Protecting Peyton: The Gold Coast Retrievers, Book 4
Page 2
At the Redwood Cove police department, Kurt sat behind a metal desk in the staff breakroom. The drone’s video footage played out on his tablet.
“Holy cow, is that you? Are those sharks? Whose dog is that?” His partner, Arnold Winters, stood over his shoulder, staring slack-jawed at the screen.
Kurt grinned, and a sense of pride swelled inside him at the other man’s reaction. Calling his partner by his nickname, he replied, “Yeah, Snowball. That’s me. Those are sharks. No idea whose dog it is, but I owe them bigtime. Let me restart from the beginning.”
Twenty minutes later, Kurt was playing the video for the umpteenth time. Neither he nor the gathering crowd of his fellow co-workers noticed when their Sergeant walked into the room. By the time Kurt looked up, the older man's scowl had turned his mustache into an inverted V.
The Sergeant stared down at the men and women around the desk and barked, “What are you all doing? Wasting county resources to watch videos on the YouTube again? Why aren’t any of you working?”
Apparently, it doesn’t matter that our shift doesn’t officially start for another few minutes, Kurt thought. He knew if he spoke up, the Sarge would reply with one of his usual pearls of wisdom. The man's most recent favorite was, If you start work early, then you’re on time and if you’re on time, then you’re late.
“Sarge, you’ve got to see this!” Winters waved the older man over to watch the clip with them. “It’s really cool! You’re not going to believe it. Our boy K.C. was almost shark bait.”
The uniformed men and women made room for the Sergeant. He watched the footage right up until the end before shooting Kurt an unenthused stare. Using his index finger, the Sergeant made a sweeping motion to point at everyone in the room, stopping on Winters. “You think this is cool, Snowballs? You think it’s okay to go out there and take risks? Let me tell you what’s cool. Going home at the end of the day with all the body parts you left with that morning.”
The Sergeant paused for breath, his gaze settling on Kurt. He let out a deep sigh before looking around at the other men and women. “You people start taking risks out there and the next thing you know, you’re going to start taking risks in here. And when we take risks on the job, people always get hurt. Always. We have enough trouble walking the thin blue line without trying to kill ourselves in our free time. Now get back to doing your jobs and stop wasting taxpayer dollars.”
Obeying their supervisor’s command, the others filtered away from the desk and returned to their work. Their comments were too soft for Kurt to discern anything intelligible.
The Sergeant turned to leave the room, but at the last minute he looked back at Kurt’s partner and barked, “Do you know what else would be cool, Snowballs? Help your partner over there study for the detective’s exam. Then maybe he can finally get that promotion.” With that, he turned and strode from the room without another word.
Kurt bookmarked the link to the video and closed the browser before powering his tablet down. Looking in the direction the Sergeant went, he sighed. Why can’t my dad just be happy I wasn’t eaten by a shark? Why does he feel the need to put me down in front of the whole department? Seven times taking the detective exam and I’m still writing parking tickets. It’s obvious this is where I’m meant to be. I wish he’d accept that.
“Hey, K.C. You ready to hit the street? It’s a new, exciting day out there,” his partner called from across the room. “I doubt we’ll catch anything more exciting than what was on that video.”
“Yeah, gimme a sec.” Kurt walked into the adjacent locker room, put the tablet in his locker with his backpack, which held a change of clothes, and fastened the door with a padlock. When he turned around, Winters stood in the open doorway.
“Dude, will your dad ever stop getting my nickname wrong? It’s Snowball, not Snowballs.”
“Not likely.” Kurt suppressed a snicker. “Especially considering how you got it.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, that wasn’t my fault. I was throwing a snowball at Carter. How was I to know the chief was standing behind him when he ducked.”
“Look on the bright side. At least he stopped calling you Snowflake.”
Arnold opened his mouth to reply, but the radios clipped to the shoulders of the men’s shirts crackled to life and killed any further conversation.
