by Нора Робертс
Not so many years before, she’d imagined herself raising a family— three-kid plan—in a pretty suburb. She’d have learned to cook good, interesting meals and would love her part-time job (to be determined). There would have been dogs in the house and a swing set in the yard, dance lessons and soccer games.
She’d have been a steady and supportive cop’s wife, a devoted mother and a contented woman.
She’d have been good at it, Fiona thought as she sat on the porch taking in the quiet morning. Maybe she’d been young to have been planning marriage and family, but it had all unfolded so seamlessly.
Until.
Until there was nothing left of that pretty picture but shattered glass and a broken frame.
But.
But now she was good at this. Content and fulfilled. And she understood she’d come to this place, to this life, to these skills because all those lovely, sweet plans had shattered.
The core might be the same, but everything around it had changed. And she was, because of or despite that, a happy, successful woman.
Bogart came over to bump his head under her arm. Automatically, she shifted, draped her arm over him to rub his side.
“I don’t think everything happens for a reason. That’s just the way we cope with the worst that happens to us. But I can be glad I’m here.”
And not feel disloyal, she thought, to Greg, to all those pretty plans and the girl who made them.
“New day, Bogart. I wonder what it’ll bring.”
As if in answer, he came to alert. And she saw Simon’s truck rolling down her drive.
“Could be interesting,” she murmured as the other dogs raced over to join her and sit, tails drumming.
She smiled at Jaws’s happy face peering out from the windshield on the passenger’s side, and Simon’s unreadable one behind the wheel.
She rose and, when the truck stopped, gave her dogs the release signal. “A little early for class,” she called when Simon stepped out, and Jaws leaped into the reunion with his buddies.
“I’ve got your damn tree.”
“And so cheerful, too.” She wandered over as he waded through the dogs.
“Give me the coffee.” He didn’t wait for the offer but took her mug, downed the rest of the contents.
“Well, help yourself.”
“I ran out.”
Because he looked surly, unshaven and sexy, she fluttered her lashes at him. “And still, here you are bright and early with a tree, just for me.”
“I’m here bright and fucking early because that dog chewed open five pounds of dog food somewhere before dawn, then opted to puke it up, bag and all, on my bed. While I was in it.”
“Awww.”
Simon scowled as the concern and attention went straight to the dog. “I’m the injured party.”
Ignoring him, Fiona rubbed the puppy, checked his eyes, his nose, his belly. “Poor baby. You’re okay now. That’s all right.”
“I had to throw out the sheets.”
From her crouch, Fiona rolled her eyes. “No, you clean off the puke, then you wash the sheets.”
“Not those sheets. He heaved like a drunk frat boy.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“I didn’t eat the damn kibble.”
“No, but you didn’t have it stowed where he couldn’t get to it, or better yet in a lidded container. Plus, he’s probably not ready to have free rein in the house. You should put up a baby gate.”
His scowl only deepened. “I’m not putting up a baby gate.”
“Then don’t complain when he gets into something he shouldn’t while you’re sleeping or otherwise occupied.”
“If I’m getting a lecture, I want more coffee.”
“In the kitchen.” Once he’d stomped out of earshot, she let the wheezing laugh escape. “He’s mad at you, isn’t he? Yes, he’s very mad. He’ll get over it. Anyway”—she gave Jaws a kiss on his cool, wet nose—“it was his own fault.”
Rising, she walked to the back of the truck to get a look at her tree.
She stood there, grinning still, when Simon strode out with his own mug of coffee.
“You got me a dogwood.”
“It seemed appropriate when I bought it yesterday. But that was before this morning when I was reminded dogs are a pain in the ass.”
“First, it’s a beautiful tree. Thank you. Second, any and everything that depends on us can be pains in the ass. He booted on your bed because when he felt sick and scared he wanted you. And third”—she laid her hands on his shoulders, touched her mouth to his—“good morning.”
“Not yet.”
She smiled, kissed him again.
“Marginally better.”
