by Muth, Becky
“Who said anything about desk duty?” The Sergeant’s lips formed a grim line beneath his mustache.
“Isn’t that standard operating procedure? If you get hurt, you go on desk duty?” Kurt challenged.
“It’s at the discretion of your supervisor. Since I’m your supervisor, I’m recommending you take a couple of weeks to reflect on recent events.”
“You can’t do that!” Kurt stared at his father, his eyebrows narrowing across his forehead.
Sergeant Collins cleared his throat. “Actually, I can, and the chief has already signed off on it.”
Kurt balled the hand on his uninjured arm into a fist and exhaled through his teeth.
“Winters, you’re dismissed. I’ll let you know tomorrow who you’re riding with for the next two weeks.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Winters turned and glanced at Kurt, giving his partner an encouraging nod before exiting the room.
The minute the door clicked shut, the Sergeant’s features relaxed. “Have a seat, son.”
Kurt claimed one of the two oak armchairs that sat facing the desk and stared at his feet.
“Look at me.”
Raising his gaze, Kurt squirmed, wanting to look anywhere but at his father. Pulling a trick from his days in the academy, he stared at the man’s forehead to avoid looking him in the eye.
“Do you understand why I’m upset with you?”
“Because when I screw up, which I do often, it tarnishes our family’s good reputation that you and our ancestors built up within the department.”
Sergeant Collins folded his hands on the desk. “No. Because I don’t want to lose my only son in a senseless accident that otherwise could have been prevented. Believe it or not, I care about what happens to you, Kurt. No matter what else happens. Understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“No offense, dad, but aside from riding me about failing the detective’s exam, this is the most personal thing you’ve said to me since I joined the force.”
“I know, and I won’t apologize for it. Sitting around talking about our feelings isn’t going to make you better at your job. You get soft, you get hurt. That’s how it works, son.” A moment of silence dragged on, broken when the Sergeant sighed. “Go on, get out of here.”
Kurt stood, grateful for the reprieve. His hand wrapped around the doorknob when his father added, “Oh, and your mother asked me to remind you about our next family dinner. Since you won’t be signing up for OT, there won’t be any reason for you to miss it. I’m guessing there’s still no plus one?”
“No, dad.” Kurt’s hand tightened around the doorknob. He gave it a hard twist and pulled it toward him, revealing the hall leading into the busy lobby. “There’s still no plus one.”
“I figured. Stay safe out there, okay?” Before Kurt could reply to his father, the man added, “And try not to get eaten by any sharks.”
Chapter Nine
Peyton took a few steps into her brother’s living room and her mouth fell open. Pieces of a broken lap scattered across an upturned sofa. Contents of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lay in disarray upon the carpet. Hypodermic needles piled upon a marble-topped coffee table, a jagged crack creating a diagonal split in the stone. “Wow. Yeah, no. There’s no way Owen would leave his house in this shape.”
Lopez asked, “So this isn’t how it normally looks?”
“Gosh, no! My brother is a total neat freak. Actually, he makes neat freaks look messy. His office gets cluttered with paperwork from time to time, but his house? No way!” She remained planted a few steps inside the front door, Gilda at her side. The dog gave a little whine and Peyton squatted in place to murmur words of reassurance. That’s when she noticed the symbol painted on the bottom of the sofa. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Jones asked.
When Peyton pointed, Lopez cleared his throat. “We can talk about this down at the station.”
“Wait, we can’t talk about it here?”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am.” Lopez held up one finger and turned to the open doorway. “Hey! Don’t block in the Mini. Park on the street for now and you can move the van later.”
“Pardon me?” Peyton crossed her arms over her chest and scowled.
Jones offered a thin smile. “Look, ma’am, can you please meet us down at the station? We strongly suggest that you file a missing person’s report, and now that the crime scene investigators are here, we should get out of their way.”
“So, he is missing? What else have you found in here?” Peyton took another step into the room, but Jones stuck her arm out, preventing further passage.
“I can’t let you go any further, and we will finish this conversation down at the station. We do have reason to believe, however, that yes, your brother is a missing person.”
“But we can find him, right?” Peyton looked from one officer to the other and pointed at her dog. “I mean, Gilda here can find anyone.”
Lopez sighed. “I’m sure she can, but let’s finish talking about this down at the station, okay?”
“It’s okay if Gilda comes, too? And what’s going to happen to that busted front door?”
“Why, of course this gorgeous girl can join us,” Jones cooed, stooping to scratch the golden retriever behind the ears. When she stood, she looked at Peyton. “Let’s get out of here and let them do their job, which includes making sure the door is secure.”
“Well, okay.” Peyton took a last glance around the room. Darn it, Owen. You told me you wouldn’t ever disappear on me again.
* * *
Inside her car, Peyton slid her phone in the hands-free mount and used the voice operated assistant on her phone to call her brother’s teaching assistant.
“Peyton, hey. Was he there?”
“No, he wasn’t, Carla. Someone broke into his home and created an awful mess.”
“You didn’t go in there alone, did you, hon?”
