I almost blow my cover when Midnight allows Lexicon to lay his muzzle across his back and doesn’t flinch. It’s almost enough to make me suspect that Mitch swapped out my cat for a stunt cat. It is truly remarkable. A few moments later, Mitch praises them both and gives them both a thorough tummy scratching. By the way they both react, you would think that they were lifelong friends instead of new acquaintances. After Midnight saunters off, I quietly walk around the corner and then give a thumbs up to Mitch as I comment, “That was almost too impressive for words. What did you say you do for your day job again?”
An odd look crosses Mitch’s face as he replies, “I am a bookkeeper for the school district.”
“That’s a perfectly honorable job. Why do you sound like somebody asked you to eat day old liver and onions?” I probe.
“Let’s just say it’s not the stimulating use of my education that I was hoping for,” Mitch answers with a grimace.
“Why don’t you find something else that’s a better fit?” I gesture to the couch where Lexicon is quietly sitting at his feet. “You obviously are a man of many talents.”
“I wish my decision was that easy, but I’ve got a lot of people counting on me to make the right choice.”
“I can totally understand where you’re coming from. I’ve made some doozies in my own life. How about we set aside personal reflection for a while and go try to catch some bad guys for Hope?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Mitch agrees as he leverages his long frame off my dainty couch. It’s a rather comical sight. I didn’t choose the couch, it came with the cottage, but its quaint style doesn’t fit Mitch’s lanky body very well.
It’s going to be funny to see how we kiss. Woah! Back up, Jess, where in the world did that come from? You might want to rein it in a little— you barely know the man.
Suddenly, I look up and notice that Mitch is looking at me with an amused grin. He points to my feet and says, “I’d recommend shoes unless you’re planning to completely reenact the scenario, complete with running back to your house.”
I want to smack my forehead. “I swear I’m not this dense. Most of the time, I’m a fully functioning adult — capable of dressing myself without assistance. I can even comb my hair and brush my teeth,” I finish with a smirk.
Mitch shrugs as he responds, “Okay, I won’t tell you the number of days Stuart has to remind me to tuck in my shirt or make sure it’s not on inside out. He has designated himself to be my fashion police because I’m pretty helpless. Lord, help the woman who marries him. Most of the clothing budget in their house is going to go to him.” “Really?” I ask, in surprise. “I guess I really wouldn’t know that since I only saw him in scrubs, but he didn’t really strike me as a fashion bug.”
“We have a room in our apartment dedicated only to his clothes and shoes,” Mitch explains with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh… wow!” I breathe. “That’s impressive dedication. I’m sure that there is a match for him somewhere. As my Grandma Wilma says, there is a lid for every teapot.”
I run over to my front door and slip on some Keds. I grab my keys and automatically start to clip them to my lanyard but realize that it’s not there. Mitch walks over to my kitchen table where I dumped my phone and headphones and grabs it. He gently slips it over my head and pulls my ponytail through it. Such a simple gesture shouldn’t be intimate, but somehow it is.
I give myself a mental shake as I try to remember — despite our Internet chats — Mitch is pretty much a stranger to me. We may have bonded over the dogs, but we might not have much else in common. Besides that, he is scorching hot. The kind of hot guy that probably has a girlfriend or two waiting in the wings. I have no business letting my thoughts wander. Just as I’m thinking that, Mitch puts his hand on the small of my back as he escorts me out the front door and all of my good intentions go flying out of the window.
We stop at the trunk of the car and he presents a piece of gauze from one of Hope’s wounds. Mitch gives a low command to Lexicon. The dog instantly assumes a different posture. He is more alert and focused than I’ve seen him. Immediately he takes us on a sharp turn to the left.
“How did he do that? I didn’t tell you guys which way to go,” I whisper as I try to keep up.
