Rookie K-9 Unit Christmas

by Valerie Hansen

  Meeting the two main caretakers, however, helped set his mind at ease. Marilyn Carter and her niece, Josie Callahan, had achieved a welcoming, family atmosphere and were offering sensible parental guidance to the children without a lot of unnecessary shouting.

  The roomful of kids was noisy, of course. Most were younger, like Patrick. A brunette, dusky, blue-eyed girl of about ten stood in the background, acting as if she considered herself everyone’s big sister. She was helping younger kids build a castle with blocks and gently admonishing them to share.

  He inclined his head toward the group of children and spoke to Zoe. “Who’s that? She looks old for day care.”

  “Maisy is Officer Dalton West’s daughter. She’s here after school because he’s been in K-9 training classes, too,” Zoe said. “Dalton is staying in Desert Valley over Christmas vacation, so she’ll probably be here a lot.”

  “Maisy will make a good teacher someday,” Josie added, sounding wistful.

  Zoe sobered. “I suppose she tends to mother the little ones more because she lost her own mother.”

  Sean laid his hand on Patrick’s head while the boy leaned against him. “I understand. It’s hard.”

  Josie nodded and began to smile. “That’s why Aunt Marilyn and I stay open so late and accept parents’ flexible schedules. We know what a struggle it can be.”

  “Do you have children?” Sean asked.

  “No, but Marilyn does.” She turned away. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to check the bathrooms.”

  “And I suppose I’ll need to fill out enrollment paperwork.” Sean looked to Zoe. “Can I use your address?”

  “Sure.” She paused. “It would be a good idea if you agreed to put Patrick in Sunday school, too. That way everybody can get to know you and feel more comfortable with you guys being a part of the day care.”

  “Sunday school? I gather you’ll want me to go to church with you, too.”

  “Well...”

  “I get it.” Sean sighed noisily. “All right. You win. Church it is, but don’t expect me to suddenly go running down the aisle and repent. God gave up on me long ago.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  He could tell she didn’t mean it. Nevertheless, he would try to make things easier for her while he was there. She had opened her home and arranged for his training. The least he could do was go to church with her.

  But it would be hard, he knew. Facing the faith he had rejected and being bombarded with pleas to reconsider was liable to creep into his mind and cause untold problems and spiritual confusion.

  How did he know? Because it already was.

  * * *

  Zoe was glad to see Patrick being assimilated into the group. As soon as Maisy West had noticed his difficulty walking steadily, she had taken his hand and begun to lead him from child to child, making introductions. What an adult would have taken days to accomplish, Maisy had done in the space of an hour.

  “I think we can leave now,” Zoe said. “Go tell Patrick what we’re doing so he won’t worry.”

  Seeing his reticence, she laid a hand of comfort on his arm. “He will be fine here. Very safe. You know he needs the company of other children. They’re not judging him the way adults might and he hasn’t even looked at us for ages.”

  “Yeah. I see that.”

  Zoe stood back and watched her old friend approach the group of children, crouch and speak to his son as the others listened nearby. One of the boys spoke up, then Maisy followed with further assurances. By the time Sean stood, Patrick was already headed for a play area filled with large wooden blocks and obstacles.

  “That gives me a great idea,” Zoe told Sean as he returned to her. “We can run Angel through her paces in the training yard and encourage Patrick to do some of the exercises with her. The physical agility will undoubtedly help him.”

  To her chagrin, Sean scowled. “My son is not a dog.”

  She had to laugh. “No, but some of his best buddies are. Think of how encouraged he’ll be if he can do what they do?”

  “Such as?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. We won’t ask him to climb, of course, but I imagine he’d love crawling through tunnels and under barricades.” Enthusiasm for her brainchild grew until she wanted to clap her hands and jump for joy. “It’s a wonderful idea. As a matter of fact, once Angel is certified as a therapy dog for you, you may want to continue training her and take her on visits to hospitals and rehab centers.”

  “Whoa. Hold on, lady. We haven’t even taught her to stop jumping on me. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  What she wanted to do was remind him that the Lord could accomplish anything, and that believers should always try their best, but she kept silent. He’d get there eventually. At least she hoped and prayed he would. If she looked back with honesty and candor, she could see how far Sean had already come. It would be wise to concentrate on that rather than focusing on how far he still had to go.

  Whatever happened, she vowed to be there for him. How and when was unknown, yet nothing was impossible for God. Even if she had to quit her beloved Arizona job, she would. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Right now, her fondest wishes were a jumble of unknowns and confused thoughts, so she couldn’t begin to decide what to ask or expect.

  In her heart, she knew indecision was okay. No matter how much her mind argued, she would trust in her faith, in her Lord. All she really had to do was exercise patience.

  That thought almost made her burst out laughing. There was a joke among believers about never praying for patience unless you wanted to be presented with long, long trials. Well, here she was, in the midst of just such a dilemma, with no end in sight. Welcome to God’s boot camp.

  She and Sean left the day care together and checked to be sure the dogs were comfortable in the car. Zoe slid behind the wheel while Sean got into the passenger seat. “Back to the training center?”

