The boy nodded, satisfied. “Pup’s over there. He’s Billy’s dog. Got him as an early present last week.”
“Early Christmas present?” Mike asked.
Fingers dug into back pockets. “Yeah. He’d always wanted a dog. Said his dad bought it for him.”
The pounding started behind Jack’s right eye. Giving animals as Christmas presents was always a bad idea. “Where does Billy live?”
The boy pointed a few buildings down the alley, and Jack made a mental note. “He lives on the second floor with his mom and aunt, and there’s some others who come and go. You gonna arrest him?”
“Cops don’t arrest innocent people.”
“Marvin says you do.”
Jack wasn’t going to argue with Marvin—whoever he was. But he would arrest the guilty party, Jack determined. It was one of the reasons he’d accepted the job of heading up the St. Louis Police Department’s Animal Cruelty Task Force. Animals were innocent, loving creatures, and he’d seen hideous things—burns, beatings, and hoardings—and with his memory he couldn’t forget any of them. But he could honor those cruelly treated animals and ensure justice was done. Since June, he’d made eighteen arrests out of the sixty abuse cases he’d investigated.
The boy tagged along at Jack’s heels as he approached the ten-deep crowd. His gaze took in each person, cataloging that they ranged from an elderly white woman to a well-dressed but shell-shocked Asian woman. This area of South Side St. Louis was diverse and solidly middle class. A few people had decorated their back porches or balconies with strands of Christmas lights—the green cords visible although the lights were off.
The group parted like the Red Sea, and a five-foot-four woman with pure white hair clutched her terrycloth bathrobe between gnarled fingers. “Terrible,” she kept repeating. “Terrible. Who would do such a thing?”
“We’re going to find out,” Jack promised. He squatted next to the overflowing neighborhood trash Dumpster. The 911 calls had reported an injured dog, but the information ended there. Between the back Dumpster wheel and the chain link fence lay a badly burned puppy, his brown fur pink and blistering.
Jack bit back an expletive, bile rising in his throat.
Behind him, Mike made a gagging noise; Jack forced down his earlier cheeseburger. As the lead investigator, he’d seen heinous things, but none like the horror before him.
Jack let the buzz of voices fade and concentrated only on the puppy’s shallow breathing. A choke collar around its neck led to the metal leash attached to the fence. Black ash from an accelerant had charred the corner of the Dumpster and the ground. The dog opened deep brown eyes, long enough for Jack to feel as if a fist had squeezed his heart. No animal deserved this. “It’s going to be okay, buddy,” Jack told him as the dog whimpered. Then he barked out orders. “Mike, bolt cutters. Burn blanket. Call for backup.”
Photos were essential for prosecution, especially if the animal died. Although he was not going to let that happen to this puppy. Not without doing everything possible.
“Get an arson investigator, too,” he called back.
He snapped several photos, making sure he had what he needed. Mike handed him the bolt cutters and he cut the dog loose and wrapped the dog gently in the blanket. He would make whoever did this pay.
“Unit’s two blocks over. Rescue group is about fifteen minutes out,” Mike said.
The puppy whimpered again, and Jack’s fury grew. “I can’t wait that long. What partner clinic’s closest?”
Mike hit a button on his phone. “Checking.”
“Whatcha gonna do?” the boy asked.
“Take the puppy to the vet.” Jack stood and cradled the bundle to his chest. “Can you assist Officer B?” After shortening his partner’s name, Jack paused for the boy to supply his. “Peter. I’m Peter,” he said helpfully.
“Nice to meet you, Peter. You can be a hero, okay? Just show Officer B where Billy lives so I can take care of his dog. I want to make sure this puppy lives.”
“Me, too.” Peter’s head bobbed. “I can do that. He was a good dog.”
A white police cruiser with flashing lights but no siren churned gravel as it parked behind the SUV. Two uniformed officers jumped out.
“Chippewa Animal Clinic,” Mike said.
“Aren’t they having legal issues? I got a complaint letter about an unpermitted shelter and dogs in their own waste.”
