by Marina Adair
He celebrated the successes as much as he mourned the losses, but he never let either of them detract from the next search. Until he’d made one bad call—and forgetting became impossible.
Which was how he found himself eighty miles from home in the small mountain town of Sequoia Lake participating in a training exchange program with the local team, Sequoia Elite Mountain Rescue.
Participating? Ford snorted as he turned his car down a pine tree–lined road, because that made it sound voluntary. When in reality there had been nothing voluntary about it. Pissed that he’d skipped out on his type-one certification, his boss in Reno had sentenced him to desk duty in the same small town he’d been trying to avoid when he’d missed his certification.
He either needed to find some closure and get his head back in the game or risk losing a career he loved. Which was a hell of a lot better than risking lives.
Something he’d promised himself he’d never do again. So he didn’t even roll his eyes when he pulled up on a residential search in progress that a Boy Scout could handle.
The call had gone out over the wire as a missing female—LuLu, a five-year-old with golden hair, last seen wearing pink bows and a tutu, was suspected to have wandered off from her front yard earlier that morning—but Ford knew the moment he rolled up on the scene that he should just keep on driving.
Because on the porch, dressed in curlers and a fuzzy robe, was the grieving mother clutching a stuffed toy in one hand—and a pink leash in the other. Making Ford wonder just how many legs this LuLu walked on.
And if the FIND MY BABY flyer with the picture of a prissy purse-dog in bows nailed to a nearby tree wasn’t enough to let him know this was his “Welcome to the Department” party, then his boss of less than a week smiling like a smug prick certainly was.
Harris Donovan stood on the porch waving him over, a familiar shit-eating grin on his face.
Ford and Harris went way back. All the way to Ford’s first day at the police academy when Harris, a senior, thought it would be funny to screw with the new kid’s GPS. It had taken Ford two months of changing out brake pads to afford the GPS handset—and six hours to complete a sixty-minute hike.
Ford failed his first in-the-field assignment, and the two had a come-to-Jesus meeting—Harris telling Ford he needed to lighten up, and Ford introducing Harris to his right hook. They were both sentenced to twenty hours of volunteer time picking up trash on one of the trails they’d trained on, and they were serving their time when they came across an injured father with his son.
Harris’s confident charm allowed him to connect immediately with the kid and earn the father’s trust—a necessary skill for any first responder. While Ford’s relentless nature and attention to detail turned what could have been a holiday tragedy into a family reunion that made national news. That’s when Ford switched his focus from SWAT to search and rescue.
He wasn’t interested in a reunion with his own father, not anymore. But bringing other families together always took him one step closer to filling that empty hole deep in his chest. Until Ford had been forced to make an impossible call—and he still wasn’t sure if he’d made the right one.
“You stay here while I see what’s going on,” Ford told his copilot and partner, who sat in the passenger seat, his eyes on Ford.
Bullseye was stubby, tubby, and sixty pounds of wrinkles, with ears that hung to the ground. He was part shepherd, part sloth, but all bloodhound when it came to tracking. He also objected to being sidelined—something Ford could relate to.
“Sorry, man, but we both know what happened the last time you ran across a stuffed animal you just had to smell.”
Ford had ended up playing doctor to the pretty nurse he’d set out to avoid—and missed the morning debriefing. Which was probably why he’d been the only person called out to today’s search.
Not that he was complaining when the alternative was sharing coffee with a woman he had no business sharing anything with. Unless it was the truth.
And that wasn’t going to happen.
Bullseye gave Ford a convincing look that he was all business. Too bad his body vibrated with excitement the second he saw the old lady waving that doll.
The dog could pick up a week-old scent in the middle of a bacon factory and not lose focus. But put him in front of something fuzzy that looked as if it needed to be rescued and added to his ever-growing flock of stolen goods, and Bullseye went nuts. Because he didn’t work for treats or dog toys like normal dogs. Nope, that dog was a klepto and would climb the Himalayas if he knew that at the top he’d get his reward—a fuzzy trophy in need of saving.
