Rescue Me

by Catherine Mann

  He pounded again. Only more woofs responded. “Police,” he said. “Open up now, or we’ll be forced to enter.”

  Still, no one answered.

  He glanced at the rusted pickup with no snow on the hood. Screw waiting. “This is your last warning to comply. We have a warrant.”

  Notice given. He kicked the door. It held. Shit.

  Snow showered down from the frame. The hefty bolts sent his instincts on a higher alert. This crappy cabin had a stronger door than he would have expected, a lot sturdier than even those at his rental cabin with top-notch security.

  Bracing his feet on the icy porch was an iffy thing, but the element of surprise was gone now. He had to act fast. He booted the door again. The force jarred his teeth. But the door gave a little. He felt it.

  He slammed his shoulder against the panel to finish the job. Wood cracked and splintered. A plank fell inward.

  Yes.

  His relief was short-lived.

  The smell hit him hard. One whiff was all it took for total recognition after all the drug cases he’d worked in Atlanta. Snaking free, the unmistakable stench of meth stung his lungs. Not just a single pipe burning, but the thick stink of a full cooking operation.

  This was supposed to be a sleepy little town. Most often cops dealt with the standard teenage vandalism and an occasional bar fight. That’s why he’d chosen to move here. He’d intended to leave this kind of high-level crime nightmare behind.

  He shouted over his shoulder to warn his partner, “Smells like a meth house. Call for backup, then secure the rear.” He thought of Mary Hannah on the side of the cabin with the trash-can dog. “Civilians, return to your vehicle. Gallo, do you hear me? That means you. Clear out. Now.”

  His fingers closed around the grip of his 9mm Glock. With his other hand, he tugged his shirt collar up over his nose as a makeshift filter. He kicked the door the rest of the way open. It slammed against the inside wall. He prepared himself for whatever animals he might meet. At least his winter clothing added some padding.

  Except nothing charged at him—human or canine. He was greeted with woofs from inside kennels. Four large and filthy crates lined the living room. Two were full of poodle and schnauzer puppies and two held nursing mama schnauzers. There wasn’t a person in sight.

  Had someone already escaped out another door? Did Wyatt have that entrance covered? God, he hoped Mary Hannah had taken her paisley, perky self back to the van.

  AJ edged past the saggy sofa. An old-school console television was turned on, the volume lowly chiming game-show reruns. Not even a Christmas parade.

  His heart slugged in his ears as he swept the two-bedroom cabin, sparsely furnished. Definitely not enough here to call the place a home. A framed yarn-art owl was faded with age. A wagon-wheel lamp cast a yellow glow through a dingy shade. He’d seen plenty of places just like this, even lived in them during undercover assignments.

  Wood floors squeaked beneath his feet, his steps muffled by a rag rug. The one bathroom was empty other than a nasty toothbrush caked with spit. A poodle slept in the tub, curled up and snoring. The black ball of fur peeked through half-open eyes then drifted off again, uninterested in the stranger in her home.

  Very un-doglike. Probably groggy from the fumes. Poor little gal. The rescuers outside would have their hands full.

  Soft footsteps from the kitchen had AJ spinning back to the main area. Someone escaping? His eyes narrowed, and he closed the bathroom door to make sure the poodle didn’t suddenly sprint out to trip him up.

  Whoever was leaving, Wyatt would be ready for them. AJ stepped deeper into the toxic haze toward the kitchen, ready to have his partner’s back. AJ reached the linoleum floor in a 1970s-era orange kitchen just as the rear door creaked.

  A shriek split the air. A female scream.

  AJ’s muscles bunched.

  “Ma’am,” his cousin Wyatt’s voice rumbled through, cutting the shout short. “Put down the baseball bat and place your hands on top of your head. Now!”

  “Okay, okay, okay,” the woman’s voice answered, raspy like a chain smoker’s. “I surrender. I was just here to pick up some puppies. I wasn’t doing nothing wrong.”

  The click of handcuffs snapped. One problem down, and so far no one else in sight. Still, his muscles stayed tensed, ready.

