Fight Or Flight
Page 1
A September Day and Shadow Thriller
FIGHT OR FLIGHT
Book Four
AMY SHOJAI
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First Print Edition, July 2018
Furry Muse Publishing
Print ISBN 978-1-948366-02-1
eBook ISBN 978-1-948366-01-4
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author or Furry Muse Publishing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
COPYRIGHT © Amy Shojai, 2018
PUBLISHING
P.O. Box 1904
Sherman TX 75091
(903)814-4319
amy@shojai.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
HIT AND RUN (Preview Book Five)
FACT, FICTION & ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PART 1 BORN to LOVE
(February)
Chapter 1
The flash flood swirled Shadow down, down, and scraped him head over paws against the muddy bottom before thrusting him up in a stomach-wrenching rush. He gasped, and his yelp became a strangled gargle when water smothered his cry. Deafened by the roar, scent blinded and sight dimmed, Shadow struggled to tell down from up, wind from flood. Forelegs churned the water to dingy froth, and he struggled to keep his black shepherd’s muzzle above the surface.
The night’s frigid air set fire to his flayed cheek. It would be easy to give up and let the torrent take him and erase his pain. But Shadow had to return to his family. To his boy, Steven. And to September. Especially to September, his person. She needed him. And he needed her.
He gasped and snatched another two breaths while he could, without wasting further air on fruitless wails. Shadow timed gasps to match the roller coaster surge that swept him along before he fetched up hard against a floating tree.
Shadow yelped when the trunk caught his tender middle where the boy-thief had kicked him. He thrashed and managed to scrabble a toehold across one limb. Weakened by his recent battle with the bad-man and now the wicked current, Shadow couldn’t pull his 80-plus weight any higher. He clung to the limb while the flood snatched at a good-dog’s fur and tried to swallow him whole.
Neither the sting of his scraped cheek, fire on his neck, nor his throbbing gut could compare to the empty ache inside. He’d left his family behind, without a good-dog to protect them. The bad-man could return to hurt them. September couldn’t protect Steven or even herself, not without Shadow by her side.
On the bank ahead, Shadow spied a car. He barked for help. Cars meant people, and people helped good-dogs. But the water’s roar swept his cry away. He barked with anguished frustration when the women stared back at him, without any offer to help. Shadow caught a whiff of their scent, which shouted names louder than any human scream—Robin Gillette and Sunny Babcock—before the tree floated him out of sight.
The tree he rode caught on something below the water’s surface, and spun in slow circles in the current. Shadow managed to lunge enough to pull himself onto the trunk. When the tree’s underwater anchor let go, Shadow crouched and braced himself against a thick upright limb. But after only a short distance it thumped into a metal dumpster tumbled about by the twisty black cloud. Shadow stiffened, sniffed cautiously, but detected no sign of the hated boy-thief, just stale garbage and animal stink.
Shadow waited another heartbeat, but his perch didn’t move any closer to the bank. So he levered himself upright and took slow, shaky steps. The tree dipped and the overhead limb slammed the metal box with clanging blows, until it broke.
Loss of the limb spun the trunk and spilled Shadow back into the cold water. Energy spent, only the thought of September spurred him to flounder and hook one foreleg across the bobbing tree. His eyes half closed, as he floated helpless in the chill water, and yearned for a home that seemed a world away.
Chapter 2
Lia Corazon squinted at the clouds muddying the North Texas horizon. Wind whipped her goldenrod hair into a tangled froth, pulling it free of the hazel-green kerchief that matched her eyes. Parallel furrows etched her brow, but she couldn’t change plans over the weather. It’d be close, but with luck, the storm would hold off long enough to get this meeting behind her.
She stooped to tighten the laces on one shoe, stood, and then trotted in an exaggerated loping gait across the fenced yard. A pack of black puppies galloped after her, their rust colored muzzles yapping with excitement. A couple out-paced her, with the rest satisfied to tag along in her wake.
Her words jollied them along in a high-pitched singsong designed to ramp up excitement. “Puppy-puppy-puppy, that’s the way, who’s gonna win?”
Once at the far end of the enclosure, Lia leaned against the chain link. The cool metal soothed heated skin through her damp sweatshirt, and she mopped her brow with one pushed up sleeve. February should still be cold, but the weird muggy weather that frizzed Lia’s hair also frazzled her nerves. So much depended on today’s client. At the thought, her pulse jittered in her throat.
Time to take charge of her own life, though, even if it kept her sideways of the prim-and-proper grandparents who’d raised her. That’s why she’d dropped out of college two years ago and “gone to the dogs” (as Grammy called it). Now Lia was smack-dab on the cusp of making
her own dream come true. Never mind that Grammy and Grandfather expected her to fail. It all depended on the new client. If all went well, Corazon Boarding Kennels would become a reality.
