Operation Reunion

by Justine Davis

  “What the...?” Quinn exclaimed.

  “I don’t know,” Hayley said. “He’s never done that.”

  She got up and went to the obviously distressed dog, kneeling beside him. “Cutter, sweetie, it’s all right.”

  Quinn watched as she hugged the dog reassuringly. Cutter accepted the gesture with another swipe of his tongue, this time over her chin, but the ear-splitting howling resumed.

  Only now, in between howls, the dog seemed to be focusing on Quinn. And when Cutter was focused on you, Quinn had quickly learned, it was good to pay attention.

  Feeling a bit like the sheep these Belgian breeds were known to herd, he got out of bed himself.

  “Okay, dog,” he muttered as he joined Hayley crouching beside the animal, “you got us both up, now what?”

  The howling stopped. Cutter darted away, disappearing for a moment into the small walk-in closet off the master bathroom.

  He came back with a shoe.

  Hayley drew back, startled, as the dog dropped one of her lug-soled slip-ons in front of her, then raced back to the closet.

  He came back again, this time with one of Quinn’s battered, lace-up military boots, which he dropped very nearly on Quinn’s bare foot.

  Then Cutter spun on his hindquarters and darted to the bedroom door, where he sat, looking over his shoulder at them with every evidence of impatience, as if he were waiting for his not-too-bright humans to get the message.

  Quinn looked at Hayley, whose expression told him she was as bewildered as he was.

  But if there was anything he’d come to know since these two had made his life something full of joy and wonder instead of the steady slog of determination it had once been, it was that you ignored this dog at your peril.

  Hayley sighed.

  Quinn echoed it.

  “I guess we’re going...somewhere,” he said. “In the middle of the night. In the rain,” he added with a wry grimace at the dog.

  “Yes. And given this started with the sirens,” Hayley began.

  “We start by finding where they went,” Quinn finished.

  * * *

  Dane hadn’t been asleep—in fact, he had just made himself stop pacing the floor again when the knock on the door startled him. Considering the hour, it had been more of a pounding than a knock. His brows furrowed. Probably woke the neighbors in both apartments beside him. He picked up his phone and tapped it to see that it was after 2:00 a.m.

  “Dane Burdette, Redwood Cove police, open up.”

  For a moment he thought it was Jarrod, the cop from downstairs, making a lousy joke. But the guy didn’t seem the type. A million scenarios cascaded through his mind as he crossed the living room. Maybe they’d finally found Chad. But why would they be here? Wouldn’t they go to Kayla?

  Fear spiked through him. If his long suppressed suspicion was true, if Chad really had murdered their parents, then what would stop him from coming back for his sister? It sounded crazy; she’d been his sole defender for so long, but then, Dane didn’t get how somebody could kill their parents in the first place.

  His brain raced through all those chaotic thoughts in the time it took him to get to the front door. He shifted his phone to his left hand and grabbed the doorknob just as another hammering came.

  “Okay, okay,” he was saying as he pulled it open.

  Two uniformed officers stood there. One about his own age, one older. They both looked stern. No, beyond that. They looked grim. And wary. Watchful. It was a small department, and he wondered what was so important they sent this percentage of it to his door and at this hour.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “We need to talk to you, Mr. Burdette.”

  Puzzled, and still fighting the chaos of his thoughts, he stood aside to let them in. The older man’s name tag said

  R. Carpenter, the younger D. Harvey.

  “Is this about Chad? Did he come back?”

  The two men exchanged glances. “Chad?”

  “Chad Tucker. He— Never mind. If this was about him, you’d know the name, right?”

  “Tucker. Related to Kayla Tucker?”

  A stab of foreboding shot through him, and Dane’s stomach knotted. “Her brother. Is she all right?”

  “Interesting that you’re worried about that.”

  It took everything he had not to let his rapidly building panic show. “Her brother,” he said slowly, “likely murdered their parents ten years ago. Then vanished. If he’s back—”

  “I remember a little about that case,” the older officer said. “It was pretty ugly.”