Chapter Three
Peyton sat behind the wheel of her Mini Cooper, Gilda strapped into the seat next to her. As she turned into the community college, the classic rock station on the radio began playing a Beach Boys song about surfing. She pushed the button to silence the music, having had enough of surfers for one day.
Driving through the parking lot, Peyton found a parking space close to the entrance of the science wing, a few spaces down from her brother’s rusted blue pickup truck. After leashing Gilda, she got as far as the front steps when she noticed the dog’s vest was askew. She bent to adjust it when her brother’s voice greeted her.
“Hey hey, Pey-pey.”
Peyton stood and shot her brother what she hoped was an apologetic smile. “Hey yourself. Sorry I’m late. We had a little excitement on the beach this morning, which meant this girl needed a bath. Then, of course, I needed a shower. And when I got out, some-puppy had filled the bathroom full of toys.”
“It’s not a problem,” Owen rushed in to say when Peyton paused to take a breath. “Follow me. The biology lab is this way.”
“I’m glad we’re still able to make it after what happened this morning.” she said in attempt to lure her brother into her dramatic event. When Owen didn’t respond, Peyton rolled her eyes and asked, “Everything okay with you?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine. Why? What did you hear?”
“Um, nothing? Should I have heard anything?”
“No,” Owen replied. Peyton thought he looked as though he might say something else, but he shook his head. “Thanks for doing this.”
“No problem. You know I love talking about my dog. Do I look okay?” Peyton glanced down at her outfit, which consisted of khaki cargo-style capris and a t-shirt with the silhouette of a golden retriever that read who rescued whom with paw prints in place of the letter o.
Without looking at his sister, Owen quipped, “Yep. Not much different than the older students or younger professors.”
She beamed at the compliment. “You think I’ll do okay?”
“As long as you don’t say olli-factory again.”
“Gee, thanks bro.”
Ignoring his sarcastic snicker, Peyton tightened her grip on Gilda’s leash with one hand and held the handle of her messenger bag in the other. The first time she gave a talk to one of his classes, her nerves got the better of her and she mispronounced olfactory. She let the subject drop and followed her brother through the labyrinthine hallway to the lab. “I’m glad you’ll be here to show me the way out.”
“You could have Gilda find her way back to the parking lot, right?”
Peyton bit back a defensive response when she Owen’s crows feet wrinkle and the way the ends of his mouth twitched in an attempt not to grin—telltale signs he was teasing her.
When they reached their destination, Owen held the door open for Peyton and Gilda before following them into the lab.
“Hey there, Professor Mason. This is my sister Peyton and her dog, Gilda.” Turning to Peyton, Owen continued, “This is Professor Michelle Mason.”
A tall woman walked forward and extended a hand to Peyton, who shook it once before taking a step back. “Thank you for coming in to talk to my students. I’m not sure who’s more excited—the students, who will be getting out of their lab work, or me, to learn more about your wonderful dog.”
Before Peyton could respond, Gilda gave a friendly woof and sat on the floor, her tail swishing happily against the gray linoleum tiles. Grinning at her furry companion, she replied, “As you can see, we’re pretty excited, too. Thank you for having us. My brother has told us many wonderful things about you.”
“These talks are a good way to share knowledge about dogs like Gilda, as well as tips for being lost in an unfamiliar setting. It’s such an easy situation to find oneself in, and it happens more frequently than you might imagine.”
A smart watch strapped to Professor Mason’s wrist emitted a low-pitched alarm and she pushed a button on the device to silence it. “That’s my ten-minute warning. The students will arrive soon. I have you set up over there, if that’s okay.” The professor gestured to the other side of the room where a stool and lectern waited.
“That’s perfect, thanks,” Peyton replied.
Peyton led Gilda to the space and fished a notebook from her messenger bag. As she flipped to the page that held her handwritten notes, the dog sat without waiting to be told. Peyton grinned and squatted to hug Gilda with one arm while using the other to fish a plastic medicine bottle full of tiny liver-flavored treats from her bag. As she gave the dog one of the treats reserved for training sessions, she murmured, “Such a good girl. Yes, you are.” She planted a smooch on top of Gilda’s head then stood to take a seat on the stool.