Bullseye had a box full of trophies he’d collected over the years, and if Ford tried to remove even one, the dog wouldn’t sleep until he found it.
A Beanie Baby in Ford’s pocket was effective for a simple door-to-door urban search. When it was a high-altitude search with rough terrain and difficult conditions? Bullseye demanded a real game of find the fur-baby. And when a search turned into a recovery, Ford had to pull out the big guns: Lambkins. Bullseye’s number one choice in tchotchke therapy.
Carrying a stuffed animal should have been easier than carrying a stash of jarred baby food. But strapping a wheel-size bubblegum-pink lamb puppet with a matching tutu and cotton-ball fur to Ford’s backpack was a hell of a lot more embarrassing. Especially when done in front of some of the goliaths of the SAR world—who responded with offers of lotion and mood music.
Ford preferred to refer to Lambkins as a chew toy. Only that was as ridiculous as slapping a John Deere logo on a Speedo and calling it manly. But pink lambs and baby talk happened when one adopted a service dog trained by a day-care provider who specialized in wanderers.
“All right, but one tail wag before it’s playtime and you’re back in the car. Understand?”
“Woof!”
Ford clipped on his harness, and the two hopped out of the truck.
“I know she’s a wanderer, but she’s been gone over an hour, and she never skips her breakfast,” the older woman cried. “Not when it’s beef and peas.”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Moberly, I’ve called in the best tracker we have. If anyone can bring LuLu home, it’s this guy,” Harris said in welcome as Ford walked up the cobblestone walkway. “Meet Ford Jamison, the department’s newest community-outreach officer. And his partner, Bullseye.”
Bullseye sat at attention, his chest puffed out, belly dragging the ground. Ford managed not to roll his eyes at the mutt as he tipped his hat in greeting. “Ma’am. I’m actually head of the K-9 search division out of Reno.”
Ms. Moberly pressed a hand to her chest. “So you specialize in finding canines? Thank the Lord.” And there went a quick sign of the cross. “When I called Harris about my LuLu disappearing, he told me that he had the perfect person for the job.” She looked at Harris with hero worship. “I didn’t know you were going to bring him over from Reno.”
Harris rocked back on his heels. “Only the best for our residents. Now why don’t you tell Ford here what you’ve been telling me.”
The woman’s eyes went wide as she turned her focus to Ford. “My LuLu hasn’t been missing the necessary twenty-four hours to coordinate a full search party, but she’s a special-needs dog—got the depression pretty bad—and I read on the website that you waive that rule for a special-needs child.”
“But LuLu is a dog,” Ford pointed out.
“With the depression,” Harris reminded, and Ford gave him an Are you kidding me? look. To which Harris replied with a Welcome to desk duty tip of the hat.
“She needs her pill.” Ms. Moberly looked around and then leaned in and lowered her voice. Bullseye leaned in too, and when he realized that she wasn’t handing over the stuffed animal, he plopped onto his belly with a sigh. “Last time LuLu stopped taking her medication, I caught her paws deep in a box of chocolates. By the time I got to her, her muzzle was covered in the poison, and we had to pump her little belly. The vet shaved her naked, mad
e her so self-conscious she wouldn’t even go to Wag and Waddle until it grew back.”
“Maybe she was just hungry.”
“She wasn’t hungry—she was ending things. Death by chocolate. It’s what the ladies at Wag and Waddle call it when they think LuLu can’t hear them, but she knows she’s being ostracized.” She clutched her chest. “Dear God, do you think that’s why she left? We have Wag and Waddle in an hour.”
Ford channeled his people skills and offered a small smile. “Ms. Moberly, couldn’t LuLu be hiding inside? Maybe she found a warm corner and curled up and fell asleep. Or maybe she’s at the neighbors’ house.”
Ms. Moberly’s gray bob danced around as she shook her head. “I checked every inch of that house and even offered up bacon. Nothing. And she doesn’t like the neighbors—they have cats. She’s scared of cats.”
Probably because the cats heckled the poor dog for dressing like a ballerina.