“No. I called the police as soon as I saw the door had been busted open. I’m heading to the station now. They want me to fill out a missing person’s report.”
Carla exhaled. The sound that came through the phone was between a sigh and swearing. “Keep me posted, okay?”
Peyton promised she would and ended the call, driving the remainder of the distance in silence. Gilda sat in the passenger seat, her typical cheerful demeanor overtaken by a more subdued one. She whimpered and set her chin on the door frame, looking out the window.
Jones and Lopez waited on the front steps leading up to the district station. When Peyton and Gilda arrived, the four of them went into the police station together.
“This shouldn’t take long,” Lopez assured as he held the door open for the others.
The front lobby was busier than Peyton expected. Gilda drew equal attention from both officers and civilians, and plenty of it. Because the dog wasn’t wearing her search and rescue vest, only Peyton knew she was anything other than a family pet. As a result, every few steps another person asked to pet the dog. Gilda basked in the attention. By the time they reached a room in the back, drool hung like walrus tusks from either corner of her muzzle.
Jones ushered Peyton and her dog into the room and disappeared, only to return a minute later with a foil pan. She placed the disposable container on the table. It held two bottles of cold water and a handful of napkins with the Sweets and Treats bakery logo.
“Napkins for the drool, and a water each for you and your dog.” When Peyton didn’t immediately respond, Jones offered, “The pan was as close as we had to a bowl in the breakroom. I spent a bit of time with LAPD’s K-9 program and know big dogs get thirsty.”
“Thank you.” Peyton took a few minutes to wipe Gilda’s drool away and situate her with a pan of water on the floor. Having run out of reasons to face her emotions, she turned to the officer. “I really appreciate this and, well, everything.”
Jones took the seat on the opposite
side of the table. A clipboard in front of her held a sheath of paper. “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be, but I can promise you that we will do everything in our power to find your brother.”
For the next twenty minutes, Jones asked Peyton a series of questions about Owen’s physical description, emotional state, and lifestyle. They were just finishing up when Lopez stepped into the room.
The other officer took the empty seat next to Jones. He laid a thick folder on the table and stared at Peyton. “Ms. McIntyre, if you don’t mind, I need to ask you a few more questions.”
“Okay,” Peyton agreed. “Anything to find Owen. I’m happy to help however I can.”
Lopez laid out a series of mug shots and asked Peyton if she recognized anyone. At each one, Peyton shook her head until she reached the last photo. Something about one of the men sparked a memory. Thinking back to her activities in the past couple of weeks, it came to her and she blurted, “I saw this guy at the college.”
“Oh, did you now?” Jones pointed to the mug shot to confirm. “You’re sure it’s this one? Please tell us everything about your encounter with this man, no matter how minor. When you saw him, what part of the building, what he was wearing, and anything else. What you might think is a small detail could be a bigger clue than you realize.”
Peyton explained seeing the man talking to Owen during her presentation for Professor Mason’s class.
“And how about this symbol? Have you ever seen this before today?” Jones held out her phone. The screen displayed the same symbol spray painted inside Owen’s home.
“Never. Is it important?”
Lopez explained, “It’s a tag belonging to a new gang trying to move into this area. Does your brother have ties to any gangs that you know of?”
“That is ridiculous.” Peyton laughed. “If my brother had formed a gang, then they’re probably off debating the quantum theoretics of time travel and how many gigawatts of power they need to move a DeLorean or some other nonsense.”
“Ma’am, if you remember, the main character of the movie you so frivolously are referring to stole the plutonium.” Lopez narrowed his gaze at her. Jones wore a matching grim expression.
Oh crud. These cops are serious. Peyton sat a little straighter and squared her shoulders, too distracted to be impressed at their knowledge of the Michael J. Fox series of films. “Listen, I know my brother. There’s no way Owen is in a gang. We’re wasting time even considering it. The sooner we finish this discussion, the sooner Gilda and I can start looking for him.”
“You and your dog will start looking for him?” Jones tilted her head. “I’m sorry, but you can’t just go off looking for a person when you have no idea where to begin. You would be searching for a needle in a haystack.”
Peyton grabbed Gilda’s leash. “Fortunately, that’s what we’re best at. Are we finished here?”
“For now but stay in the area in case we need to ask you anything else,” Lopez requested, his tone firm.
Jones held out a business card with the police department insignia. “Please call us if you hear from your brother.”
“Thank you, I will.” Peyton took the card and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans. Gripping Gilda’s leash, she led her dog from the room and into the hallway. The pair had no sooner reached the lobby when a door to her left slammed hard enough to rattle the glass inside.
Gilda raised her nose into the air and sniffed.
“What is it, girl? Is it your Uncle Owen?”
The dog gave a cheerful bark and tugged forward.
Peyton dropped the leash. “Gilda, go find.”
Chapter Ten
The door shut harder than Kurt intended, causing the single piece of etched glass to rattle in its wooden frame. With a snort, he turned and followed the hall to the lobby, now filled with people. His heart began racing and he could feel sweat break out across his forehead. How did this place get this crowded so fast? I need to get out of here.
