he pulled out one of his personal med kits.

  “What is that? How do you know where things are?” Lyn craned her neck to see around him. “Is every cabin stocked like this?”

  “No.” Setting the kit on the counter beside her, he opened it up and pulled out a few supplies.

  “Then how do you know where everything is?”

  “This was my cabin.”

  She paused. “Oh, um.”

  He waved a hand toward the rest of the cabin. “It was more secure, so I put you here and I moved out to the guest cabin closer to the edge of the property.”

  “But you had to move all your stuff?” She sounded uncomfortable.

  “Not really. I don’t keep much aside from essentials.” He realized he was starting to scowl, but it wasn’t because she was making him angry. Why was it that the woman could be attacked twice in less than twenty-four hours, hurt both times, and worried about him having to move his stuff? “It really is okay. I prefer to be farther away from the main house anyway. Too many guests on the property once the basic obedience classes get started.”

  “Okay.” She was chewing on her lower lip, still concerned.

  Saying more would only make her think on it harder so he decided to drop the topic. Nice to know she did care about putting others out of their way. He’d have done it regardless, all things considered. But it made it better to not be taken for granted.

  “We’re going to clean your wrist and get the blood flowing a little. Then I’ll get some antibiotic ointment on it.”

  She didn’t comment. Her dubious frown made him smile though.

  “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

  “You’re not going to tell me it’s not going to hurt, are you?” She narrowed her eyes.

  He shrugged. “It’s not gonna tickle exactly.”

  “Joyful.” She held out her wrist to him.

  It took less time to clean her wrist under cool running water in the sink than it had to patch up Atlas. Her skin was delicate, smooth and silken to touch. If her wrist was this soft, he couldn’t help but wonder about other, more tender places.

  Nope. Keep on task, he ordered himself. He patted the area dry and spread the antibiotic cream over the abrasion as gently as he could.

  “For such big hands, you’ve got a really light touch.” Her words were slurred a little. She must’ve been coming down off the adrenaline kick. Considering last night and today, she had to be exhausted.

  “Yeah?” He wrapped sterile gauze around her slender wrist, mostly to remind her not to bump it into things.

  “Your fingertips are calloused, a lil’ rough.”

  That didn’t sound like a compliment. “Sorry.”

  “No, I like it. It feels kinda good on my skin.”

  Her heart rate had picked up, fluttering at the pulse point under his touch.

  “Yeah?” The urge to slide has hands over more delicate areas increased and he couldn’t help running his thumb along the inside of her arm.

  Awareness grew in her gaze and she bit her lip as she nodded.

  He leaned toward her, focused on her plump lip caught under her teeth.

  “What else do you like?”

  She opened her mouth to answer but he didn’t plan to let her get a word out. Maybe later. He bent his head to capture her lips.

  And seventy-five pounds of fur jumped up on his side.

  “The hell?”

  Lyn gasped. “Atlas!”

  “Af.” Mindful of the dog’s injury, Cruz gave Atlas a gentle shove.

  The dog dropped back to all fours, his tongue lolling. Looking from him to Lyn and back again, Atlas lay back down on his belly.

  Jealous. Damn dog was jealous.

  Chapter Four

  Rest. Relax. For how long?” Lyn sat on the couch in the main area of the cabin, tapping her fingers on the windowsill. It wasn’t as if she’d broken anything.

  David had left only a few minutes ago. And to his credit, he’d mentioned something about lunch as he’d left.

  It was already past mid-morning so unless he planned to starve her, lunch couldn’t be too far off.

  Patience had never been one of her virtues, though.

  “At least he left you with me.” She turned away from the windowsill and studied Atlas.

  The dog lay stretched out on the floor with his head on his paws, as close to her perch on the couch as possible. He’d opened his eyes and lifted his big ears in her direction at her movement.

  “You are my job, after all.” She continued to consider him.

  His attitude really had changed overnight. The look in his eyes was still somewhat reserved in her opinion, but he was more obvious about listening to her. Not as aloof or disinterested as yesterday, or first thing in the morning, for that manner.

  Good signs, all of them.