  AJ scanned the dirty kitchen full of a grocery list he knew by heart—everything needed to cook crystal meth. Ephedrine, butane, brake fluid, drain cleaner and more lined the counters along with other ingredients. Dishes were stacked in the sink with food caked on them from meals eaten here in spite of the dangerous fumes.

  His mind churned with memories of another bust, another time, of finding a child hiding beneath a bed with a sippy cup full of drain cleaner.

  Bile roiled in his gut.

  He stuffed down the image before the past sucked him under. He needed to focus on the present. To give one hundred percent to a job that should have been nothing more complicated than doling out speeding tickets and catching underage drinkers.

  “Wyatt,” he called, “appears all clear inside. Dogs are contained in crates.” His nose twitched under the shield of his collar. “Since it’s a meth house, we’ll need masks and latex gloves.”

  “Shiiiiit.” His cousin whistled, then let out an “ooof.”

  “You okay?” AJ started toward the back door.

  “Just securing the lady in the cruiser. You deal with the inside. I’ve got this.” Wyatt’s voice grew fainter as he walked farther away. “Don’t even try it again with the knee, ma’am.”

  AJ forced his hand to relax on the grip of his weapon and turned back toward the living room. Now they just had to deal with the animals. Tragic, yes, but not as dangerous as a bunch of meth dealers. Mary Hannah and her friends at the local Second Chance Ranch Rescue could step in now and do their thing.

  A mewling drifted from the far bedroom—half human–, half animal–sounding, stopping him in his tracks. His grip tightened on his weapon again. His thoughts firmly planted on that other bust, the child under the bed in agony from a sip of drain cleaner.

  AJ followed the noise into the smaller of the two bedrooms. One step at a time, he inched closer to a rocking chair with a ratty afghan draped over the seat, preventing him from getting a clear view. Crouching, he lifted the trailing corner, slowly. A low growl gave him only an instant’s warning that the mewling cry hadn’t been human.

  And that his first search hadn’t uncovered all the animals.

  A big brown dog shot out, toppling the rocker onto AJ. The beast darted past until the tether bolted to the floor went taut quivering with tension. The dog—a boxer—cowered only inches from the door.

  Blocking the exit.

  Crap. There was no way out except past the growling canine. His winter police-issue jacket wouldn’t last long if that animal decided to take a serious bite out of him. The dog snarled louder, teeth bared as it flattened to the floor, pulling at the restraint that wouldn’t survive another serious lunge.

  Even a regular Joe with no animal rescue experience could tell the boxer was clearly freaked out and terrified, ears back, eyes wide, drool dripping from its mouth. He’d learned on past assignments that a scared dog could be every bit as dangerous as an aggressive one.

  Much like people.

  He wasn’t the type to cry uncle, but animal rescue folks used tools for this job for a good reason.

  “Um, hello,” he called lowly. “Can someone bring a catchpole before Cujo in here turns me into a Milk-Bone?”

  Hopefully someone outside heard him. The team of four consisted of two employees from county Animal Control and two from the Second Chance Ranch Rescue.

  “Shhh, shhh, shhh.” He made what he hoped were soothing noises. “I’m not here to hurt you, puppy. Be good and there are people here who will get you a bed and food. I’ll personall
y make sure you get a grade-A hamburger if you keep your teeth to yourself.”

  A one in four chance Mary Hannah would show up. She was thin, short and not particularly intimidating. He envisioned her comforting the little poodles, not wrestling with this muscular creature.

  Except the odds were not in his favor today.

  Mary Hannah appeared in the open doorframe, a catchpole held in a fierce grip. Her sleek dark hair slipped free from a low ponytail to brush the shoulders of her parka. Her wide brown eyes saw everything.

  But through pretty rose-colored glasses with heavy black frames.

  The woman was a whirlwind of naive perfection who seemed to think the world could be changed with sweet words and a soft touch. She might take a brief walk on the wild side now and again, but she hadn’t come close to seeing what he had. He’d witnessed firsthand that some evil just went to the core. There was no talking it down with a warm, fuzzy hug.

