Operation Reunion

by Justine Davis

  A sound escaped from the dog, something so much like an exasperated, weary, human sigh that Dane blinked.

  “Did I mention,” Hayley said casually, “that Cutter has very good instincts about people who belong together?”

  Kayla let out a harsh, compressed breath. Dane made himself not look at her.

  “How is he with insurmountable obstacles?” he asked sourly.

  “I don’t think the word insurmountable is in his vocabulary,” Quinn said dryly. “Which is, by the way, huge. For a dog.”

  “Not so huge for whatever he really is,” Hayley quipped.

  The awkward moment passed, although Cutter was still looking at them both as if he were contemplating drastic action.

  “—stolen money would have bought him a ticket if he was really headed back north.” Dane tuned into Quinn as he spoke to Kayla. “We’ll start working that angle.”

  Dane tuned back out again, telling himself it no longer concerned him. He separated himself, walked over toward his car, hitting the button on the fob to unlock it.

  To his surprise, Cutter followed him. And positioned himself between Dane and the driver’s door.

  “What? I didn’t pet you hello, so I can’t leave?”

  He reached down and scratched behind the dog’s ears, but it had no effect. Cutter never even reacted, and his steady, intense gaze was unnerving.

  “What do you want me to do?” Dane asked; clearly the dog wanted something.

  For the first time Cutter’s gaze shifted, to Kayla, now twenty feet away. Then the dog’s eyes were back on him, steady, intense, commanding.

  Dane gave a sharp shake of his head. He was giving this animal far too much credit. He was, after all, just a dog.

  When Kayla finally came over to the car, she came nowhere near him, nor did she say a word as she opened the passenger door. Cutter didn’t pull the same stunt with her, so apparently in the dog’s view, he was the one who was supposed to bend. Again.

  “Sorry, buddy,” he said to the dog, “I can’t. Not this time.”

  For an instant something flickered in the animal’s eyes, something oddly like understanding. Acknowledgment. Something.

  And he was losing his mind, giving human attributes and intelligence to a dog, however remarkable he might be.

  He got into the driver’s seat. Cutter trotted around the car to the passenger side, where Kayla had now slid into the seat. He poked his nose at her, then rested his chin on her knee. She bent over the dog, petting him, crooning something he couldn’t hear into those alert ears. Maybe that’s what she needed, Dane thought. A dog. A companion who would never question what she was doing, never begrudge her her obsession, who would go along with her every desperate effort unconditionally.

  The light was fading as he started the car and headed back to the little house he’d thought of as home for nearly four years now. They didn’t speak, and the atmosphere between them grew stiffer, chillier, with every mile.

  When they got there, he pulled into the driveway but not the garage. Kayla glanced at him, and he knew she had seen this simple action—or lack of action—for the sign it was. He wasn’t staying.

  He got out, slamming the car door shut with more force than was necessary. He regretted it when he realized her neighbor, Mr. Reyes, was outside working on his pickup, and the noise had made him look their way. But after a friendly wave he stuck his head back under the hood. At least it wasn’t the man’s wife, who would have come over to say hello and put them through ten minutes of agony as she chattered on.

  Kayla just sat for a moment, then got out of the car, moving gingerly, as if every motion hurt. He had to stop himself from going to her.

  “Let me grab my stuff, and you’ll be rid of me,” he said, hating the way he sounded but not able to stop the bitterness that was welling up in him from seeping into his voice.

  “Fine.”

  Short, sharp, to the point. Not a word of protest, not a single request to reconsider.

  “Kayla—”

  “Just hurry and get out,” she snapped. “Get it over with.”

  It was done. The rupture was complete and final. She’d made her choice, and it wasn’t him.

  He was so focused on that choice that he was unprepared for the flood of memories that hit him the moment they walked into the house. The past few days, when they’d made love hungrily, everywhere, whenever the need took them, every sweet touch flavored with gratitude that they hadn’t lost this singular passion.

  He couldn’t deal with this. He grabbed up things and threw them in the duffel bag he’d stuffed into a corner of the closet. Clothes, shoes, razor, toothbrush, books, his tablet, they all went haphazardly into the bag and he zipped it hastily shut; he’d sort it all out later.

  He intended to just leave. To walk out the door without a word because there was nothing left to say. But as he passed the bookshelf in the living room, something stopped him. He looked at the row of framed photographs she had there. Her parents, them all as a family, and at the other end one of him she’d taken last year, and Chad’s high school portrait.

  He reached out and moved Chad’s picture in front of his own. It was childish, he knew it, but he did it anyway. Then he turned around to look at her.

  “You’ve made your choice, Kayla. I hope you’re happy with it when you’re a lonely old woman still chasing a phantom.”

  “What makes you think I’ll be lonely?” she retorted. “Do you think you’re the only man in the world?”

  He knew it had been a mistake; he should have just walked out as he’d intended. “No,” he said quietly. “But no other man will love you like I do.”

  It wasn’t until he was back in his car, sitting in the darkness, trying to will himself to turn the key, that he realized he’d used the present tense.

  With a realization of just what was ahead of him, just how long and hard learning to live without her was going to be, he started the car and drove into the night.