  “Then you should know why I’m worried. Is Kayla all right?”

  “How do you know about that case?”

  “I lived next door at the time. I was the first one there, when Kayla started screaming.”

  “Were you?” the older man said, in an odd tone.

  “She was just a kid. Sixteen. If you’d heard what she sounded like, you would have come running, too.”

  “And you were how old?” It seemed the older officer was taking charge of things, and the younger one was staying silent. Dane wondered if he was a trainee or something. He looked young enough.

  “Eighteen,” he answered.

  “The same age as the primary suspect,” Carpenter said.

  Apparently he remembered more than just a little about the case, Dane thought.

  “I think you’d better come with us, Mr. Burdette.”

  “I’m not moving a step until you tell me if this has to do with Kayla, if she’s all right.”

  “From what a witness tells us, you had a fight with Ms. Tucker earlier tonight.”

  “A fight? What the....”

  Mr. Reyes. He supposed the little scene in the driveway could be interpreted that way.

  “We’ve been...disagreeing. About her brother. She insists he’s innocent, I think he’s not.”

  “Where have you been since that time?”

  “Here. I came straight here.”

  The younger officer looked him up and down. The older officer walked around him, looking at him even more intently. Looking for what? Dane wondered.

  “You’re still dressed.”

  “I knew I wasn’t going to sleep so I didn’t bother trying.”

  “Hmm. Convenient.”

  Dane didn’t like the way this was going. And he still didn’t have an answer about Kayla.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “What have you been doing all night?”

  “I had an online chat session with a company in Dublin we’re prepping a video for.” He added, “It was 1:00 a.m. here, but nine in the morning there.”

  “They can verify that?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’d like to take a look around your apartment, Mr. Burdette. Do I have your permission?”

  “You tell me if Kayla’s all right, you can look all you want.” He was starting to feel desperate now.

  The older officer moved to face him head-on. Dane got the distinct feeling he was being studied, assessed. Why? He was just forming some vague idea that the man wanted to see how he’d react to what he was about to say when the words came and blasted any further thoughts out of his mind.

  “Ms. Tucker’s home was firebombed tonight.”

  A sensation Dane hadn’t felt since the night he’d heard Kayla’s screams from next door flooded him. He staggered slightly as an enervating chill sapped strength from his muscles and put his brain in a fog. He heard a sound and vaguely realized he’d dropped his cell phone.

  Kayla.

  “Is she...?”

  He couldn’t say it. He just couldn’t. The officer just looked at him, waiting, for what Dane didn’t know.

  The phone he’d dropped rang. Feeling as if he were moving underwater he looked at it. Hoping against hope Kayla’s familiar photo would be showing.

  There was no photo at all. Just a name, the most recent one he’d added to his contact list.

  Foxwort
h.

  Slowly, still feeling that numbing paralysis, he bent to pick up the phone.

  The officer beat him to it. He glanced at the screen. “Foxworth again,” he muttered.

  “I need to answer it,” Dane said, a little amazed he could still talk at all. But Foxworth, either Quinn or Hayley, might know something, and at least they’d tell him. Unlike these guys, who seemed to be playing some kind of game he didn’t know the rules to.

  “Put it on speaker,” the officer said.

  “Speaker?” Didn’t they have to have a warrant to listen to somebody’s calls? he wondered.

  “You were the last one to see Ms. Tucker. And we haven’t had a chance to check out these Foxworth people yet. If you’ve got nothing to hide, put it on speaker.”

  Nothing to hide. And it wasn’t a suggestion or even a request. It was an order. And Dane suddenly, belatedly realized that these deputies weren’t here to deliver bad news.

  They weren’t here to tell him the woman he’d loved for years was dead.

  They were here because he was a suspect.

  Chapter 18

  “You won’t believe this, but Cutter sent us.”

