Rival Forces

by D. D. Ayres

  Yardley went back to the beginning and repeated the skill until they both were jumping and balancing unhesitatingly on the rail. Another lesson learned.

  “Gute Hunds!” Her pride sounded in her voice, high and girlish as she bent to love on them. The puppy pair were pretty happy with themselves, barking and wagging tails. They had already learned not to leap on a handler.

  After a moment, she held up the ball launcher again. Both puppies came to immediate attention and sat, dark eyes fixated. Thunder was the first to notice that Yardley had pulled a second ball from her pocket. He glanced at her and barked.

  Laughing, she reared back and launched both balls into the air. The brother and sister’s heads snapped, their bodies doing a little dance of coiled energy. But neither chased after the balls.

  When the balls had bounced in the thick spring-green grass Yardley cried, “In ordnung.” Okay, they were free to play.

  The pair took off like they’d been shot from a cannon.

  Both were very eager to learn, and came with a natural drive to please. Storm was a bit more courageous than Thunder at this stage. But Thunder would develop the slight advantage of male weight and size as they continued to grow.

  Yardley grinned as she watched the pair. Her first breeding project was a success.

  “Here you go, boss.”

  Yardley turned to find Taggart coming toward her with Oleg on the leash.

  Her expression went serious as she watched the Czech wolfdog approach. Nothing in his stride gave away the surgeries he’d been through to repair damage after he’d been shot.

  Taggart saw her frown and smiled a big toothy grin. “Stop worrying. He’s doing real good, Yard. I got him up on the tires and then jumping the bales. He’s leaping like a champion.”

  Oleg came bounding up to her, a friendly growl issuing from him.

  “Thanks, Taggart.” She took Oleg’s leash and squatted down to scratch him softly. Oleg offered her licks in return. They’d become more than handler and K-9. They’d become a team. But she wanted to be certain her affection for Oleg wasn’t clouding her judgment about his abilities. She needed to be sure he could do the things she thought he could.

  When Kye had delivered him to the vet four months ago, Oleg had been in critical condition due to trauma, blood loss, and exposure. He’d taken only one of the two shots aimed his way. Miraculously, the bullet had struck his ear first, tearing a hole in it before entering his right hindquarter. It tore some muscle, but the penetration hadn’t gone deep or shattered bone. He’d had surgery that night and again in the morning to repair the damage. Then came the weeklong wait to see if he would develop an infection. But the Czech wolfdog rallied, getting back on his feet faster than anyone expected.

  Now all that was left of Oleg’s experience was a torn ear and a tail that tended to lean to one side where a nerve had been damaged.

  “Good news, boss. The sheriff called to say the court decision has come in. Oleg’s in the clear.”

  Yardley looked up with a smile. “No more threats against him?”

  Taggart frowned, his face resembling a bulldog’s. “I’d like to see someone say he’s vicious after looking at those photos of what he suffered.”

  Yardley thought the same thing. But people were strange. The fact that Oleg’s attack had resulted in a death shocked everyone, including her. But the circumstances had been extreme. He was operating in near-blackout conditions, and he taken a bullet before his takedown bite. It was pure bad luck that his teeth had severed an artery. He hadn’t been trained to kill. But he was doing his job of providing protection.

  Still, all dog bites had to be reported. It had taken lots of testimony by friends and experts to convince a judge that Oleg wasn’t dangerous in ordinary circumstances. That he didn’t really know what he’d done, other than his job to protect his handler by biting the bad guy. Yardley had had to sign papers promising that Oleg would never work as a law enforcement K-9 before the judge would agree to consider allowing him to leave the shelter where he’d been placed while awaiting judgment.

  “Too bad he can’t now do his job. He’s more than capable.”

  “Thanks to you.” Yardley stood up and, not allowing herself to censor her actions, threw her arms about the big man and hugged him tight. “Thank you.”

  He turned bright red and grinned like a schoolboy. “My pleasure, boss.”