  Chapter 16

  Kayla awoke from the dream with a gasp. For a moment everything seemed strange. Nothing looked right. Disoriented, she jerked upright. Once she had, the familiar outlines reassured her; she wasn’t in the bedroom, but the living room.

  But nothing could reassure her after that dream.

  The peaceful quiet of the night surrounded her; this had always been a quiet neighborhood. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen it. Deciding to move had been instantaneous; she knew there was no way she could stay in the house that her parents had died in. She’d sold it to the first person who’d been willing to buy, taking a loss and not caring.

  Dane had tried to slow her down to no avail. Hayley understood, she thought. Her mother had died of natural causes, she’d told her, otherwise she never would have been able to stay in her home—which wasn’t far from Kayla’s—either.

  But whether or not he agreed with the move, Dane had helped. As usual. In fact, he’d been the one who’d found this house in the first place, although she’d fallen in love with it the moment she’d seen it.

  As usual, he’d known exactly what she’d needed, just how much space, the big trees providing a sense of privacy and the small garden that was glorious in the spring and summer, tempting her outside. The little house had nestled in that setting like a fairy tale cottage, and she’d nearly giggled in appreciation.

  Dane had helped her change the inside slightly, opening up the kitchen to the living room so it didn’t seem so small and closed in and then adding the big windows to look out on that garden, which in turn inspired her to keep working on it.

  She’d been happier here than she’d thought she could ever be again. And yet now it seemed like a hollow, echoing place she wanted to escape.

  She’d given up on sleep after two restless hours in her empty bed. Dane’s absence hammered at her, no matter how she tried to pretend, going about her routine as if nothing had changed, hoping the ritual of washing her face, brushing her teeth, checking her alarm, would s
oothe her troubled mind and allow her to sleep. She had to work tomorrow, and there was no way she could miss the scheduled sessions—there were new people just starting on the long, sad path, and she needed to be there to help.

  None of it worked.

  Finally conceding there was no way she was going to sleep, she’d gotten up and moved to the living room. Curled up on her couch, she’d turned on the television, then turned it back off, picked up a book then put it down, finally grabbed her phone and played a mindless game until her eyes couldn’t bear it anymore.

  Just before two she’d finally dozed off, only to have her weary brain take Dane’s words and tweak them into a too-real scenario; she’d been putting the photographs he’d moved back the way they’d been when she’d caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the glass of the framed portrait of Chad. A reflection of a wrinkled, gray-haired woman who looked a bit mad.

  Needing to move, she uncurled her legs and stood up. She didn’t turn on the lamp on the table beside her, didn’t want the light to emphasize the emptiness of what had once been her beloved little home. In the dark, she could pretend it wasn’t empty, pretend Dane was just in the other room, as always.

  She could be in denial.

  How long are you going to live in complete denial, Kayla?

  “I’m not,” she said aloud to the quiet room.

  Denying she was living in denial.

  She let out a disgusted sigh, angry at herself, at Dane, at the world in a way she hadn’t been for a long time.

  Defiantly, she walked over to the shelf of photos. She picked up the one of Chad Dane had moved and put it back, telling herself she wasn’t glad she couldn’t see any reflections in the dark.

  She admitted she was glad she couldn’t see Dane’s, the pain was too raw, too fresh. But then, she didn’t have to look to see the images in her mind. She knew them as well as she knew her own image. The picture of her whole family, the last taken while it had still existed, the shot of her parents at their twentieth—and last—anniversary. Then Chad with Troy, working on the motorcycle they had later crashed into the sound, which had then resulted in the joyriding incident; a guy couldn’t be without wheels, Chad had said, laughing it off.

  And then Dane. She had many more of him, some in other places in the house, but the one here was her favorite. It captured the essence of him, quiet yet energetic, thoughtful yet not brooding, serious but with a grin just about to break loose and light up his eyes.

  And everything else within a hundred miles, she thought.

  The ache welled up inside her until she nearly cried out at the pain of it. And there in the dark, she moved the pictures once more. Held Chad’s for a moment, thinking the words that had kept her going for so long; she had to do this. She had to care about Chad because no one else did. She was all he had. But the old mantra wasn’t working tonight.

  She put the photos back exactly as Dane had moved them, with Chad’s portrait blocking him.

  Because he’d been right.

  She did cry then, unable to stop it. She felt the despair building, knew she was on the verge of a meltdown the likes of which she hadn’t had in a long time. Before she’d always had the mysterious, unknown killer to blame for the destruction of life as she’d known it.

  Now she was very afraid she had no one to blame but herself. She—

  An explosion of sound so loud she felt it as much as heard it was followed instantly by a simultaneous flare of yellow light and a shock wave that knocked her into the bookshelves.

  She staggered, too stunned to even grab at anything for support. She went to her knees. She heard an odd, crackling sound. Struggled to her feet. And then she smelled smoke. Only a little, then suddenly it billowed out of the back of the house, harsh and thick. She coughed.

  Fire. The house was on fire. Smoke was filling the room, making her cough harder and harder, and she realized flames could soon follow. But it was the smoke, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that the real danger? Didn’t more people die of smoke inhalation than actually burned?