  Kayla wiggled her nose in irritation at the oxygen cannula the E.R. staff insisted she keep on. She felt much better now, and she wished they’d take it off. But when she spoke, or tried to, her voice was just raspy enough that she thought maybe they were right about it.

  “He did?”

  Hayley nodded. “We heard the sirens—you’re not that far from us—but when it quieted down we didn’t think much more about it. But Cutter wouldn’t let us go back to sleep. He started pacing the bedroom, whining, coming over to us, then walking to the door, back and forth.”

  Kayla thought of her initial encounter with the dog and then the way he’d led them to Teague in the warehouse. That part wasn’t surprising.

  “Finally he sat in the middle of the room and started howling, like a wolf looking at a full moon. We had to get up before he’d shut up.”

  “But then he did?”

  Hayley laughed. “Yes. He was too busy dragging our shoes over to us. We got the clue at that point.”

  “Are you sure he’s just a dog?”

  “Sometimes, I’m not sure at all.”

  Kayla shifted, winced as the three stitches in the back of her left shoulder pulled slightly. She knew she’d gotten off lucky with some cuts and what would be a colorful array of bruises. The smoke had been the worst, but Mr. Reyes, bless him, had gotten there and broken the window in the front door to open it in time.

  “Where is Quinn?” she asked.

  “He’s talking to the investigators.” Hayley smiled. “There’s always a bit of lag time while they check us out.”

  “Like Dane did,” Kayla said, that stubborn inner ache rising, making her outward injuries pale in comparison.

  “He was pretty thorough,” Hayley agreed. “He was worried about you.”

  “He’s not anymore,” Kayla muttered.

  “Don’t be so sure. I’ve seen you two together. You don’t turn feelings like that off so quickly.”

  “It wasn’t quick. It took ten years.” She sounded as bleak as she felt. She knew she had driven him to this.

  “Don’t give up yet,” Hayley said gently. Then, “The investigators will be here momentarily, I’m sure. Is there anything you want to tell me before they arrive?”

  “I don’t know who it was,” she said. “I didn’t hear anything. I couldn’t sleep so I was in the living room.”

  “That probably saved your life,” Hayley said.

  “The house,” Kayla began.

  Hayley shook her head. “I don’t know. The fire department was still all over it when the paramedics loaded you up. I wanted to stay with you, so I didn’t really see how bad it was.”

  “Thank you,” Kayla said. “I would have felt...really alone if you hadn’t.”

  Hayley smiled. “You’re not alone. But think, Kayla. Was there anyone around? Did you hear any cars, any noises in the yard?”

  Kayla tried, replaying the awful night in her mind, but nothing surfaced. “I don’t remember anything, but I was pretty upset, so I’m not sure I would have noticed.”

  But the process of trying to remember if she’d heard or seen anything unusual kick-started Kayla’s brain. Things tumbled into place, and with a little shock she realized that someone had tried to kill her tonight.

  And that made her realize she’d been so focused on finding Chad and proving he hadn’t killed their parents that she hadn’t spent a whole lot of time thinking about who actually had.

  “Do you think this is connected? To my parents, I mean?”

  “It does seem odd that shortly after we start looking into things you get attacked.”

  Kayla didn’t know whether to hope this was all connected or hope it wasn’t.

  “Maybe my work, maybe somebody from the counseling group? One of them had a son murdered a month ago.”

  “We’re looking into it,” Hayley agreed.

  “Definitely.” Quinn’s voice came from over Hayley’s shoulder as he parted the curtains and stepped into the E.R. alcove. “How are you?”

  “Okay. I think.”

  Quinn nodded. “A detective and the arson investigator are right on my heels. Anything I need to know?”

  “She doesn’t remember anything out of the ordinary,” Hayley said.

  “Not surprising. Maybe later. How bad was your fight with Dane?”

  “Fight?”

  “In the driveway.”

  Kayla frowned, then remembered Mr. Reyes had been in his own driveway at the time. Given the man had saved her life, she found it hard to be upset with him.