  It didn’t matter that he couldn’t work K-9 law enforcement. He wasn’t going to be a ghost op K-9 private security dog, either.

  Yardley had seen to that. She had told his owners that Oleg was no longer fit for the service they had in mind. It wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t liked what they had in mind. They’d been much too eager to hear the details of Oleg’s deadly takedown. Wanted to know if a dog could train for that particular bite. She wanted nothing to do with them. In fact, she mentioned that if the news got leaked they were training murder dogs, they’d be out of business. Then she bought him from his handlers, paying top price for a dog that would never work a day in the career he’d been trained for. But there were other jobs he’d be equally good at.

  Yardley reached for a tennis ball and held it up before Oleg. Then he noticed the pair of four-month-olds fighting to claim both balls. He glanced back at Yardley. And then at the pair. She knew what he wanted. She unleashed him.

  He came in fast on the pair of puppies, hitting them low and knocking their legs out from under them. They went tumbling across the grass like a pair of bowling pins after an Oleg ball strike. They rolled and were up instantly, barking and chasing their tormentor. Oleg easily outran them, only to circle back and grab one of the tennis balls. The other ball forgotten, they chased him until their tongues hung like bright-pink flags from their open jaws, and they collapsed in the grass. Only then did she lob the third ball their way. Oleg, of course, beat the youngsters to the new ball, claiming it. They, in turn, went to find the abandoned balls. After a moment, three happy dogs lay in the grass chomping on their favorite toys.

  Two hours later she was sitting behind the wheel of her Jeep headed for D.C. Georgiana had asked her, as a favor, to attend some sort of reception with her since Brad was, once more, out of town. Yardley had a feeling there was more to it than that but she wasn’t in a position to pry since she’d been closed up tighter than a clam in ice water about her love life.

  Or rather lack of it.

  Frowning, she pushed the button on her dash display and made a call.

  “Agent Jackson speaking.”

  “Hello. Yardley Summers here.”

  “Ms. Summers.” Jackson’s voice had taken on a warm tone she had never heard before. “I’ve been expecting your call.”

  Yardley glanced at the speaker. “Why?”

  “Always to the point. I’ve been in touch with a former colleague. He left a message for you, in case you called.”

  Her stomach jumped. She and David hadn’t been in touch since the week she’d spent by his side under guard in the hospital in D.C. “What does it say?”

  “Two words. Bonnie Raitt.”

  Yardley smiled. “Got it.”

  “Any return message?”

  “No.”

  “In that case, I’ve been advised to tell you he’s taking a sea voyage. Signed up for a cruise. Medical ship. Contained environment. Very secure. Limited access. Pretty good job for a doc on a mission. I’m told fresh sea air can do wonders for the soul.”

  “I’ve heard that, too. Thank you.”

  “So this is good-bye, Ms. Summers. Try to have a less eventful life. At least until after I retire. My wife would appreciate it, too.”

  After she hung up she slipped in a CD that had come in the mail weeks ago. No message. No return address. The opening notes of a piano filled the Jeep, followed by Bonnie Raitt’s beautifully plaintive voice full of love and tenderness and painful acceptance in “I Can’t Make You Love Me.” The plaintive cry of someone who loves but isn’t loved back.

  David’s way of sa
ying that he was moving on. Back to saving the world while he waited for a trial far in his future. Only she seemed to be stuck.

  Yardley suddenly understood that song from another perspective. Once she’d thought that her legacy would be to never know real love. It felt strange to be on the other side. She hadn’t loved David. Not enough to give up everything that defined who she was, what she was, what she had achieved. She wasn’t shocked when he told her that he was going back into witness protection indefinitely, maybe for years. His mission to take down illegal pharmaceuticals hadn’t altered. But it was no way to begin a life together. David’s words. Even so, there’d been something in his eyes that told her he wanted her to make him a liar, and come with him.

  Yardley sighed. She hadn’t asked for that chance. Her feelings toward David weren’t what she’d thought they were months before. Or maybe they were. They’d just been exposed for what they were: great affection, nothing more.