  He wasn’t judging. She just hadn’t seen what he had. She would get there someday if she kept assisting in these kinds of “rescues.”

  Someday.

  But right now she was all that stood between him and a wild-eyed animal high on meth fumes.

  * * *

  SMELLING THE METH made Mary Hannah’s mouth water, made her nose burn.

  And made her senses sing like sirens luring her back into the bottomless pit of addiction.

  Mary Hannah Gallo had made a lifetime’s worth of mistakes by twenty-four. She’d spent the next four years making sure she never screwed up again. Too bad Detective AJ Parker was a sexy, hot temptation begging her to break every one of her rules for a calm, structured future.

  One night. Just one weak night of mourning in a bar, thinking she could have a no-strings fling to ease some of the pain, grief, hunger, and now she was stuck bumping into temptation every time she turned around in this closet-sized town.

  Not that she had time to check out Detective No-Strings with a full-sized, growling boxer straining on a tether. The bolt in the floor inched upward.

  “Parker . . .” She kept her voice soft and low-pitched. She peeled off her gloves so her grip would be more secure on the pole. “Keep your eyes averted from the dog until I loop the catchpole over its head.”

  She monitored the fawn-colored boxer out of the corners of her eyes, cataloging details about the animal. Her OCD came in handy sometimes. The dog was female, trembling, jittery, likely from living in this disgusting place. Mary Hannah took another step, assessing, inching warily until she was finally close enough. Slipping the loop at the end of the pole over the dog’s head would require finesse.

  The boxer lurched toward the door, away from the cop. The bolt in the floor wriggled at the strain. AJ’s hand twitched just over his gun. Mary Hannah winced. Shooting the animal would be a last resort, and one she prayed wouldn’t happen here. She couldn’t stomach the thought that this was the only life that poor dog would know. She had to give this animal a chance. Mary Hannah took another, final, step, extending her arm. The loop at the end was . . . almost . . .

  There.

  She tightened the loop until it was secure. The pole gave her distance from the dog for now.

  A sigh of relief shuddered through her, and she allowed herself an instant to breathe, just breathe a thankful prayer that AJ was okay. Her eyes skated to him as he stood slowly, taller, taller, taller still and filling out that cop uniform oh so very well.

  God, he was too sensually appealing for his own good. And for her sanity. It wasn’t about the handsome features, either, or the way his coal-black hair curled at the ends, just a little too long in a rebel kind of way. He epitomized tall, dark and studly in the manner that made teenage girls flock to vampire movies.

  It was his crystal-blue eyes that drew her in, those haunted windows to his soul that made her consider he and she might not be complete opposites after all.

  This wasn’t anywhere near an appropriate time to be thinking about how sexy he looked. Maybe the fumes were affecting her judgment.

  “Hey, Mary Hannah?” he said without moving, the tension in the room so thick she could swear his Southern drawl vibrated across in waves. “How about getting some more help before the beast knocks you over? I’ll hold the dog, with my eyes down checking out the peeling wallpaper.”

  Sure enough, wallpaper pieces curled and spiraled like macabre ribbons on a package. Except why was she checking out the decor of this filthy place, for God’s sake? She needed to get her head in the game and shake off whatever had hold of her, whether it was the fumes or the holiday doldrums.

  Mary Hannah tightened her grip on the cool metal pole, bracing her feet. “Everyone else is outside working to medically stabilize the male boxer found in the trash can. So I’m all the help you have.”

  “He’s actually still alive?” he asked, glancing her way.

  “Barely. He may not make it. Damn it, avert your eyes,” she reminded him sharply. Herself, too. Except she needed to look away from the man. “Dogs perceive direct eye contact as a sign of aggression. Now keep yours focused on the floor while you slip out and find another catchpole. Then we’ll have more control to walk the boxer to the vehicle and into a crate. Or you could also ask someone to sedate the animal, but we’ll still need her safely restrained until the drugs take effect.”