“Strangers too.” Ms. Moberly froze. “You don’t think she was snatched by a stranger, do you?”
Ford and Harris exchanged looks, but it was Harris who spoke. “Do you?”
“Well, I don’t know, but if that would speed up the search party, I will have it known that LuLu is a front-runner for this year’s Wagon Days Darling. If she’s selected, she’ll ride in the float with the mayor.”
“Wagon Days Darling is a big honor around here,” Harris said ever so helpfully.
“The biggest,” Ms. Moberly agreed. “Which is why I wouldn’t put it past Dorothy Pines to dognap my LuLu to get an edge up. She was the one who started the ‘death by chocolate’ campaign against us when LuLu was first tapped to enter. And now we find out she’s a finalist and she goes missing. Don’t you see the pattern?”
All Ford could see at that moment was Harris’s smug grin. “There could be a lot of reasons for LuLu’s absence, but if you suspect theft, then you’d need to contact the sheriff’s department.”
Ms. Moberly shook her head so fast her gray halo danced. “Absolutely not. Have you seen the sheriff’s dog? Tyke is nothing but a big bully, likes to sniff my LuLu hello even when she hides behind my feet. Do you believe that no means no, Mr. Jamison?”
“Of course he does, ma’am,” Harris said, and Ford wanted to punch him.
“Then you’ll understand why I called your office. I won’t have that dog taking advantage of LuLu’s weakened state when we find her. Not when this sweet thing here is ready for action.”
Ms. Moberly leaned over and gave Bullseye a head scratch. Bullseye didn’t even bother opening an eye. He was already asleep. “Now, you might want a notepad and pen so you can take notes. I saw on Criminal Minds that in a missing-person situation, it’s important to walk through their final days.”
“LuLu’s a dog,” Ford repeated as Harris took a notepad from his chest pocket and handed it to Ford.
Ford ignored this. “Could you excuse us for a moment?” Before Ms. Moberly could argue, Ford grabbed his “boss” by the back of the neck and walked out of ear range. Bullseye rolled onto his side and farted.
“Look, I’m sorry for missing your briefing,” he whispered. “It won’t happen again. So you can stop with the whole first-day prank wars.”
“No prank, Jamison. We got a call. You were on the schedule. I thought, How lucky are we to have a K-9 officer on our team today?” Harris laughed. Ford did not.
“I’m the head of the division.” Well, he was back home, where he wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of crap. “And I’m here to consult on recruiting and organizing your new volunteer K-9 team and maybe find some lost hikers. I train dogs—I don’t find them.”
“You’re here because you decided to play hooky on the biggest test of your career, and your boss sent you to detention—in my department. So you get to play community-outreach director while you’re here, which means riding the desk and the occasional callout.” Harris gestured to the manicured lawns, neatly kept houses, and newer SUV parked around the cul-de-sac. “So for the next three weeks, this is your community. And it’s time to start reaching out. Making connections. Building bonds.” He leaned in. “You can start with Ms. Moberly.”
“Making nice with the residents isn’t really my thing.” It was why he’d stuck with the more extreme cases. He had an innate confidence to him that worked in rescue situations. Small talk with townsfolk? That was not on his list of skills.
Although he’d done some pretty good small talk earlier that morning. His body was still humming from the encounter.
Harris hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “Great time to turn your weakness into your strength, then. Practice makes perfect.”
“Do you have any other fortune-cookie advice for me?”
“How about beggars can’t be choosers, so gear up,” Harris said, pointing to the mountain range behind them. “Because until you decide to stop bailing and haul your sorry ass up Canyon Ridge and pass your certification, this is as exciting as work will get for you.”
It wasn’t the hike up one of Sequoia Lake’s most treacherous peaks he was worried about. It was spending twenty-four hours up there alone, looking down on the site of the accident that had changed everything, with nothing but his memories and what-ifs to keep him warm.
“I didn’t bail. I was doing a search at the mudslide in Montana,” Ford pointed out.