  Kye was the reason for this revelation. He had given her something to compare her feelings for David with. Her feelings for Kye, a dozen years old and dusty with age, were the real thing. Love. Clear and bright and undiminished. Her fault if she’d figured that out too late.

  Kye had left without offering her a chance to go with him.

  She hadn’t seen him since the morning he’d come to the hospital to tell her that he’d found Oleg, and stayed with her K-9 through his initial surgery.

  Yardley sucked in a quick breath. She’d seen in his eyes a distance that hadn’t been there before. He’d backed away from her touch. Wouldn’t even let her hug him in thanks. He’d mumbled something about “Four days of insanity over,” and back-walked out of her life.

  At the end of the song, she ejected the CD, rolled down the window, and, after a brief check to make certain no one was right behind her, sent it sailing out the window. Whatever the last year—certainly those four days—had been about, it wasn’t over for her.

  Maybe because Kye walking away didn’t feel like closure. Even now, thoughts of him still woke her in the wee hours, demanding her attention when she was too weak to keep them at bay.

  She tightened her mouth and glanced at her image in the rearview. She just didn’t know what to do about it.

  * * *

  “To strong women, handsome men, and lousy timing.” Georgie held up her third tequila shot.

  “Salud.” Yardley clinked glasses with her, and they both threw back their heads and drank.

  “Oh my.” Georgie blinked and fanned herself, her skin bright red in reaction to the alcohol. “I don’t think I can keep up with you, Yard. My eyes are refusing to focus.”

  “In that case, it’s lucky I have a room here tonight.”

  Yardley and Georgie were almost through a flight of tequila shots and shooters, ranging from a blanco to reposado and finally anejo. Each shot glass was rimmed with salt and came with a shooter. The first had been the traditional Mexican sangrita of orange juice, grenadine, and chili pepper. The second shooter contained a spicy green concoction of pineapple, cilantro, mint, and jalapeño. The third, sitting before them, contained tomato juice with Tabasco and Worcestershire sauce.

  Sometimes the only remedy for heartache was girl time and booze. Lots and lots of booze.

  Georgie signaled to the hotel bartender, who had been watching the pair in admiration.

  The women, dressed casually in tailored shirts, jeans, and heels, had drawn the eye of everyone who spotted them. It seemed impossible to ignore the pair of redheads at the bar. The contrast between Georgie’s curly paprika hair floating about her shoulders and Yardley’s spill of Cherry Coke hair parted simply in the middle invited comment.

  The bartender came over with a grin. “The men at the table beyond the end of the bar would like to buy you ladies a refill.”

  Yardley reached out and cupped the back of his hand. “Tell them no thanks. Our Navy SEAL husbands are waiting for us upstairs.”

  The bartender looked down at her hand. “You aren’t wearing a ring.”

  Yardley smiled. “That’s not where I wear it.”

  His brows rose but she was already looking away, reaching for her sangrita chaser.

  Georgie smothered her laughter in her palm as he moved away. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “Must be the tequila,” Yardley agreed. She was feeling a little reckless. But not desperate. “Want to tell me why I’m really here?”

  “Only if you want to skip dinner.”

  Something in her tone made Yardley suddenly very sure she wouldn’t now be able to swallow that thick juicy steak she’d been contemplating. She looked up at the bartender and shook her head as he poured. “Check.”

  She waited until they were on the elevator alone before she turned to Georgie, a scowl on her face. “What have you done?”

  Georgie shrugged. “I refused to be in the middle, okay? But the man can be persuasive.”

  Yardley’s stomach dropped as the elevator swooshed upward, implications running wild. “If you set me up…”

  Georgie shrugged. “Can I have the key to the room? I don’t think you’ll be needing it, after all.”

  The doors parted on their floor and Georgie beat her out. She smiled at the man waiting to get on, then turned back to Yardley. “Neutral territory. Good luck.”

  Yardley stared at the handsome man standing in the doorway with his dog by his side.