The glamor of belonging to the Corazon dynasty had worn thin many years ago with the hobbling demands of her grandparents. She’d had her fill of mucking out horse stalls by the time she graduated to training yearlings. Between Grandfather’s character-building work demands, Grammy smothered Lia with society commitments. Of the two, she preferred mucking out stalls. The older she got, the better Lia understood why her mother ran away during a family vacation, and eloped.
Nevertheless, she’d stuck to the family’s plan until two years ago. Her first mentor, Abe Pesquiera, sold his business to Lia before he died. He’d had faith in her, and Lia’s success training Karma honored his memory as much as it validated her dream.
She needed to calm down. She needed a puppy fix.
“Puppy-puppy-puppy! Come-a-pup!”
With ears flopping and stubby tails held high, excited yaps spilled from nine furry throats as the nine-week-old Rottweiler babies raced to meet her. “Puppies, COME.” She used the command with intent. She liked to imagine she shared a special level of communication with animals, as had her mother. Once they responded to the chase-and-follow game, she associated the command word with the action.
Lia didn’t use the clicker anymore—too easy to lose—and instead preferred a tongue-click to signal THAT (click!) was the desired behavior. She’d already taught the pups a handful of commands in a series of games designed to reward their natural puppy curiosity and urge to play. It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it. She grinned.
Thirty-six short furry legs churned, with some of the pups preferring to chase and wrestle each other rather than complete the recall. But over half of the litter, five sleek black and rust beauties, responded to the command and raced to reach Lia.
“Oh you’re so smart! What smart brave puppies, good COME.”
She clicked her tongue as the biggest girl pup, the one wearing a purple collar, skidded into her ankles. Lia rewarded the puppy-girl with the stinky-yummy liver treat all the pups wanted. She watched the girl-pup chew with relish while the late comers milled and whined about her legs in a furry sea of disappointment. “You snooze, you lose. Life’s not fair, puppies. Gotta be quicker next time.”
At first, all the pups got the reward, so they knew the stakes. Now at four months of age, the litter had reached the puppy delinquent stage. They already knew a lot—how to sit, down, come and walk nice on leash—but tested boundaries and often ignored lessons they’d nailed last week. Lia called it their “make me do it” phase, so she increased the stakes at each training session.
For the past four days, only the winner of the recall race got the prize. The sharpest pups understood right away, and those that didn’t care weren’t the best training prospects anyway.
Lia knew from hard experience that life wasn’t fair and not everyone got to win the prize. Dog life worked the same way. For the elite in this litter, the race-game prepared the Rottweiler pups for their future role as police dogs. The technique spurred those puppies with the correct temperament to respond to her command without hesitation in order to win a reward. Her mentor, Abe Pesquiera, had taught her that trick, one of the best ways to train a reliable recall no matter the age of the dog. God, she missed Abe.
Not all pups were police dog material—maybe one or two would qualify—but all could still be delightful companions or canine partners in other ways. All dogs benefited from training, and a reliable recall saved dog lives. Lia’s job prepared them for life with people, no matter what that role might be. After all, Lia was nobody’s pick of the litter, either.
As if that thought summoned the call, Lia retrieved her buzzing phone, not surprised at the caller. She debated whether to answer, but knew Grammy wouldn’t give up. Not until she got her way.
“I’m in the middle of training, Grammy.” Lia pulled a tattered rope toy out of her other pocket and dragged it across the brown grass for the puppies’ pleasure. Two of them went after it. Purple Collar girl won the prize by shouldering her brother aside. The pup grabbed hold and tugged, growling with ferocious ardor and Lia grinned as she held on. “And I’ve got a client on the way.”
“In this weather? You realize the county is still under a tornado warning.” The gentile southern drawl masked hidden steel as inflexible as Grammy’s helmeted coiffure.
Lia rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know. My phone alarm keeps going off.” She eyed the clouds again as she walked back toward the kennel, towing the tugging puppy with her. The rest of the litter followed, all hoping to snatch more of the tasty liver reward.
“I don’t know why you’re so stubborn. We have a storm shelter here. Let us help out.” Grammy pronounced, and you were expected to comply.
William “Dub” Corazon and his wife Cornelia lived on a 4000-acre spread that had been in the family for over one hundred years. Corazon Stables bred and trained champion cutting horses, born and bred to manage cattle and “cut” the selected animals out of the herd.
“I’ll be fine, Grammy. I have responsibilities here.”
