by Terri Reed
“This is great stuff,” she said. “I can’t wait to write this article. Oh, pictures. Would you mind if I take some?”
“You’d be better off waiting until the actual trials. Those will be much more interesting and dramatic. These are only a fraction of what we’ll be doing in competition.”
“Right. Good point.” She gestured to the other side of the floor’s center. “What about that wall with the window? Does someone hide on the other side of that?”
“No. Frosty has to go through the window.”
She stared at Frosty. “He can jump that high?”
“I give him a boost. Part of being a K-9 handler is making sure that we can lift our dogs while at the same time having the fifty or so pounds of equipment strapped to our body.”
She whistled. “That’s crazy.” She wrote it down.
“It’s necessary. We’re going to run the course so you can see how it works. And then you are.”
She barked out a laugh. “You’re not serious.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Yes, I am.”
“There’s no way I can lift that dog high enough to go through the window.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you can do it.”
She gave him a doubtful look. “I’m glad you’re so confident.”
“I am. You might want to stand over by the door. Once we get going you don’t want to be in the way.”
She nodded and hustled to plaster her back against the wall. Her pen poised over her notebook.
He patted his side and Frosty lined up next to him. In tandem, they walked to the far end of the training center.
“Sit.” Frosty obeyed. Carter stepped away then said, “Find.”
Frosty ran around the room, with his nose bouncing from the floor to the air. He went to the boxes and sat down in front of the far right one. Carter went over and opened a latch that allowed a door to open. Inside he found a small blue bucket filled with liver treats that Olivia kept inside. “Good boy.” He gave the dog a treat.
“What did he find?” Rachelle called out.
He held up the bucket. “The dog knows where his snacks are.”
She smiled and wrote in her notebook. He put the treats back.
As he patted his side, Frosty fell into step with him. They lined up for the crawl and the jump to the window. “Go!” They both ran as fast as they could, and then Frosty squeezed through the open end of the crawl space. Carter met his partner at the other end. They ran for the window.
Frosty jumped into the air, his front paws reaching for the windowsill. Carter caught him by the haunches and lifted Frosty the rest of the way. The dog leaped through the opening, landing easily and circling back to Carter’s side.
Rachelle clapped. “That was amazing.”
“Now your turn.”
She shook her head. “Not a chance.”
“You can do it. Put your purse down and come here.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Or are you too chicken?”
Her mouth popped open in obvious indignation. She snapped her lips together and laid her purse on the floor. “All right, hotshot. Show me how this works.”
Gratified to see her taking his challenge, he said, “Call Frosty to your side by patting your outer thigh. And call his name.”
She did as instructed. Frosty’s gaze bounced between Rachelle and Carter. He nodded, giving the dog permission, and Frosty trotted over to her side and sat beside her.
Her face lit up with delight and Carter’s breath stalled in his chest. Shaking his head, he stepped to the side. “When you’re ready, say go. Then you’re going to run as fast as you can to the crawl. While he’s taking the tunnel, you keep running toward the window. He’ll meet you there.”
Her eyebrows dipped together. “And you expect me to lift him?”
“You help push him up and through. I’ll be right alongside you.”
She grinned. “Just like a team.”
“Like a team.”
She took a deep breath and said, “Go.” She ran. Frosty darted forward with Rachelle racing behind. Carter couldn’t keep from grinning as he ran alongside her. Frosty took the crawl. When he emerged, Carter gave him a hand signal to slow down since Rachelle hadn’t reached the window yet.
Once she was there, Carter motioned for Frosty to take the window. As he leaped, Rachelle reached out to place her hands on his haunches. Carter moved in to help, his hands covering hers. Together, they boosted Frosty through the opening.
Rachelle clapped her hands, a big smile on her face. “That was fun. And you do that with all your gear on? I am so impressed.”
Pleased by her praise, he said, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Your story will sound authentic now.”
“You’re right. I appreciate you doing this for me.” The warmth in her gaze sent his heart pounding. The air around them seemed electrified. Frosty nudged him in the back of the knee. He took a step toward her as alarm bells went off in his head.
“Uh, we should get back to work.” He spun away and strode toward the door, his heart pounding in his chest like he was sixteen again.
EIGHT
“I’m telling you we should be looking closer at Miles Landau and finding this Ophelia woman. She might know something,” Rachelle stated, referring to the name that she’d uncovered in a social media post by Miles before his incarceration six years ago. Why wouldn’t Carter listen to her?
They sat across from each other at the conference table. He’d brought Frosty with them and the dog lay across her feet, keeping her toes warm in the air-conditioned room. Her eyes felt gritty from looking through her notes and her throat was sore from reading most of her handwritten pages aloud to Carter.
“Noah has Miles under surveillance.” His voice held a sharpness to it.
Ever since they had returned to the conference room after running the obstacles with Frosty, Carter had been distant with clipped answers and hardly looking at her.
Which seemed so odd considering she’d thought they were connecting in the training center. He’d been so kind to provide her a distraction from the horror of nearly being abducted.