“They passed the application and site visit with flying colors three weeks ago. Jeff did the inspection. The vet clinic is aboveboard. And it’s practically right around the corner.”
Jack touched the dog, avoiding its singed skin. The dog’s shallow heartbeat made him deeply protective. Timing was crucial. He’d already planned on investigating Monday. “Call and tell them I’m inbound, and cancel the rescue group. While I’m gone, start processing the scene. I’ll be right back.”
One of the uniformed officers took one look at the dog’s blistering face, and his own blanched. He covered his gagging mouth with a hand. “Jesus.”
The dog trembled as Jack placed him tenderly in the cage in the back of the SUV. “Yeah. Some kid’s early Christmas present.”
The patrolman’s face grew red. “Some people deserve to go to hell.”
Jack couldn’t agree more.
#
Kat Saunders reread the legal notice before turning the offensive missive over, as if the plain backside of the cream-colored paper would magically erase the mess she found herself in.
When she’d bought the Chippewa Animal Clinic five years ago, she’d used all of her savings and even secured a hefty loan to purchase the business, which was grandfathered into a well-established and sought-after neighborhood. Houses in St. Louis Hills were some of the most coveted on the South Side.
Problem was, she had the occupancy permits to run a veterinarian practice but not the ones necessary for the no-kill shelter now also occupying the premises. She’d never intended to run a shelter; a couple years ago she’d taken in a few strays until she could find new owners. Then there were a few more. And then a few more—up until recently, no one had complained.
Now she was the subject of a neighborhood association witch hunt. Her clinic’s reputation was under attack, as well as Kat personally. The association, led by Fred Fennewald, had complained about almost everything. She’d been investigated for noise violations—when the dogs were outside in the yard, Fred maintained they were too loud and disturbed the neighborhood. The association had filed a suit against her—stalling the permit process. Fred had alerted a newspaper reporter, and while the story had been factual, the online comments had contained lies saying she didn’t care for her animals. They’d insinuated she kept them standing in filth, that she starved them. Kat had lost several clients as a result. She didn’t know what she’d done to make Fred so disagreeable. Her clinic was her life’s dream—she’d sacrificed everything to make this place work, including her nest egg. Now she needed a miracle to keep the city’s zoning board from shutting the shelter down. If it closed, where would the homeless animals go? She was all in. Her parents—both doctors—had thought she’d follow in their footsteps, but she’d forged her own path. She couldn’t back down now. Her vet tech, Angela, poked her head in. “Your phone’s on silent.”
“Again?” How many times a day did she accidentally push the button on the cordless receiver? “What’s up?”
“The animal task force called,” Angela said. “Our first case is on its way.”
Kat’s heart jumped erratically, and her gaze drifted to the stack of ten charity calendars sitting on a bookshelf. Since the ball, she’d admittedly peeked at Jack Donovan a few times. While sculpted abs, low-rise black jeans, and nothing but a Santa hat oozed sex appeal, he was devastatingly handsome in a tux. When she approached him at the gala, he looked like a slightly pissed-off James Bond. He’d had great hair—a shaggy blond mane that she’d itched to touch—an urge she’d blamed on two glasses of champagne. And that kiss! Sudd
enly she’d been too hot, and the band’s next song—urging heated revelers to take off all their clothes—had hit a little too close to home.
“What’s incoming?” she asked, forcing a focus on the professional. The kiss had been a momentary lapse—a stupid romantic fantasy of a career woman who had too little time and a bad dating track record to boot.
“Dog with burns on at least half its body.”
Kat winced and rose, court summons forgotten. She listened as her tech outlined the extent of the dog’s injuries. It was clear that the rescue group doing the transport needed the nearest vet. “ETA?”
“Five minutes max. Claire’s prepping the O.R.”
“Make sure we’re ready.”
“We will be. I told them to use the emergency entrance.”
Kat stepped from her office into the waiting room, the aromatic scent of a real Christmas tree greeting her. She’d spent Thanksgiving morning decorating the clinic, and Christmas music played over the speakers. “Silent Night,” her favorite.