  He looked good, better than she’d ever seen him. He was all healed and tan, strong and fit and very handsome.

  She folded her arms, suddenly stone-cold sober. “What brings you to D.C.?”

  “You, sis.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Her half brother, Lauray Battise, stood in the elevator doorway, holding the leash of a PTSD service dog named Samantha. Sam was a cutesy rust-red mash-up of golden retriever and standard poodle with an enormous curling tail.

  The contrast between man and dog couldn’t have been more startling. Law was tall, hard, with black hair, sludge-gold eyes, and a chin like granite. A tinge of danger seeped into the air around him, making people move aside without even knowing why.

  Yardley reached out to stop the elevator doors from closing but didn’t step out or invite him in. “Why are you here, Law? Is something wrong with Jori? Did she kick you out?”

  Law grinned and shook his head. “Good to see you, too, Yard.”

  He stepped inside as the elevator chimed impatiently and pushed the LOBBY button.

  “Hi, Sam.” Yardley bent down and greeted Samantha before glaring at her owner. She hated being ambushed, and every instinct told her she was going to like it even less when she learned why Law had thought it was necessary. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “You haven’t answered my texts.” He smiled at her in a way that said he knew she was tipsy. Okay, maybe more than tipsy.

  “What do you want?”

  “Where’s your Jeep key?”

  “Why? Are you planning to kidnap me?”

  “I’m going to drive us home.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth. “No questions. No problems. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “I was going to take a cab. But seeing that you’re here.” She handed him the key.

  Yardley fell into step beside her brother as they crossed the lobby so in sync that their movements looked choreographed. Dressed alike in jeans and tailored shirts, his matched with military boots and hers with hand-tooled western stiletto booties, the Battises made a statement without opening their mouths.

  She handed the valet her ticket before turning to her brother and saying in a loud voice, “You promised me a steak dinner. If you plan on having your way with me, you need to feed me first.”

  Law ignored the heads snapping in their direction. “Cute. Burger on the way out?”

  She glared at him. “Double meat, bacon, and extra cheese.”

  “Geez, Yard. Anyone ever tell you that you eat like a man?”

  * * *

  Breakfa
st consisted of coffee. Black. Toast. Burnt. Attitude. Don’t give a damn.

  Law leaned an elbow on the mantel and gazed around the living room shaking his head. Usually immaculate, it looked like a tornado had blown through and parked six months’ worth of dog hair on every surface.

  Yard followed his gaze before her expression became defensive. “I’ve been busy.”

  “I can see that.” His gaze shifted to the very dusty artificial Christmas tree still standing in the corner. “You remember how you found me about this time last year?”

  “Falling-on-your-ass drunk, sunk in poor-me piss, and about a few drinks from swallowing your pistol?”

  He winced. “Yeah, something like that. Is this the female version? Because damn, Yard.”

  They’d always played hard off each other. Mostly because they’d never known each other well enough to be tender. And because their father didn’t want them to. The last year had brought them closer, but the close was still new and tender in its own way.

  She shook her head. “It’s been a rough few months. But I’m over it.”

  “Over what?”

  “All of it. Stokes. David. Everything.” She ducked her head. She’d almost added Kye to that list. But that would only open a can of worms that most definitely didn’t need exposure. “Like I said. I’ve been busy.”

  “You’ve been something. And it isn’t good. You’ve given up.”

  “Mind your own business, maybe?”

  She leaned forward in her chair to love on Sam. “Hey, Sam. Maybe you know why you’re here, since Law obviously isn’t going to say.”

  “Where’s your dog?” He picked up and sifted through his fingers a tuft of Czech wolfdog hair that had settled on the mantel. “I was going to ask if you’ve got a new dog. But there must be whole pack living here with you.”

  “Just Oleg. He’s at the vet’s getting a check-up.”

  “He heal up okay?”

  “Better than that.” She’d told him about all that had gone on over the New Year weekend immediately afterward. That didn’t explain why he was here four months after the fact.