Kurt took two steps toward the exit when a dog bounded toward him and jumped up, putting its paws on his shoulders. The dog licked his chin and he found himself laughing. Reaching up with his uninjured hand, he petted the side of the dog’s face. “Well, hi to you too. Do you have a human around here?”
“No! Jumping on strangers is a bad thing!” A female voice rang to the lobby, its owner babbling on as she strode toward Kurt. “We do not jump. You’re not a jumping dog. Get down and leave that poor man alone. He’s already got a broken arm. You’ll hurt him worse. Get down right now.”
The dog gave Kurt's chin a final slurp before sitting on the floor at his feet. He smiled at the dog, then glanced up to see a petite blonde standing in front of him, her piercing blue eyes filled with questions. If the dog hadn’t been with her, he would have second guessed himself, but it was her—the woman from the beach.
“I’m so sorry. She’s normally more well behaved. I’m not sure what got into her.” She stooped to grab the dog’s leash, and when she stood again, she tilted her head to stare at Kurt. “Have we met before?”
“It’s not broken.”
“What?”
Before he could answer, Winters clapped his hands. “Hey, it’s the hero dog! You saved our guy’s life, you know that?”
The woman looked from Winters to Kurt. The other people in the lobby began elbowing each other and pointing.
“It’s you,” she said, her voice flat. Turning away, she gave the leash a tug. “Come on, Gilda. We have to go.”
“No, wait.” Kurt stepped in front of her. “Please. I need to talk to you.”
“Oh, I think you did enough talking that day on the beach.”
“They weren’t joking around. Your dog really saved my life. Can we please go somewhere else and talk?”
The woman looked from Kurt to her dog, then back to him. “You’re serious?”
“She sure did! She was amazing!” Winters blurted.
The woman threw a confused glance at his partner. “I know she saved his life. It’s what she does and when you consider the thousands of hours we’ve spent training to do this, I’d be surprised if she hadn’t saved him. I meant you’re serious about thinking I’d want to spend any time with you.”
“Please?” Kurt hated begging, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
The woman cocked her head to one side and stared him down. “Why do you even care? You were pretty clear how you felt about it the last time.”
“I’m a different person now. New information has come to light”
“Sure.” She started to turn away.
“I swear it on my uninjured arm!” Kurt held up his good arm and wiggled his fingers. “Can I please explain it to you over a cup of coffee?”
“Well, I don’t know.”
Winters, ever the wingman, stepped forward. “I can vouch for him. He owes you more than that cup of coffee though. You should hear him out.”
“It doesn’t have to be right now.” Kurt motioned toward the sling. “I have a bit of free time coming up.”
The woman shook her head. “No. Now is okay.”
A cheer went up from the surrounding crowd. Winters clapped Kurt’s shoulder. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
Somewhere down the hall, another door slammed and the Sergeant appeared, arms folded over his chest. The room went quiet. “I’m not sure why you’re wasting taxpayer dollars standing around here, but it would be nice to see you out there serving the community that is responsible for your paycheck.”
Most of the crowd dispersed at once and the older man strode through the lobby.
“Why are you still here?” He paused to stare at Kurt, then turned to the woman with the dog. “And what do you need?”
“She's with me and we were just leaving,” Kurt replied.
“Then do that. And remember, if it’s not a service dog, it’s not allowed in here,” he added, pointing at Gilda before disappearing through a door marked “Staff Breakroom”.
“No, that’s fine.”
“Awesome. I just need to grab my backpack first. Wait here?” Kurt didn’t wait for the woman to nod; he ducked into the breakroom. Ignoring his coworkers, including his father, he went directly to the locker area where he retrieved his backpack.
“Yo, K.C.! Hold up a second.” Winters jogged into the room, exhaling in little breaths that puffed out his cheeks. “What’s the deal with mystery woman?”
“Dunno yet.” Kurt slung his good arm through a strap on his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “But I definitely need to thank her for saving my life.”
“Did you see Hawk was here for you?”
“Who?”
“That cute redheaded firefighter chick from the bar.” Winters waggled his eyebrows.
Kurt groaned. “Listen, can you go distract her and give me a chance to get out of here?”
“Sure thing, brother. I’m happy to take her off your hands.”
Winters left the room and Kurt waited, giving him a few minutes head start. When he returned to the lobby, he found the blonde and her dog waiting near the front counter. He beckoned and they followed, the woman giving her dog’s leash a gentle tug. Kurt sprinted ahead toward the double doors and used his good arm to hold the door open for her.
The woman tilted her head. “Um, thanks, but I’ve got it.”
“Okay then.” Kurt stood back.
“Sorry. Not because I’m a hardcore feminist. It’s just, you know. You’ve got one arm in a sling and I don’t expect you to—oh, never mind.” A blush crept into the woman’s cheeks.
Once they were out on the sidewalk, she said, “So your boss seems charming.”
“He’s not usually that gruff with strangers. I put him in a bad mood.” Kurt motioned toward the sling. “We all know it’s a risk, but nobody expects to get hurt on the job.”
“This happened today? Are you all right?”