“Well, let’s plant a tree and see what that does for you. Let’s put it over there. No...” She changed direction. “There.”
“I thought you wanted it back in the woods, where the stump was.”
“Yes, but it’s so pretty, and back there hardly anyone will see it but me. Oh, there, back there, just on this side of the bridge. Maybe I should get another one for the other side. You know, so they’d flank the bridge.”
“You’re on your own there.” But he shrugged, opened the truck door.
“I’ll go with you, give you a hand.” So saying, she hopped nimbly in the back of the truck and sat on the bag of peat moss.
He shook his head but maneuvered the truck around, eased to the bridge and parked again. When he got out to lower the tailgate, she slung the bag of peat moss over her shoulder.
“I’ll get that.”
“Got it,” she said, and jumped down.
He watched as she carted it over to the spot she wanted, set it down. When she came back, he took her arm. “Flex,” he ordered.
Amused, she obeyed, saw his eyes register surprise when he tested her biceps. “What do you do, bench-press your dogs?”
“Among other things. Plus, I just have excellent protoplasm.”
“I’ll say.” He climbed up to pull the tree to the tailgate. “Get the tools, Muscle Girl. There should be an extra pair of work gloves in the glove box.”
The dogs sniffed around but soon lost interest. He said nothing when she hauled over the bag of soil he’d bought to mix with the peat, still nothing when she walked back to the house trailing the dogs.
But he stopped digging to watch her walk back carrying two pails like some lean-muscled milkmaid.
“My hose won’t reach this far,” she told him—and he was gratified she was at least a little winded. “If it needs more water, I can get it from the stream.”
She set the buckets down. The dogs immediately began to lap at the water.
“I don’t know why I never thought to plant something pretty here before. I’ll see it whenever I come home, go out, from the porch, when I’m training. Them,” she corrected, “if I put one on the other side of the drive. Want me to dig awhile?”
It was probably stupid to take that as a challenge to his manhood, but he couldn’t help it. “I’ve got it.”
“Well, let me know.” She walked off to play with the dogs.
He’d never considered tough especially sexy, but despite the willowy frame, the soft coloring, the apparently bottomless patience, the woman had an underlayment of steel. Most of the women he’d been involved with hadn’t lifted anything more challenging than an apple martini—and maybe a five-pound free weight at a fancy health club. But this one? She shouldered a sack of dirt like a seasoned laborer.
And damn if it wasn’t sexy. And it made him wonder just what that body would look like, feel like, when he got her naked. Maybe he needed to push a little harder on that goal, he thought, and put his back into the digging.
She came back when he cut open the bags of soil and peat to mix into the hole.
“Hold off on that a second, and I’ll do it. But I want to show you something first.” She stepped beside Simon, then signaled Jaws—hand command only. He trotted right over and, when she pointed, sat. “
Good dog, good.” She slipped him one of the treats she never seemed to be without. “Stay. Go on and get down to his level,” she told Simon.
“Do you want this tree planted or not?”
“It’ll only take a second. Stay,” she repeated firmly when Jaws bunched for a leap as Simon hunkered down. “Stay. He’s getting it, and we’ll work on the sit and stay with distance. But I thought you’d like this. Hold out your hand, say, ‘Shake.’”
Simon slid a cynical glance up at her. “No way.”
“Just give it a try.”
“Right.” He held out a hand. “Shake.”
Jaws lifted a paw, plopped it into Simon’s palm. “Son of a bitch.” He laughed, and the dog forgot himself in pride and pleasure to rear up and lap at Simon’s face. “That’s pretty good. That’s pretty damn good, you dumbass.”
Fiona smiled down as man and dog congratulated each other.
“Do it again,” Simon demanded. “Sit. Okay, shake. Nice.” He stroked the pup’s ears, looked up at Fiona. “How’d you teach him that so fast?”
God, they looked adorable together, she realized. The tawny-eyed man with his morning stubble, the young dog who was growing into his feet.