Mitch shrugs as he responds, “It’s what I teach these guys to do. It’s a critical skill in search and rescue. I’m trying not to put any pressure on Lex. To him, this is all just a game. He thinks this is fun stuff. He doesn’t realize that he’s learning a job. This is his first real world test. Up until now, he’s only done it at our training facility; it’ll be interesting to see if he can stay on task and not get distracted.”
“He seems to be doing spectacularly well so far. In fact, this must be where Hope went when I went back for my shoes. Poor baby, she probably came back here to eat something from Mr. Martinelli’s dumpsters, but her mouth was all taped,” I lament.
There is a jagged chain-link fence with a hole in it. I’m getting prepared to crawl through the hole when all of a sudden Lexicon sits down and refuses to move. “Hold up!” Mitch commands abruptly.
“Okay,” I agree as I freeze in place. “What happened?”
“Lexicon alerted to something. I need to check it out, it’s possible it’s a false alert, but it very well could be real,” Mitch explains as he puts on some neoprene gloves.
I hold my breath. My heart is pounding so hard. I’m not even quite sure why I feel like I’m the one on the spot. I’ve always suffered from really severe test anxiety. It’s one of the reasons that I prefer the arts to more traditional learning settings. Don’t get me wrong; I’m a really big nerd. I love learning about the science-y things especially if they involve animals. In a perfect world, I would love to be a marine biologist and save the whales and other endangered sea life. But I know myself well enough to know that I would never be able to handle that academic rigor of all those science and math classes. I just don’t have the ability to buckle down and hold still. I would melt down under the pressure of tests. Not to mention getting high-level PhDs and all the stuff you would need to be a professional in the field. I also think that I would miss performing on stage. I like pretending to be somebody that I’m not. It gives me a great sense of freedom.
I watch as Mitch carefully scours the area for any clues. Lexicon’s body is tense with concentration and focus as he watches Mitch for cues. Finally, I see Mitch pull out a plastic bag from his backpack and deposit something in it. The relief that courses through my body is palpable. It seems that Lexicon must’ve been successful. I don’t want to interfere with what Mitch is doing, but I am so curious about what he found that it’s difficult to resist my urge to run over there and ask a million and a half questions. After a few minutes, it appears that they’ve finished whatever it is they’re doing and Mitch boxes up everything. He tosses Lexicon a toy that looks a bit like a deranged sock-puppet and starts to praise him effusively. In that moment, all of Lexicon’s professional behavior vanishes and he becomes a quintessential puppy with absolutely no boundaries; he suddenly starts randomly bouncing about four and a half feet up in the air.
Mitch laughs out loud at Lexicon’s antics. I don’t know what I expected his uninhibited laughter to sound like, but I guess I didn’t expect it to sound so free and unrestrained. It’s contagious and I start to laugh too. “You should do that more often,” I comment absently. I’m a little shocked when the words actually emerge from my mouth. I was thinking them, but I didn’t actually mean to repeat them out loud.
Mitch looks up at me with a puzzled expression on his face as he asks, “I should do what more often?”
Blushing, I explain, “You should laugh more often. You have a great laugh. It makes me happy. I guess it reminds me of my grandpa’s laugh. He can bring a whole church full of people to smiles just with his laugh. Your laugh is a lot like his.”
“Gee, I don’t know how I feel about that,” Mitch responds with a grin. “Isn’t your grandpa kind of old?�
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“Well, technically yes,” I concede, “but to hear my grandma tell the story, he was quite the dashing young man when they met. She fell in love with him even though he had a farmer’s tan and had a black eye because a bull had kicked him.”
“It does seem like it would take a whole lot of charm to overcome those deficits for sure,” Mitch teases as he pulls a bottle of water out of his backpack and offers some to Lexicon in some sort of foldable bowl.
Finally, I can’t contain my curiosity any longer “What did your dog find?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure. That’ll be up to the police to decide. But I have a guess. I think that Hope was wearing some sort of training harness when they dumped her off. She must have caught it on a fence or maybe part of the car when they pushed her out. I’ve seen this logo before. I trained a service dog once for a lady in a wheelchair and she had a couple of harnesses specially made from a leather company and they had the same logo. If my hunch is correct, we might have these guys. This company is pretty small. They hand make everything,” he explains, the excitement building in his voice with every single word.