  “Fine with me. I forgot to ask. Do they feed the kids lunch and snacks?”

  “Yes. Are you hungry?” She pulled into traffic.

  “I’m not sure. I feel kind of funny, as if I should go back and get my son no matter how safe and happy he is. Does that make sense to you?”

  “Of course. You’re getting used to your new life, and he’s a big part of it. You’ll settle down more after you bond with Angel and the three of you become a team.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Zoe chuckled softly. “Don’t you know I’m always right, Murphy?”

  “Yeah, well—”

  Instant shattering of the side windows on her car interrupted him. Dual instincts made him duck and Zoe tromp the gas pedal to the floor.

  She hadn’t seen or sensed danger until it had been obvious. In order to have broken both windows simultaneously, a bullet must have passed from one side of the car to the other. Missing them both. Praise God! And thank Him that Patrick had not been present.

  Eyes wide, head swiveling back and forth, Sean was bracing himself on the dashboard and shaking as if he’d been hit. “Where’s the shooter?”

  “I don’t know,” she shouted back. “Grab my phone and report it while I drive.”

  The desert air felt icy as it rushed through the broken windows. In the rear, the dogs barked, futilely warning intruders to stay away.

  Zoe dodged through traffic and headed straight for the police station, hoping whoever had fired at them would be stupid enough to follow.

  She slid into the open lot behind the station and jumped out to take up a defensive position behind the car door.

  Sean circled the front of the vehicle to join her as cops raced out the back exit and surrounded them.

  To her disappointment, whoever had shot at them had been smart enough to disappear. Chief Hayes tapped her on the shoulder and drew her away wit
h Sean while others looked over the vehicle damage.

  “We went back and rechecked that stolen red truck after we received the ballistics report I told you about. Most of the prints we lifted belonged to the teenagers we arrested, like I said, but there was one palm print that was unidentified. We ran that through AFIS. I have bad news for you.”

  “You got a match.” Zoe wasn’t asking. She knew.

  “Yes,” the chief said. “Whoever left that print has a record as long as your arm, including charges of homicide.”

  “So, the bullet in St. Louis is from an assassin’s gun, and the print proves he or someone like him is here,” she concluded.

  “Afraid that’s how it looks.”

  “Then how about putting a guard on Marilyn Carter’s day care for us?” She was speaking to the chief but looking at Sean. “Sean’s son Patrick isn’t the only child who deserves protection. Your own daughter is there.”

  Hayes agreed. “Very sensible. What about you two?”

  “I’ll keep my guard up and so will Sean,” Zoe said. “When we’re not at my house, we’ll be at the training center. It probably wouldn’t hurt to keep a close eye on that, too.”

  “Will do.” Chief Hayes offered his hand to Sean and they shook. “Don’t hesitate to call if you even think you’ve seen something odd.”

  Before Zoe could explain for him, Sean spoke up. “I’m here because of a diagnosis of PTSD.” He held out his trembling hands as a demonstration. “Are you sure you want me to call?”

  The other man clapped him on the shoulder. “Absolutely. I’ll tell you if it’s too often. I don’t want any more losses on my watch. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sean’s forceful agreement echoed his time in the military. So did his stiff posture. This was the first time Zoe had been privy to such a clear picture of his background. A lot had been imprinted. A lot would need to be mitigated because it could never be erased. He was the product of his past, as was she. They all were.

  The secret to healing, as far as she could tell, was learning to face tragedy and figuring out how to find happiness despite whatever had happened. Service dogs helped in some cases. Counseling and meds in others.

  But she wanted more for Sean. She wanted him to have true peace and joy with his son by his side. To accomplish that, she and her fellow officers were going to have to do more than pat him on the back or give him a place to live or even find him the perfect canine companion.

  They were going to have to end the reign of terror begun by the thugs who wanted to kill him. And then they were going to have to track down whoever had hired those men to keep it from recurring.

  Given the enormity of that task, she didn’t see any way to make it happen without calling upon divine intervention. Whether Sean believed or not, she was going to pray and keep praying. Fervently.

  She was also going to stay armed. If God chose to work through her, she’d be ready.

  SEVEN

  The next few days kept Sean busy training with Angel. At night, when he took her home with him, she managed to settle down with Freya and avoid tearing up Zoe’s house, much to his relief.

  The progress Patrick had made was the most astounding of all. Sean wasn’t sure whether to give the credit to Angel or Freya or the day care, particularly ten-year-old Maisy West. The few times he’d spotted her father in the distance and thought about praising the girl, however, the man hadn’t looked approachable.

  “Tell me about that guy, West,” Sean said when he and Zoe were straightening up the kitchen after supper. “Why does he look mad at the world all the time?”

  “Probably because he is.” She sighed. “His wife was killed as the result of a home invasion. It’s possible the perpetrators were after him, instead. I don’t doubt he blames himself. I feel sorry for Maisy. She’s kind of lost both parents at once.”

  “Well, she’s sure been good for my son. I can’t believe how well he’s walking.”

  “Speaking of Patrick, where is he?”

  Sean slipped the last slices of pizza onto a plate and refrigerated it. “Watching TV with the dogs while we do the dishes.”