Arriving early gave her the chance to get a feel for the students’ personalities as they filtered into the lab. Most came over to greet her with the excuse of wanting to pet Gilda, but a couple of males, who could have passed for professional-level football players, went straight to the back of the room. She suppressed a smile, thinking of how she’d use them in her demonstration.
At the top of the hour, Professor Mason held up her hand for silence and all but the two male students in the back gave the woman her full attention. She cleared her throat twice before the young men realized class had started.
“Thank you. Now, as I’m sure you have noticed, today we have guests. This is Peyton McIntyre. I’ll let Miss McIntyre let you know why she’s here and who the lovely lady is that she has with her.”
Peyton stood and motioned for the golden retriever to stay. “Hello, everyone. I’m Peyton and this is my golden retriever, Gilda. She’s a search and rescue dog and I’m her handler. Working with her in the field inspired me to learn about a canine’s superior olfactory senses compared to humans.”
She turned to smirk at Owen, but he wasn’t there. A cursory glance through the door’s narrow window found her brother in the hall. He stood ramrod straight with his hands on his hips while facing another male. The other male paced, gesturing with his hands. Whatever they were saying, Peyton couldn’t make out a word of it. Sensing a restlessness in the students, she turned back to them and went on. “In case you’re not familiar with the term, it refers to the sense of smell.”
Peyton’s time with the students flew past. The part of her talk that got the most reaction from the students was when she volunteered the two jocks to play hide and seek with Gilda. The young men balked at first but soon got into the game. She never would have guessed there were so many places for brawny young men to hide in a biology lab. Time flew, and before she knew it, they had reached the question and answer portion of the discussion.
“Thank you, Professor Mason and all of you, for letting Gilda and me crash your classroom. If you have any questions or want to follow Gilda on Reel Life, you can look for her under the handle SARGilda, all one word.” Peyton spelled out Gilda’s handle and Professor Mason stood from her desk.
“Thank you, Miss McIntyre and Gilda. We’re honored that you’ve taken time out of your schedule to visit with us, and we’ll definitely follow Gilda on social media.” Professor Mason went on to remind her class about an assignment before allowing them to go on about their day.
As the students filtered out of the laboratory, each one paused to receive a fistbump, high five, or handshake from the golden retriever. Peyton was surprised when the two young men stopped to shake her hand as well, thanking her for her time.
“That was delightful. You’re an excellent speaker. Have you ever thought about teaching?” Professor Mason asked when it was just the two of them.
Peyton laughed. “No, I couldn’t do that every day. I enjoy my day job as a graphic designer far too much. Besides, it allows for me to drop everything and go on a search and rescue mission if Gilda and I are called to help.”
“You make a good point. Well, thank you again. And thank you, Gilda.”
After the professor hugged Gilda and they exchanged goodbyes, Peyton looked into the empty hallway. When she noticed Professor Mason staring at her, she smiled, waved, and began walking down the corridor. Did we make a right or left at that corner? Or did we come from the opposite direction?
Peyton pulled her phone from her bag and tried calling her brother, but the call went straight to voicemail. She tried texting him. All done. Where R U? After five minutes, there was still no reply. She was tempted to find her way out of the building as Owen teased.
A glowing red light near the top of the wall caught her attention, and she was relieved to see the emergency exit sign. She followed the direction of the arrow to the same set of doors that she and Owen used to enter the building and was relieved to see her Mini Cooper. Her brother’s car, on the other hand, was gone.
Chapter Four
“Hey Joyce,” Kurt called to the bartender. “Can we get a pitcher of whatever the special is at table eighteen?”