“A search you volunteered to go on even though you knew your yearly test was that weekend,” Harris said. “And you didn’t tell me that Sam Preston was the victim of that car crash two winters ago that went from rescue to recovery when the big snowstorm hit.”
Ford froze at the name he hadn’t heard since all the media had died down more than a year ago.
“Yeah, that was the same look I had when Bob from Reno called to see if I could offer some air support on a search, then asked me if I knew I’d brought on the guy involved with Sam’s recovery.”
“It was a recovery and a rescue. His son made it out.”
Barely. Ford had found Sam and his son in a cave, a quarter mile from the accident site. Sam was in critical condition, Paxton hardly old enough to understand what was happening. And both were at risk from the elements.
It had been touch-and-go for a while, and when the temperature dropped to freezing, Ford began to doubt if any of them would make it out. A therapist would argue that he never had. That a piece of him was still back there.
A piece he was hoping to reclaim by coming back to Sequoia Lake.
“Does his widow know you were the responding officer?” Harris asked.
“No,” Ford said sharply. “And I intend to keep it that way.” Which was why he’d backpedaled over buying her coffee.
He knew walking up to that counter exactly whom he’d encounter. Prepared himself for the familiar rush of guilt that came whenever he’d caught a glimpse of Sam’s family on his visits to the area over the past couple of years. But nothing could have prepared him for the spark of attraction he’d felt.
“Good luck with that, man.” Harris laughed. “This is Sequoia Lake you’re talking about. Gossip is like gold in this place. A bear can’t shit in the woods without the town calling a council meeting to discuss it.”
“Well, there will be no discussions here. I won’t be around long enough to create any buzz.”
“Hate to break it to you, but the gossip mill started churning the moment you were spotted flirting with the town’s favorite single mom this morning. I give it until dinner before people claim that destiny placed you in the rental right down the lake from her.”
Ford snorted. “It wasn’t destiny.”
“Right. Bob didn’t think so either. Just like I don’t think he sent you here to ride the desk to scare you into getting recertified,” Harris said. “I think he sent you here so you’d have to face the one site you’ve been avoiding.”
“I’ve worked in Sequoia Lake on over a dozen searches with you since then.”
“All of them were type-two searches, and none of them las
ted more than a few days. You do the search, disappear for a day, then burn rubber out of town.” His friend’s face went serious. “Hell, I don’t think you’ve spent more than a week anywhere in the past few years.”
That was how Ford liked it. As long as he kept moving, the what-ifs couldn’t pull him under. As for the disappearances, that was repentance.
“So you want to be straight with me? And don’t give me that BS story about Bullseye needing some time off after the search in Montana.”
Ford looked over at his dog, eating up the attention he was getting from Ms. Moberly, and felt his heart go heavy with concern. Ford wasn’t the only one struggling with the job.
Bullseye was more than a trailing dog. He was one of the top air-scenting dogs in the country. A talent that had them at the top of the national registry list to call when a natural disaster hit.
Bullseye could detect a body fifteen feet underground and know with a certainty if it was a person or a corpse. Each rescue lit Bullseye with excitement, but recoveries took their toll. And the Montana job had more recoveries than rescues. The last being a seven-year-old boy named Thomas.
It wasn’t normal for Ford to know the subject’s name in this kind of search, but he’d seen a weeping mother standing helpless by an ambulance, staring at the site where her house had once stood. So when the search was over and the small body was recovered, Ford had done the one thing he’d promised himself he’d never do again.
Instead of moving on to the next case, he’d spent a week looking into the boy’s life. Knew he’d liked Star Wars and played T-ball and that his favorite subject in school was science. Knew that he wanted to be a fireman when he grew up, like his dad. And even before his boss called to chew him a new one for missing his certification again, Ford knew he was in up to his neck.
His inability to let go started when he’d met Sam down in that frozen ravine. Listened to the stories about his wife, witnessed the deep love and commitment to his small son. It was what had driven him to leave Sam behind and get Paxton to safety. It was what had fueled a two-year-long promise—that was going to end this summer. Ford was going to make sure of it.