  Stop thinking, start doing, she ordered herself, while you can still breathe at all.

  She dropped to her knees and found some clearer air. She began to crawl, not really thinking of anything except getting away, getting outside. She headed for the front door, or at least where she thought it was; had she gotten turned around in the chaos?

  It was getting harder and harder to focus, to breathe; her body was slipping out of her control as it coughed forcefully, trying to rid itself of the smothering smoke.

  She heard a yell from outside, over the sound of the fire licking away at her home.

  Dane?

  No, Dane was gone. He’d left her; she’d thrown him away.

  Dizzy with fear now, she tried to reach for the doorknob. She couldn’t find it as the smoke spread, lowered.

  Was it gone?

  Everything else was.

  Dane was gone.

  Chad was gone.

  Her parents were gone.

  Why not join the parade?

  The last thing she remembered was a rush of cool, night air, and the fleeting thought that maybe death wasn’t so bad after all.

  Chapter 17

  Sirens.

  Quinn came awake sharply. Immediately alert, he was assessing before Hayley even stirred beside him. He raised up on one elbow. The noise continued, and he turned his head slightly. North to south, he thought. And far enough away that he began to relax a little. A few blocks over and pulling away, he thought. And out here a block was a significant distance.

  The sirens stopped. The only sound was the drip of rain from the eaves; the summer shower had started just after one. He knew that because Hayley, who loved the sound, had gotten up to open the window. Naked. Which had inspired him to welcome her back to bed in a way that had made him think very fondly of the Northwest’s ever possible rain.

  “Quinn?”

  Hayley’s soft voice came out of the dark. Just the sound of her saying his name was enough to tangle him up inside; sometimes he still had trouble believing this incredible woman was his.

  “Can you tell where it was?”

  “It’s all right. It’s not too close. Go back to sleep.”

  He dropped back down, rolling to his side to pull her into the curve of his body. She was soft and warm and sleek and smooth and he wanted her all over again despite the fact that they’d made love well into the night last night, as if they’d needed to reassure themselves that they were fine after seeing Dane and Kayla’s love start to crumble before their eyes.

  He heard another sound that distracted him from the decision of whether to let her sleep or pursue the urge that was building in him. This one was from inside, the sound of a dog’s quiet footfalls. Cutter.

  The sirens must have unsettled him, Quinn thought. Probably even hurt those super-sensitive ears of his that seemed to hear at incredible distances even for a dog.

  And then Cutter was there, his head up to see into the bed, looking at them. Even in the dark Quinn knew it because he could see the faint gleam of the dog’s eyes reflecting what light there was. He had a vague memory of reading that dogs could see better than people at night. It had been in the spate of dog research he’d done after the drug cartel case. The case that had brought Hayley—and the uncanny, sometimes too clever Cutter—into his life, changing it forever, in ways he would have never dared hope for.

  “Hey, furry one,” Hayley said to the dog, reaching out a slender arm to stroke the dog’s head. “We’re okay.”

  As if that had been all he needed—to know his people were okay—the dog gave Hayley’s fingers a quick swipe with his tongue and turned away.

  “That dog is....” Words failed him.

  “Yes, he is,” Hayley said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Lucky me, I have two of the most amazing males on the planet right here with me.”

  Well, if that was how she was feeling, that made his decision easier. He leaned over her and nibb
led lightly on her ear and felt with satisfaction the tiny shiver that went through her. He pulled her closer, ready to—

  Cutter was back.

  This time he nudged Hayley slightly with his nose. His cold nose, Hayley indicated.

  “Settle down, Cutter,” she told him. “It was just sirens, and they weren’t that close. Somebody’s having trouble, but not us.”

  But the dog began to pace, then pace and whine, from the bed to the bedroom door and back again.

  “Is he usually like that?” Quinn asked. He’d seen a lot of unique behavior from Cutter in the past few months, but not this. “After he hears sirens, I mean?”

  “No,” Hayley said. “They’re rare out here, and they wake him, of course, but he settles back down quickly. And he never whines like that. This is...odd.”

  Odd. Used in conjunction with Cutter, that was never something to ignore. Quinn sighed. Shelving his erotic plans, he sat up. Hayley sat up beside him. Quinn reached for the lamp on his side of the bed.

  Light flooded the room. The room that, thanks to Hayley’s gentle understanding, was as much his as hers. She’d told him she wanted to make changes anyway, once she’d decided to stay here after her mother’s death, but she’d been putting it off. So she’d insisted they move everything out of the house, put back only what he liked, and make mutual decisions on adding new things. “That way it’s new for both of us,” she had said. “I don’t want you to feel like a guest in someone else’s house.”

  Because he’d practically been living in the Foxworth office, in a room at the back downstairs that he’d converted to a functional bedroom, he wasn’t about to complain, but he appreciated the gesture more than he’d ever expected he would. In return he decided not to rebuild on the property Foxworth owned next door, although he’d had the ruins of the house there removed. Now Cutter had lots of room to run and explore without ever leaving home turf.

  The dog had stopped his pacing when the light came on and had spun around to look toward them. After a moment, when they didn’t move, he sat in the middle of the floor and began to howl. Loudly.