“No worries, sugar. I’ve got you all set up,” came the woman’s raspy reply. She patted the back of her hair with one hand, her silver tresses swept into an updo hairstyle. Tilting her head, she gave Kurt an exaggerated wink. “But if you need anything else, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks.” Kurt held up his hand in a careful wave, not wanting to encourage the woman’s affections before making a beeline toward his friends. Great. I’ve had a few long days of being tormented about this at work, and now I have to put up with it here.
As usual, Winters had claimed their usual booth in the back corner, adjacent to the dart boards. It gave them a clear view of the establishment while allowing them to talk about their work without being overheard. Kurt took a couple of steps in that direction when his partner called out to him.
“Hey, shark bait!” Winters stood, his chair sliding back against the floor, and pumped his fist in the air. “You’re famous, dude!”
A cheer went up from the other patrons in the bar, most of which were police officers and firefighters. As Kurt made his way to the table, several clapped his shoulders and told him how much they loved the video.
One petite redhead pressed her curvaceous body against him, stood on her toes, and murmured low in his ear, “I don’t know how you stayed out there with them. You sure are brave.”
“Um, thanks.” Kurt forced a smile and pressed forward. When he finally reached the table, he breathed a sigh of relief. Looking at Winters, he asked, “Hey Snowball, did all these people see my video?”
“Yep! It’s on Reel Life, and it already has six thousand hits.”
“What? Who put it on Reel Life?” Kurt looked at Winters, who shrugged in reply. Pulling his phone from his pocket, Kurt tapped the icon for the social app. His eyebrows raised when he saw the drone footage listed amongst the app’s most top-rated posts. The creator’s profile name was unfamiliar, but the description led him to believe that one of the teens had uploaded it. One of the detectives from the department tagged him in the comments. That explained how everyone knew the surfer was him. Kurt groaned and pressed his palm to his forehead.
“What’s wrong, K.C.? They cut out the part after the dog drags you out. You know, where you argue with the gorgeous blonde? Otherwise, you look like a total pro out there. Are you saying you didn’t get her name or anything?”
“No. As I told you a thousand times today, I have no idea who she is. She was just a woman who was jogging on the beach.” Kurt stoppe
d talking but the next sentence rang as clear in his mind as if he’d spoken the words out loud. A woman whose dog risked its neck to save mine, and did I even say ‘Thanks’? No. I was an ungrateful jerk.
"I’ll take up jogging if it means running into her.”
Kurt peered over the table at the paunch ever developing around his partner’s midsection. “You can’t be serious.”
“You'd better believe it! If her dog dragged me from that water, I’d have played dead so she would have had to give me mouth-to-mouth.”
Before Kurt could respond, the redhead from earlier slid into the booth and sidled up next to Kurt. “Ooh, did I hear someone asking for mouth-to-mouth?”
“Yeah,” Kurt blurted. “It was my partner here, Snowballs.”
Winters glared at Kurt. “What’s your problem, dude?”
Ignoring the men, the woman turned to Kurt and stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Firefighter Nicole Hawkins, but you can call me Hawk. You looked amazing in that video. I can’t believe how brave you were, out there in the ocean like you didn’t have a care in the world, with all those sharks around.”
“Um, thanks, Nicole.” Kurt gave her hand a quick shake, withdrawing it before her icy fingers could send their chill into his palm. Her voice had a breathy, Marilyn Monroe quality. Without the cute innocence the actress possessed, however, the affect fell flat and held zero appeal for him.
A waitress set a pitcher of beer on the table with fresh glasses. “Joyce says that her little surfer boy gets this one on the house.”
Her little surfer boy? Has she seen the video, too? Good grief. Kurt felt a blush rising in his cheeks and snuck a glance at the bartender. The woman gazed back with a flirty smile and wiggled her fingers in his direction. He raised his glass in polite acknowledgement and looked at the table to avoid her gaze. Ugh. I’ll take that as a yes. Why is she even leering at me? She’s old enough to be my mother.
Nicole continued chattering at his side, but Kurt had lost track of her one-sided conversation.