To her, there was nothing better than picking out a Christmas tree, and she’d bought hers down the street at Ted Drewes, a St. Louis landmark. The store located on Old Route 66 had been at the location since 1941, serving frozen custard in the summer and selling balsam fir trees from Nova Scotia in the winter. The owner picked them out himself. As for the ice cream, a mini-chip concrete was her favorite.
She greeted a few patients who waited to see her associate, Dr. Stuart Marshall. She noted that there was fresh coffee and plates filled with Christmas cookies for both humans and dogs—separate, of course. Her staff had everything under control, and they’d keep it that way.
Flickering red and blue lights reflected through the large picture window as a black SUV pulled into the lot and headed around the side of the building. Adrenaline pumped in Kat’s veins, and she took a deep breath. Her white lab coat flapped as she strode into the back of the clinic. Since she loved animals, joining the task force as a partner had been a logical step, especially since the new task force needed a partner clinic in her area. Jeff Ellis of Pet Rescue had spent three months vetting her clinic. She’d trained for this. She wouldn’t fail.
She’d donned her green surgical gear and scrubbed in by the time the man carrying the dog entered her operating room.
“Hey sweet baby,” she cooed, her gaze on the suffering dog.
“Hey to you, too.”
Kat’s head jerked up. She knew that deep-timbered, rough-sounding voice. Six feet of blond all-American hero stood there, his windbreaker askew. Where was the rescue group? “You,” she sputtered. Mr. December, the man whose kiss sent tingles to her feet, stood in front of her.
“Me.” He gently placed the dog on the stainless steel table. “And thanks for such a sweet greeting. Don’t usually get that.”
“I was talking to the dog,” Kat clarified, all business. He didn’t need to know how he’d made her body react. “I was expecting the rescue group.”
Jack’s lips formed a thin line. “Too bad. I could use some babying after this. There was no time to wait. How bad is he?”
Aware of her staff’s avid curiosity, Kat’s fingers peeled back the blanket to find what appeared to be a five-month-old pit bull puppy. Sweet, hopeful brown eyes tore at her heartstrings. “Shh,” she urged, and the dog closed its eyes, the pain unbearable.
“Can you save him?” Jack asked.
“I’m going to try my best.” Her brain registered and then dismissed her horror and anger. The puppy was going into shock—she didn’t have time for distracting emotions. While she’d expected to see Jack Donovan at some point during her volunteering for the task force, she hadn’t expected to be blindsided like this. She’d envisioned their next encounter at a training seminar or a meeting, or something … sometime when she’d be polished. Wearing makeup.
Her staff moved around her, getting things prepared. Work called. “I need you to leave,” she told Jack.
He hesitated, his beautiful blue eyes imploring, holding her gaze. The world seemed to drop away, as if they were the only two in it. “I’m going to save him,” she promised. “But I can’t do that unless you leave.”
The moment Jack left the room, Kat exhaled the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Twice now Mr. December’s calendar image failed to do him justice. Twice now she’d felt the heat that radiated between them. Even being stressed and obviously tired hadn’t lessened his magnetic, innate appeal.
If anything, today proved he had a deep, caring heart as well; he’d carried the dog and brought the animal himself. Mr. December certainly had far more layers than his objective photo revealed, layers she wanted to explore. Later. Much later.
After she saved this dog. This is why she’d signed up to volunteer, why she’d built the shelter. To save animals. Seeing Mr. December was not going to throw her off her game. “Let’s get you fixed up,” she said to the puppy, and got to work.
Chapter Two
Even after an hour on the hard bench, the growing backache was the least of Jack’s discomforts. Once he’d dropped off the puppy, he’d rejoined Mike at the crime scene, and together they’d interviewed neighbors and various onlookers.
They’d also met with Billy, who was devastated over the loss of his dog. His mom had been at work, but his aunt has been babysitting and “consoling” Billy by telling him that real men didn’t cry. She’d told Mike and Jack that it was probably for the best, as the dog had bitten a younger cousin. Jack hadn’t liked the petite blond much. He’d left after telling Billy he’d be back to talk to his mother.