  “Um, I don’t think so.”

  “What do you mean? Of course he is. That’s what they’ve done every evening.”

  She gestured with her chin since her hands were in soapy water. “Then where did she come from?”

  Freya was peeking around the corner as if hoping he’d drop leftovers. There was no sign of Patrick.

  Scowling, Sean ran past the dog so rapidly she edged her way to Zoe and sat at her feet, apparently waiting for orders.

  “Did you find him?” Zoe was drying her hands when Sean returned.

  “No. He’s not in the living room or the hall or the bathroom.”

  “Well, he can’t have gone far. Has he run off before?”

  “Run?” Sean was incredulous. “He can hardly walk. How can he possibly be gone?”

  “Calm down. We’ll find him. He can’t be far away.”

  Sean’s trembling had returned, this time without flashbacks, and he raked his fingers through his short hair. “Not on his own, he can’t. What if somebody kidnapped him?”

  “With the dogs in the same room? Highly unlikely.”

  “Then what? Where is he?”

  “I suspect he’s using his newfound ability to walk better to explore the house. Let me get Freya’s working harness on her and we’ll do a professional search.”

  Sean knew he was being unreasonable but couldn’t help shouting at her. “Why are you smiling?”

  “Sorry,” she said, although she continued to look pleased. “I’m just in my element right now. I’m not worried. I know the dog will track him down.”

  “Fine. You do this your way. I’m going to keep looking.”

  “If there is a scent trail, the less you muddle it, the better,” Zoe said. “But suit yourself. You’ve both been all over the house, anyway.” She held Freya’s leash and straightened. “Wait a second. Where’s Angel?”

  “How should I know? She’s always on the move.” His scowl deepened, his fists clenching.

  “There’s a good chance she followed Patrick,” Zoe said. “You stay here while I conduct my search.”

  “In a pig’s eye. I’m coming with you.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Pausing long enough to lay a hand lightly on his forearm, she waited until his gaze met hers before she spoke. “Intense emotional reactions can affect everyone, including service dogs. I know it’s hard for you to control your feelings. Everybody has trouble sometimes, particularly when a loved one is involved, but I’m going to ask you to really try this time. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly.”

  “You’re wasting time.”

  “If I thought Patrick was in real danger, I’d already be on my way. Calm down and think rationally. The doors are locked. He can’t have gotten out. And neither dog barked, so we know nobody broke in.”

  It took every ounce of Sean’s strength to stand there and listen, to comprehend and consider that she might be right. Deep, slower breathing did help some. “All right. I’m as calm as I’m going to get. Can we go now?”

  “Yes. Freya, find Patrick.”

  Tail wagging, tongue hanging out, the Belgian Tervuren looked up at her human partner as if asking for further instructions.

  “Patrick.” Zoe grabbed the boy’s sweater off the back of the sofa and held it down for the dog to sniff. “Find.”

  Sean stepped aside as the pair passed. Zoe was not the only one who looked happy. The dog seemed just as pleased to be working. She entered the hallway, made several course adjustments, then headed for the room Zoe had given to her guests.

  “I already looked in there,” Sean insisted.

  Zoe wasn’t dete
rred. Neither was the K-9. She snuffled around the bed, then raised her head and made a beeline for the closet.

  “They’re in there,” Zoe told Sean. “Open the door.”

  Ready to do battle because he didn’t believe Patrick could have walked that far unassisted, he grasped the knob. Turned it. Heard muted giggling just as he jerked on the door, then froze. There they were. His son and Angel. Sitting on the closet floor and wrapped in the blanket they’d shared in the living room. Patrick’s eyes were sparkling. The dog was alternately panting and licking the boy’s cheeks as if agreeing that they had pulled off a great trick.

  “How did you get in there?” Sean shouted.

  Patrick’s grin faded, and his eyes began to glisten. He not only lowered his head, he buried his face in the border collie’s black-and-white ruff.

  Sean immediately dropped to his knees. “I’m sorry, son. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not mad. I was just so worried I yelled without thinking first.” He opened his arms. “Come here.”

  Although the child moved slowly, he did go to Sean. So did Angel, which made the otherwise poignant moment more comedy than drama. Patrick had his arms around his daddy’s neck, holding tightly. Angel was determined to kiss every face within reach.

  Keeping one arm around his son, Sean looped the other over the dog’s shoulders to help hold her still and avoid her wet tongue. Sort of. There was no way to keep her under full control, and, truth to tell, he didn’t care if she showered him with doggy affection. She had not only followed his handicapped son, she had stayed with him despite the other dog’s absence.

  She might be too easily distracted as the trainers had reported, but she was loyal. And instinctively protective. No matter how hard he had to work to transform her into a good service dog, he was determined to succeed.

  A shiver shot up his spine as his thoughts expanded on the premise. Would she be effective enough against enemies when her natural gift was for friendship? Should he ask for a more formidable-looking dog like a German shepherd or a Doberman, instead?

  It didn’t take long to reason that the likelihood of being assigned to a dog like that were slim and none. If Angel had not been available when he’d arrived at the training center, chances were he’d have been turned away. Therefore, she had been meant for him. For Patrick.