But what did she know? He was a confusing man. All protective and caring then standoffish and brooding. She decided the stress of the case and the attempts on her life were making them both tense and edgy.
He sighed, long and loud, as if he’d just lost an argument he’d been having with himself, then he spoke as if he was explaining something to a very slow-witted person. “I ran the name Ophelia through the national database,” he continued. “Nothing noteworthy popped. Danielle, our computer tech, has been cross-referencing the name with Miles but hasn’t come up with anything. The name probably refers to the new rooftop bar that opened in the city and not a woman at all.”
Fearing he could be right, she stared at her notes with frustration pounding at her temples. Her stomach rumbled loudly. Embarrassment heated her cheeks. Frosty lifted his head and placed his chin on her knee. She rubbed him behind the ears.
Carter frowned. “You need to eat.” He stood and stretched. “Let’s go. We can continue this tomorrow.”
“I’d rather keep working,” she said. Her life was on the line. They needed to figure out who and why someone was trying to kill her. “Can we order in?”
His parents had called to say they were taking Ellie to dinner and a movie, which meant she and Carter were on their own. The prospect of an intimate meal shared with Carter was both thrilling and unnerving.
“How about we go to Griffin’s?”
The diner was an established neighborhood haunt and one of her favorite places located not far from the NYC K-9 Command Unit and her small apartment. The thought of seeing a friendly face or two appealed. She relented. “Sure.”
He picked up the lead from the chair where he’d placed it when they’d entered the room
and made a clucking sound with his mouth. Frosty rose and went to his side to be leashed up.
They left the building and Rachelle’s breath caught in her throat when Carter snagged her elbow, pulling her close. He smelled good, masculine and musky, and his protectiveness made her feel special. Which was ridiculous. She wasn’t special. He was doing his job, nothing more.
They stepped through the diner’s door and the aromas of savory dishes had her tummy cramping and her mouth watering.
“Well, look who’s here! Our own Georgia peach!” Lou Griffin’s loud voice boomed as he came out from behind the counter.
Glad to be out of the August humidity, Rachelle broke away from Carter and Frosty with a grin as she headed over to give the older gentleman a hug. “Hey, Lou.”
Extracting herself from Lou’s bear hug, she looked past the new appliances, gleaming counters and filled tables of the main diner to the area in the back they called the Dog House. An area designated for NYPD K-9 officers to eat while providing a place of rest for their canine partners.
The walls were covered with pictures to honor fallen officers. Rachelle’s attention caught immediately on the newest photo that had been added to the display—Jordan Jameson.
She really wanted to invade that sacred space, to question the other officers and get their take on Jordan’s murder, but she knew her questions wouldn’t be welcome. More to the point, she wouldn’t be welcome. At least not on her own. But if Carter invited her—though there was no way he would allow her to ask anyone about his brother.
Carter shook Lou’s hand and commented, “If I didn’t know, I’d never guess you had a fire here.”
More specifically, a bomb. Rachelle shuddered to think what could have happened if K-9 officers Gavin Sutherland and Brianne Hayes hadn’t been eating in the diner that night and if their dogs hadn’t alerted, allowing the two officers to evacuate everyone from the building.
Because she knew the owners and had been there the night of the explosion, she had made a case to her boss that she should write an article about the bombing and the arrest of both the bomber and the real estate developer who was behind the destruction in an attempt to force Griffin’s out for gentrification of the neighborhood. But her boss had assigned the story to a more “seasoned” male counterpart. She knew she shouldn’t let the twist of frustration deep in her chest change her, but she woke with it every morning and she hadn’t been able to let the story go.
Barbara Griffin walked out of the back tying an apron around her waist. “The remodelers did a really good job, didn’t they?” She opened her arms.
Rachelle moved in for a hug. The Griffins had appointed themselves as the welcome committee for this transplanted Georgia girl.
Barbara released Rachelle, then gave Carter a hug. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you here.”
“I know,” he said, his gaze straying to the Dog House wall.
Patting his arm with obvious sympathy, she said, “Violet’s working on a grand reopening celebration. I hope you both will attend.”
Violet was their adult daughter who helped run the diner when she wasn’t working at the customer service desk at LaGuardia Airport. She had recently married Carter’s brother, K-9 Officer Zach Jameson, in a small wedding that was attended only by family and close friends. Rachelle had to admit to a spurt of envy for Violet and Katie. To be welcomed into the Jameson family, to feel their love and support, would be a dream come true.
Good thing she’d learned that dreams and reality rarely coincided.
“Of course I will attend the grand opening,” Rachelle assured Barbara, touched by the invitation. The perfect opportunity for her to do a follow-up story that her boss couldn’t refuse. “I’ll even do a write-up about it for the paper.”
“We will not be pushed out by gentrification,” Lou heatedly vowed. “You can print that.”
Barbara put a hand on his arm. “Don’t get yourself worked up again, dear.”
He covered her hand. The obvious love they shared made Rachelle ache in a strange way. She’d never seen her own parents display genuine affection for one another. Nor had she experienced it herself.