  AJ snorted. “Or like I said before, you could pass over control to me before that dog runs you over.”

  “Quit going all macho man on me.” She kept her voice low and even, doing her best not to rile the dog. “Do your job. I’ll do mine.”

  The wild-eyed animal strained against the loop, making Mary Hannah’s arms burn from the force. She’d already noticed the dog was female, and given her saggy underbelly, she must have puppies around here somewhere or had recently.

  “Parker, stay loose as you inch past. She’s clearly had a recent litter. Mother dogs can be protective, which makes them more aggressive. Maternal instincts kick the aggression into possessive overdrive.”

  Understandable, really. Mothers should do anything to protect their babies. Anything. Her eyes stung. Her heart, too. But there could be no more attempts to indulge in just one night to forget.

  AJ walked in a slow half circle past the mama boxer. “I haven’t seen puppies that look like hers around here. Only small-breed pups.”

  “Good to know.” Mary Hannah’s arms ached, but she had to hold on only a little longer. AJ was at the door now, just behind her. “Shhh, shhh, Mama, it’ll be all right. We want to help you.”

  Mama lifted her head, a low growl rumbling in the back of her throat.

  AJ locked his arms around Mary Hannah in a flash, his hands eclipsing hers. “Careful now. Mama here’s high—”

  “—on meth.” She swallowed hard and held herself very still in his arms again for the first time since that impulsive, stupid—mind-blowing—night five months ago. “Mama’s high on meth,” she repeated. “Right.”

  That made her want to help save this dog all the more, to give the girl a chance to show who she really was underneath the drugs. This horrible existence couldn’t be the end for the dog, especially not because Mary Hannah was distracted by the feel of AJ’s arms around her again.

  His chest was a solid wall of muscle behind her, the scent of his aftershave a tempting relief from the sting of drugs in the air. She swallowed hard, her body tingling to life—and at such an awful time it was surreal.

  His breath was warm against her neck. “Mary Hannah? You can let go now.”

  “I understand the need to be careful.” In more ways than one. She was always careful and tried to do the right thing, except on those rare occasions when she messed up, she went all out. Big-time. “I’m not in danger . . . from the dog.”

  “For some crazy reason I’m not reassured by your pink snow boots.”

  She ground her teeth together before blurting o
ut, “That’s sexist.”

  But sexist or not, the heat of his breath on her neck was too much. She needed to get out of this room, away from this man.

  Mary Hannah passed AJ the catchpole. “Fine then. Since you insist. You can hold her, and I’ll get more help—”

  Before she could finish the sentence, Animal Control Officer Martel—a big burly guy who could have passed for a lumberjack—ducked inside the room and added a second catchpole over the dog’s neck. “Nice job, you two. Take this and I’ll give her a quick injection.”

  A shudder of relief went through AJ that shimmered right into Mary Hannah, warming her freezing-cold toes before he stepped away and took the other restraint pole. Martel pulled a capped syringe from his pocket, tugged off the cover and tucked the needle in the boxer’s left haunch before she could blink.

  The Animal Control officer stepped back fast. “That should kick in soon and make her easier to handle.” He took the catchpole from Mary Hannah. “I’ve got her now.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see if they need help outside.” She couldn’t run from AJ fast enough.

  She stumbled away in the living room, through the front door, gasping in the crisp afternoon air to clear away the jumble of too many emotions and sensations intensified so much during the holidays. Everything tangled up inside until even the good was overshadowed by the bad.

  And oh God, there were so many sad memories of another man’s touch. Her husband’s. Her ex-husband’s—Ted’s.

  She couldn’t even blame him for walking out on her. She’d gotten hooked on prescription drugs, of all things. So damn cliché and too easy to access when she was a college student afraid of disappointing her parents, then terrified of not being accepted into grad school.

  There was a seductive allure in those pills that seemed socially acceptable. They’d been prescribed by a doctor, after all. Then two, then three different doctors.

  Then through other avenues.

  After that, she’d deluded herself into believing that she used to make sure her studies didn’t inconvenience her husband, only to lose him and so much more.