Grandfather had never had much to do with Lia. She’d catch him watching her from a distance, his spicy aftershave vying with the cigar smoke that wreathed his scowling brow. Grammy tried to tame Lia’s wild streak with strict curfews, home schooling and stifling supervision.
Grammy grew insistent. “For heaven’s sake, your grandfather and I just want you to be safe.”
She bit her lip. Grammy and Grandfather wanted to “help” when it suited them. They’d told Lia no often enough. Let it go, Lia. The client would be here any minute, they’d conclude their business, and Lia would never have to beg crumbs from the Corazon table again.
Lia smiled when Miss Purple Collar switched her focus from the tug toy and attacked Lia’s moving feet. Need to capture that behavior, and put it on command. “Grammy, you’ve already said I can’t bring the dogs.”
“Of course not! They’re dogs. And they don’t even belong to you.” Grammy tittered. “We don’t bring our horses into the storm cellar, nor the prize bull. Just one of them is worth more than—”
“I know, you’ve said it before. Worth more than all of Lia’s pipe dreams combined.” Lia mimicked Grammy’s condescending tone while she glanced around, taking in the decrepit building and grounds. “The dogs are my responsibility, and so is this property, even if one of your horses costs more.”
Thunder grumbled overhead, echoed in the phone Lia held. “Be reasonable, Lia. Storm’s coming. Grandfather and I just want what’s best. You’ve received every advantage, the best education, introductions into the proper social circles. Yet you prefer to mix with . . .” She hesitated, and Lia knew it was for effect. Grammy had never been politically correct.
“I’m an adult. I get to make my own decisions.” Lia couldn’t hide her exasperation.
“You are a Corazon, you have a position in this community. Don’t waste your talents on losing propositions. Your grandfather would happily support your choice of an appropriate career.” She spouted the same old argument. “Instead, you take every opportunity to embarrass your family. People laugh at us, they laugh at you. Don’t throw it all away—”
“Like my mother?” It always came back to that. The all-powerful, all knowing Corazons chose an appropriate career. Never mind what Lia might want.
Grammy remained silent. Lia pictured Cornelia’s ice blue stare, flared nostrils and creamy complexion that had no need of Botox. She imagined Grammy smoothing her perfect platinum hair with shaking, bejeweled fingers. Mention of Lia’s dead mother was the one weapon guaranteed to crack Cornelia’s carefully crafted image.
Lia had never known her mother, described as petite with dark gold hair and fair skin, a firecracker personality and looks true to her northern Spanish heritage. I wonder if I look more like my father, whoever the hell he might be.
; She took a shaky breath. “I’m not her, Grammy. I can’t ever be Kaylia, no matter how much you and Grandfather push.” Or how hard I try.
“That’s certainly true.”
Lia gasped, and then squared her shoulders. They’d become very good at hurting each other. She fingered the flowers on the old baby bracelet for courage. She never took it off, in part because she couldn’t resist poking an ant’s nest. Lia had found the baby bracelet and an antique braided leather lariat several years ago, hidden away in a box of Kaylia’s things Grandfather hadn’t managed to destroy.
Grammy had a conniption and refused to discuss their provenance. Lia asked Grandfather about the lariat, made in West Texas, according to a tooled maker’s tag. He turned red, blustered and stammered, and threatened to disown her if she ever asked about that no-account bastard again.
She hadn’t. But she still wondered, and had promised herself to ferret out the truth, someday. Meanwhile, she honored her mother by wearing the bracelet, and worked Kaylia’s lariat until she could out-rope anyone. She kept the lariat handy, hanging on her office wall.
“Why make everything so difficult, Lia? I’m sure the dogs and everything else will be just fine. Everything’s insured, after all, and can be replaced. Come home.”
Just like her to think living creatures were replaceable. “This is my life and my home now! My future. None of it’s replaceable.” She’d gone to her grandparents for a loan but her dream wasn’t appropriate for a Corazon and they’d refused. She couldn’t help thinking they wanted her to fail.
“Oh Lia, don’t be so melodramatic.” Grammy’s drawl turned brittle. “Go on then. I’ll tell your grandfather you’d rather huddle up with those worthless dogs that don’t even belong to you. Just pray that failing business doesn’t collapse into rubble around your ears. Go ahead, since that’s more important than your family.” Grammy disconnected.
Lia touched the bracelet again. It’d be different if her mother had lived. Why had her mother’s mysterious Romeo abandoned them? Abandoned her. Lia always imagined Kaylia died of a broken heart when he left, but nobody spoke of the details. Lia had been born. Kaylia died. Her father hadn’t wanted them.