“I know, I know,” Lou said. “Think of sailing calm waters on a balmy day. Relax.” He drew the last word out.
Barbara went up on tiptoe to give her husband a peck on the cheek. “Exactly.”
Carter looked at Rachelle. “Do you want to eat here or get dinner to go?”
Knowing this might be her only opportunity to sit in the Dog House, she said, trying not to sound too eager, “Here.”
“Sounds good. Let’s go get a table.”
“I’ll meet you back there. I need to wash my hands,” she told him.
Carter and Frosty walked into the back section.
When they were out of earshot, Barbara sidled up to Rachelle. “Oh, what’s going on here? You and the handsome officer? Do tell.”
A heated flush rose up Rachelle’s neck. “No, we’re not... Our—” She hesitated to call what they had a relationship. “We’re working on something together. Professionally.”
Lou went behind the counter. “The way he was watching you, I’d say he has more than a professional interest in you.”
With her heart fluttering at the suggestion that Carter felt anything more than duty toward her, she shook her head. “It’s really not like that. We’ve only just met.”
“Carter deserves some happiness,” Barbara observed. “It was tragic the way his wife died. It’s past time for him to find love again.”
Not sure how to respond to her statement, Rachelle excused herself and hurried to the restroom. She put some cool water on her face, but nothing could calm the secret yearning to be more to Carter than a burden from taking root inside of her.
She’d never considered herself one to willingly take on heartache but that was exactly what would happen if she allowed herself to hope there was a chance at a future with the handsome Jameson brother.
Slapping a hand to her forehead, she told herself, Get a grip. Stay focused. Staying alive and furthering her career were the priorities. Not romance. And certainly not with a man who had made it clear she was a temporary fixture in his life.
Girding her emotions behind a well-constructed wall, she entered the Dog House portion of the restaurant and scanned the busy room. There were many tables with officers of various ranks. Carter had taken a seat at a table near the back with three officers. Frosty was in the porch area with several other dogs.
Carter waved her over. As she approached, she was aware of the curious glances of everyone in the room. She was a stranger entering a strange land. Nervous flutters had her tummy jumping as she slid into a seat beside Carter.
A female officer with auburn hair and big brown eyes smiled at her. “Carter was just telling us about you. I’m sorry to hear you’ve had a rough time of it lately. But you’re in good hands with Carter.” She held out her hand. “I’m Brianne Hayes.”
“Nice to meet you.” Rachelle shook the woman’s hand. “Thank you. Carter’s been great. Very protective.”
A speculative gleam entered her gaze. “I would hope so.” She gestured to the man next to her. “This is Gavin Sutherland.”
He reached across Brianne to shake Rachelle’s hand. “Welcome.” As he settled his arm around Brianne in a way that made it clear they were couple, he said, “Carter mentioned you’re a reporter.”
Rachelle braced herself for the disdain she was sure would come. “I am. For NYC Weekly.”
“I’ve seen you in the diner.” The third officer, a big man with brown hair and hard features, eyed her warily with his dark brown gaze. “No comment.”
Tucking in her chin, Rachelle said, “Okay.”
“Knock it off, Tony,” Carter said with a smile. “She’s off duty.” He turned his blue eyes on her. “Right?”
&nb
sp; “Right. Except...” She smiled at him. “I am writing an article about you and the police dog field trials so...” She looked around the table. “I’d love to include anything you all could tell me about the competition.”
Tony sat back and pointed a finger at Carter. “He and Frosty will win.”
“I’ll be happy to place,” Carter said. “There’s some stiff competition this year. I’ve been hearing good things about the team from Boston PD.”
“Is anyone else from the command unit competing?” Rachelle asked.
“Are Luke and Bruno running the course this year?” Brianne asked.
Carter looked thoughtful. “I believe so.”
Barbara came over to take their orders. Rachelle ordered the daily special of Atlantic salmon over rice and mixed vegetables. Carter went for the meat loaf plate.
The conversation turned to politics, which created a lively debate on several issues facing the NYPD.
“You’re not from New York,” Brianne observed. “I detect a Southern accent.”
“You’re correct,” Rachelle admitted. “Georgia.”
“Tell us about home,” Gavin said. “I’ve been to Florida.”
Rachelle laughed. “Not exactly the same sort of Southern.” She told them of growing up in the onion capital of the US. “In the spring we have a world famous Onion festival.”
“What does one do at an onion festival?” Carter asked.
“It’s a big deal. The festival is shown on the Food Network and all sorts of culinary events take place showcasing the sweet onion. There’s a carnival and concerts with some big name country artists, a Little Miss Onion pageant for the up-to-twelve-year-olds. A Teen Onion and Miss Onion pageant. A parade—”
“And which year did you win?” Carter’s teasing tone sent a ripple of laughter through his friends.
A blush crept up her neck. “What makes you think I entered?”
His eyebrows dipped together. “You didn’t?”
“I did,” she said, and hated how her voice sounded defensive. “I won when I was ten.”
“Ah.” He gave her a smug smile. “I knew it.”