  “It wasn’t a fight. We were a little tense, snapped at each other, but that’s all.”

  “Any threats?”

  Kayla blinked. “What?”

  “Did he make any threats. ‘You’ll be sorry,’ ‘I’ll make you pay,’ anything like that?”

  Bewildered, Kayla stared at him. “Dane?” She sounded as incredulous as she felt. “Of course not. Dane would never say—”

  She broke off, suddenly realizing the import behind his question.

  “No! No, no, no. Not Dane. Never in a million years.”

  “You sound awfully sure about a guy who just walked out on you,” Quinn said, his gaze never leaving her.

  “He had every right to do that,” Kayla said miserably. “But it doesn’t change who he is inside.”

  “You’re interfering in an investigation, Mr. Foxworth.”

  The warning came from behind them in a voice that held the ring of command.

  “Ms. Tucker is a client, Detective Dunbar,” Quinn said without missing a beat. A dark-haired man in civilian clothes, but with an air about him that matched the voice, pushed aside the curtains. Even Kayla could have guessed he was a cop. He was tall and rangy and looked fit and tough. A touch of grey at his temples suggested he might be older than Quinn, although he didn’t really look it otherwise.

  “Is Dane Burdette a client, too?”

  Quinn hesitated, which already Kayla knew was unlike him. She took advantage even as she wondered if he’d done it purposefully, to give her this chance.

  “Yes,” she said quickly. “And he did not do this. He would never, ever do anything remotely like this.”

  “I’ve heard the same from the family and friends of everything from terrorists to serial killers.”

  He didn’t say it coldly or cruelly; in fact, if anything his tone was sad as he looked at her.

  “He didn’t do it,” Kayla insisted. And it struck her suddenly that she was once more in the position of protesting the innocence of someone the police seemed to have already decided was guilty.

  “He has no alibi. He can’t prove he wasn’t there,” Dunbar said.

  “But that’s not the question, is it?” Quinn said. “The question is can you prove he was?”

  “Where is he now?” Kayla demanded.


  “You seem very concerned,” Detective Dunbar said. “Didn’t you two just break up yesterday?”

  “I’ve loved him since I was fourteen,” Kayla said, “and I still do. You’re not listening.” She shook her head, then wished she hadn’t as the room spun a little. She closed her eyes. “God, do the police never listen?” she whispered.

  “I’m listening,” Dunbar said, sounding different now, but Kayla felt too drained at the moment to answer. As if he sensed that, although Kayla wasn’t yet ready to cede that much sensitivity to him, he changed tack and began to question her instead on what exactly had happened.

  She opened her eyes and went through it all again but remembered nothing new to add to the account.

  “So you say you heard nothing, saw nothing, until the actual explosion itself,” the detective said. He didn’t say it in an accusing tone, but to Kayla it sounded that way anyway.

  “I wasn’t even in that room,” she explained again. “I was in the front of the house.”

  “Still, a broken window makes a lot of noise.”

  “Is that how it was done?” Hayley asked.

  The detective didn’t look at her as he nodded; he kept his gaze on Kayla’s face.

  “I’m not the arson people, but it looked to me like there was a small explosion in addition to a pretty standard Molotov cocktail, with the ignition point at the foot of the bed, although it spread fast enough and was hot enough that I’m thinking there might have been more than just gasoline involved. Probably trying to destroy any evidence.”

  Kayla smothered a shiver. She hadn’t realized until this moment just how narrow her escape had been. If she had stayed in bed, she might well be dead.

  As if he thought he’d put her off guard, Dunbar went back to his questioning.

  “And you were upset,” the detective said. “Distracted, by the fight you had earlier.”

  “It was not a fight,” she insisted, pushing back another shiver of reaction. Right now it was more important to convince this man. “And I was upset by Dane’s absence, not a couple of sharp words.”

  She closed her eyes again, feeling battered now.

  “It was Dane’s choice,” she heard Hayley say.