  David was a good dog trainer. She had no doubts after having seen him greet the other dogs at the kennel. Every one of the dogs in the care of Hope’s Crossing Kennels jumped to their feet at his approach, eager for a word from him or the chance to work. His body language was always relaxed, confident. He moved with the kind of easy readiness—potential for explosive action in every muscle—that commanded respect. The dogs were sensitive to it, acknowledged him as a dominant in the territory. With him, there was no question as to who was in charge.

  “But you need more than clear leadership,” she murmured to Atlas. He blinked and blew a huff of air out of his nose.

  She held out her hand in a loose fist, the back of her hand toward him. He considered for a long minute before lifting his head and extending his nose. One sniff. Then he returned to resting on his paws again, looking away from her. Not interested in more than acknowledging her.

  “It’s good to have this time to get to know you.” She always talked to dogs when they were relaxing. If she’d been working with him instead of enjoying quiet time—and there was a difference—she’d give him clear and concise commands instead of conversational commentary. Even eager-to-please dogs still needed to understand what it was a human wanted them to do and they didn’t precisely speak human. They learned to recognize short commands combined with body language. Any human could speak a command, in any language, and it’d still take a dog a minute to really understand what the human wanted unless the human copied a known trainer exactly in words, tone, and gestures. Then the dog probably made an educated guess.

  “You’re smart enough to know what we all want from you,” she murmured. “But obedience and working aren’t what you want to do right now, are they? You’ve lost your heart.”

  She didn’t blame him. Being heartbroken was something she could understand.

  “I’ve never had my heart broken by a boyfriend, mind you.” She leaned her head back against the couch’s arm rest. Confiding in dogs was one of the most secure ways of getting something off her chest. And opening herself up to them gained their trust in return, every time. “I think human hearts break, too, when the people we live for disappoint us. Like our parents. I have trust issues.”

  Of course, if David was to walk in, he’d probably think he was interrupting a therapy session. Only she was the one on the couch talking about her emotional baggage while Atlas was the shrink listening.

  There was a method to what she was doing, though. Atlas was getting used to the cadence and tone of her voice. Her scent surrounded him in this room. And every movement she made was being cataloged in a library in his mind associated to her. The introduction process was a long one, and the more time the dog had to interact with her, the more comfortable he’d be because he’d know what she was likely to do.

  Her phone rang, the tone bringing her bolt upright in her seat. Atlas was on his feet beside her, his entire body te
nse and his ears forward at alert. A low growl rumbled from his chest.

  “Sorry, Atlas. Easy.” She took a deep breath, calming herself so the dog would take her cue and go back to resting.

  Damn it. As much as she hated the distinctive ringtone—or rather, the caller it was assigned to—she figured she better answer it before the caller decided to blow up her phone again.

  “Hello, Captain Jones.” Neutral. She was going for a nice, civil exchange.

  A pause. “I have repeatedly instructed you to call me ‘Father.’” The voice on the other end was surly.

  Make no mistake, his feelings weren’t hurt. In her twenty-eight years of experience, he’d gone around in a perpetual state of dissatisfaction with the world. Well, at least twenty-five. Theoretically, the first few years of her life hadn’t been formative in terms of actual memories. Her mother had married him when she’d been just a toddler.

  Instead of arguing the point, she decided to go for pleasantries. “I hope you’ve been well. Is there a reason you’re calling?”

  “Don’t try to sidetrack me, miss. Each time you insist on your lack of respect for familial ties, it becomes more of a habit. One of these days you’re going to do it in front of admiralty and the reflection on me will be absolutely inappropriate. I will not have it.” His words came low and fast, as they always did whether they were speaking face to face or over the phone. Given the choice, she preferred the distance. Then she could pretend the admonishments didn’t give her cold chills anymore. The impact of his intense, quiet speeches was worse for her than all the screaming in the world.

  “You’re one promotion away from Rear Admiral.” She commended herself for a cool, even delivery there. “Surely your service record outweighs the impact of a few words from me.”

  Besides, he hadn’t ever let her call him “Daddy” or “Dad,” and not “Papa,” ever. Not what had come naturally to her as a child. It’d always been “Father” for as long as she could remember. Proper. Formal. And pronounced properly as soon as humanly possible.

  “It’s amazing you ever graduated from college.” His words dripped with disgust. Oh, what a surprise. “Even basic classes and interaction with professors should have demonstrated that perception is a distinct advantage in every situation. Never underestimate it.”