“Oh, you have no idea. If they bought it over the Internet, my friend Tristan and Ivy’s dad, Isaac can bust them so hard that they’ll have a cyber concussion,” I declare, practically bouncing up and down like a kid who has just seen my first parade.
“Remind me who they are again?” Mitch asks, his brows drawn together in concentration.
“I don’t know how much of this story Ivy ended up telling you. She talked to you online via BrainsRSexy because she was trying to figure out why guys were telling her that she’d gone on dates that she never went on. Eventually, she figured out that she had a twin sister. When she met Rogue, she actually fell in love with Rogue’s best friend, Marcus. Rogue fell in love with Tristan, the guy who helped track Rogue down. It was all very romantic. It was even more romantic when together they all went on a grand adventure to find their long-lost dad, Isaac. When they found Isaac, they discovered that he had been told that everyone passed away and that he was still desperately in love with Rogue and Ivy’s mother. Now, everyone is one big, happy family.”
Mitch is looking at me with his jaw slightly agape. When he can finally find the words to speak, he says, “That’s a really romantic story, but it doesn’t really answer my question about why you think Tristan and Ivy’s dad can help us?”
I wave off his concerns as I continue, “Well, if you had had an ounce of patience, I was getting there. You have to let the story ripen and percolate before you get to the climactic ending; don’t you ever go to plays?”
“I can respect your art, but this is real life and we’re trying to get justice for Hope here,” he answers impatiently.
I feel rightfully chastised, as I respond, “Point taken. I don’t fully understand what Isaac does, but he’s in the upper echelons of law enforcement and he has whomever he needs in the alphabet of agencies pretty much at his beck and call if things get serious here. He’s not one of those people who throws his name around just for the thrill of it, but if he needs to get something done, he’ll do it for a good cause. Tristan owns an identity theft prevention and investigation company called Identity Bank. When those two joined forces, they became a pretty unstoppable business in the fight against evil. If the bad guys are hiding online, they won’t be doing that for long. I suspect that once you sic Tristan and Isaac on their case, they’ll be found within a matter of hours,” I state confidently.
Mitch looks a little skeptical as he replies, “The trick may be getting local law enforcement to work with them. They have a difficult time letting civilians in on their cases.”
I shrug casually as I respond, “That’s just the thing, Tristan and Isaac aren’t even considered civilians even though Isaac is pretty much retired. They have some sort of connection with law enforcement and they aren’t treated like outsiders.”
“That’s good to know, I’ll pass on the information when I drop off this evidence,” Mitch promises.
“Okay, just tell them that Isaac Roguen and Tristan Macklin are available to consult on the case if they’re interested.”
Mitch’s face suddenly distorts into an approximation of a cartoon character as he responds, “Remember when you were telling me that it’s a really, really small world? I now know what you mean. In my business law class, we were learning about copyright law and rare books. I’m familiar with Isaac Roguen’s name because he was involved in the recovery of some really expensive art theft and rare books. How weird is that? The guy is the stuff of legends — do you have any idea how famous he is?”
“I can tell by your reaction that he’s a little more famous than I even knew,” I respond with a smile. “I guess that’s good. Maybe it will open a few doors with law enforcement.”
“I think we could probably consider them blown clear off the hinges — this probably became the brightest day in Hope’s whole life.”
THE SOUND OF STUART’S LAUGHTER echoes in my head as I turn off my car in the precinct parking lot. He thought it was hysterically funny that I couldn’t wait to bound out of bed this morning, even though we were out ridiculously late last night on a local rescue. A local toddler with severe autism had escaped his bedroom without his monitor. His mother was frantic, but fortunately we were able to find him without any injuries and return him home safely. Those rescues always make my heart skip a beat or two. Still, I couldn’t wait to get up this morning and bring the evidence in to the station.