Upon his return to the clinic, Jack was encouraged to hear the puppy was still in surgery. Had the puppy’s condition been hopeless, he figured Kat would have euthanized.
So Jack waited, for aside from finishing and filing his report, there was really little else he could do. One or two pet owners had recognized him and mentioned the calendar, but they’d simply been friendly and somewhat curious, and he’d been able to disengage from the conversations without being offensive.
The clinic staff was another matter. He’d been getting quite a few sideways glances from the front-desk staff, especially over the last fifteen minutes. When he’d caught one staring, she’d even blushed. Had their boss told them about the kiss that was now plaguing his thoughts?
Jack tapped his fingers on the smooth surfaces on each side of his MacBook Pro’s silver trackpad, a clear sign of agitated nerves. He rubbed his right temple, for—despite two ibuprofen—his head pounded. The barking dogs and that annoying Christmas music didn’t help. He stretched out his legs, leaned back, rubbed the end of his nose to stop the annoying twitch, and reminded himself his suffering was nothing compared to that of Case Number 63, the burned puppy, now in the hands of the woman whose kiss had roared back into his memory the moment he’d walked into her O.R. and seen her standing there like an angel in scrubs.
He hadn’t forgotten her—he didn’t forget anything—but he hadn’t been able to dismiss her. His memory was such that when given a date or an incident, he relived it. He could feel the clothes he wore, experience a soft touch, even smell the perfume. Now it was as if he was there all over again—the sensations all rushing back.
Now here she was, the woman who’d gotten under his skin, who’d bothered him since that impromptu kiss under the mistletoe. He’d wondered who she was—he’d read over the guest list and not found Kat’s name.
He’d gone back into his memory, searching for clues but finding none. That action only incited his subconscious to give her a staring role in one particularly graphic dream, making him wake up in a hot sweat. That fact had bothered him most of all. He was not a randy fifteen-year-old who couldn’t control his hormones.
His e-mail popped up a message from the Public Affairs officer that a local media outlet had caught hold of the story and a news crew would be arriving at any time.
Jack closed his laptop and resisted the urge to Google Kat and her clinic, now that he had
a somewhat free moment. Instead he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. Why was it always pit bulls? Once known and loved for their gentle dispositions—Helen Keller had a pit bull—now the worst of humanity raised them for dogfighting or home protection, giving the entire breed a bad name. From his own experience he knew there weren’t any bad dogs, just bad owners. In this case, neighbors and Billy’s aunt had told him the dog had bitten several people. After further questioning, Billy’s aunt had admitted the dog had been provoked into biting. The kids had been playing rough, teasing the dog by showing it a toy, letting him have it a second, and then yanking it away. Puppies didn’t understand jokes.
Jack made a fist then unclenched it, the movement diffusing his anger. Based on the initial investigation, he was 95 percent certain who’d done it. Soon he’d have solid proof, enough irrefutable evidence for an airtight arrest warrant and hopefully a subsequent conviction. Under the emergency warrant a judge had granted twenty minutes ago, the police force’s finest computer hacker was on the case; so Jack opened his eyes, lifted the laptop lid, and filed the report via the secure web portal.
“Can I get you anything?” He tilted his head; one of the front-desk women stood there. Like everyone at the practice, she wore scrubs. She gestured to the refreshment table. “We have fresh coffee and cookies. I’d be happy to grab you a cup. You look tired.”
He was, not that he’d admit it. His stomach growled, and he assumed the cookies with the chocolate chips were for humans. He held up the insulated paper cup he’d grabbed earlier at the local gas station. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ll grab something later if I change my mind. Do you know how much longer?”
Her smile was apologetic. “I’m sorry. I have no idea. We close at five, but you’re welcome to stay after. I’m sure Dr. Saunders will want to talk with you.”
“And me with her. Thanks.”
He finished the cold coffee, eyed the cookies again, and decided he didn’t feel like moving. He gave into curiosity and entered Kat’s name into his web browser’s search bar.
A Little Christmas Jingle Page 2