I walk over to Darya’s desk and place a cup of coffee in front of her as I inquire, “Are you busy?”
“It depends on why you’re asking,” as she takes a long gulp of coffee. “Mmm, on second thought, I don’t really care. How is it that I dated the same guy for almost four years and he could never figure out how I take my coffee, but I just transferred here five months ago, and you can get my order perfect? Are you sure you don’t want to marry me?”
I grin as I respond, “Darya, I think your standard needs to be a little higher than who can bring you the most accurate coffee order. Don’t get me wrong — I like coffee as much as the next guy, but I’m not willing to base my whole relationship on it. Sadly I think I’ll have to decline your offer of marriage.”
Darya pokes her bottom lip out like a petulant child as she responds, “Will you at least go dancing with me? We would make a striking couple you, with all your blonde hotness and me, with my mysterious dark vixen thing going on.”
“We would look spectacular up until the point where the music started. All of your illusions would then be shattered because I am a terrible dancer. You would be profoundly disappointed in my dancing skills.”
Darya shrugs as she replies, “Well, I guess if you’re not going to let me flirt with you, I suppose I have to actually do my job. Whatcha got for me?”
“Are you still working the case involving Central Shores?” I ask.
Her mouth turns down in the deep frown as she takes another sip of coffee. “Working it? Yes. Making any progress? Not so much. It’s like that poor little puppy disappeared off the planet. How could three or four teenagers pull this off and nobody say a word? This case defies logic!” she complains as she adjusts the tie in her uniform. She’s not required to wear one as a female detective, but she said she doesn’t want to be treated any differently than the guys, so she wears a whimsical tie every day. Today her tie is covered with Tweety Bird.
I carefully hand her the baggies that I collected and marked from the scene, as well as a USB drive from the lipstick-camera that was attached to Lexicon’s service vest. I use those to document all of his searches from start to finish. It helps me as a trainer to know if I am subconsciously queuing him and skewing his results one way or another, but in these cases is absolutely critical for me to be able to show in court my actions and process my dog went through to find the evidence.
“What’s this?” she asks pulling a stack of evidence envelopes out of her desk.
“Oh, just a little something that might help you crack Hope’s case wide-open,” I deadpan as I wait for her to respond.
“Hope? Who’s Hope? I’m a little lost here. I only took a couple of weeks off while my dad had surgery, so I can’t be that far out of the loop. How about a little help?” Darya suggests with exasperation.
I have been waiting for nearly a month to be able to see her expression when I tell her this news. She’s been worried about Hope for months and months so it’s going to be a great pleasure to show her this file.
I slide the manila folder onto her desk. Not knowing what to expect, she cautiously opens it. I purposefully put an adorable picture of Hope with an almost lopsided grin on the front of the stack of pictures. I saved the more difficult ones and put them toward the bottom. Hope has a ways to go in her recovery, but even the three and a half weeks she’s been in our custody have made a world of difference. Her burns have scabbed over well and her ears are healing up nicely. Initially, Stuart was afraid that he might have to do more surgery to repair a particularly vicious laceration on her right ear. However, Hope has done a remarkable job of just leaving it alone, so it appears she may be in the clear.
Darya looks up at me with befuddlement on her face as she inquires, “Is this the puppy? Oh listen to me… I’m supposed to be a detective… Of course this is the puppy… otherwise you wouldn’t be showing it to me, right? I guess I had forgotten how quickly puppies grow up and I was still looking for a puppy that more closely resembles the pictures in our files. Oh, poor baby… look how beat up she is!” she exclaims as she thumbs through the pictures. When she reaches the pictures of Hope’s tail she pales a little as she exclaims, “Oh my Gosh! Please tell me there is something in those little bags that’s going to tell me who these creeps are.”
Sheltered Hearts (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 2) Page 5