“He wants to learn, to please. He has a strong drive.” She passed treats into Simon’s free hand. “Reward him. He’ll be happy with your approval and affection, but the food reward’s extra incentive.”
She picked up the shovel, began to toss dirt, then peat, then dirt into the hole.
“That’s enough. We need to set the root-ball.”
“I don’t know much about planting trees.” She swiped the back of the work glove over her brow. “In fact, this is my first. Do you?”
“I’ve plugged in a few.”
“I thought you lived in the city before Orcas.”
“I didn’t grow up in the city. My family’s in construction.”
“Okay, but doesn’t that mean planting buildings?”
His lips quirked. “You could say. But my dad’s policy was to buy a tree or a shrub for any new house he built. So I plugged in a few.”
“That’s nice. Your dad’s policy, that’s nice.”
“Yeah. Nice gesture, and good business.”
He hefted the dogwood, lowered the root-ball into the hole. “That’s about right.” Crouching, he opened the burlap around the root-ball to expose it.
Together they dumped in topsoil and peat, mixed it.
“Shouldn’t we cover it more?” she asked when Simon stopped.
“No, just to the height of the root-ball.” He lifted a bucket. “You want to deep-water, and do that about once a week unless we get a good rain.”
It had been fun, she thought, planting a tree with him in the cool morning air. “Once a week, check.”
“I didn’t get mulch. Figured it was going in the woods and I could just use pine needles. You’ll want to mulch it.”
“Okay.” She stepped back. “I’ve got a dogwood tree. Thank you, Simon.”
“We had a deal.”
“And you could’ve picked up a pine and stuck it in the hole from the stump. This is lovely.”
She turned to kiss him, a friendly gesture, but he moved in and made it more.
“We’ve got some time before school starts,” he told her.
“Hmm, that’s true.” She tipped up her wrist to check the time. “Not a lot. We’d have to be pretty quick and pretty motivated.”
“You’re the former track star. You be quick. I’ll be motivated.”
He smelled of the soap from his shower twined with a touch of healthy sweat from the effort of digging. He looked rough, and ready. And the long, hard kiss beside the sweet young tree had stirred her to aching.
Why wait? she asked herself. Why pretend?
“It might be a good way to celebrate a tree planting. Why don’t we—”
She broke off as she heard tires on gravel. “Apparently someone else is early,” she began, then saw the patrol car. “Oh God.” Reaching down, she groped for Simon’s hand.
Davey pulled up behind the truck, got out. “Nice-looking tree,” he said, and took off his sunglasses and hooked them in his shirt pocket. He gave Simon a nod as he walked toward them. “Simon.”
“Deputy.”
Davey reached out to run a hand down Fiona’s arm. “Fee, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but they found another one.”
The breath she’d held came out with a jump. “When?”
“Yesterday. In Klamath National Forest, near the Oregon border,” he said before she asked. “She’d been missing a couple days. A college student, Redding, California. So he moved west and a little south for the abduction, then drove over a hundred miles to... bury her. The details are the same as the others.”
“Two days,” she murmured.
“They’ve got a couple of feds going in to push on Perry, to see if they can pull anything out of him, if there’s anything to pull.”
“He’s not waiting as long between,” she said. “He’s not as patient.” She shuddered once. “And he’s heading north.”
“He’s targeting the same victim type,” he reminded her, then set his teeth. “But goddamn it, Fee, after that newspaper thing, I’ve got some concerns.”
“He knows where to find me if he wants me.” Panic wanted to beat its wings in her throat. And panic, she reminded herself, solved nothing. Nothing.
And still those wings fluttered.
“If he wants to finish Perry’s work, a kind of homage, he can find me. I’m not stupid, Davey. It’s something I considered when I knew there was going to be an article.”
“You could move in with Sylvia or Mai for a while. Hell, Fee, you can stay with Rachel and me.”
“I know, but the fact is I’m as safe here as anywhere. Safer, maybe, with the dogs.” Her sanctuary. She had to believe it or the panic would win. “Nobody can get near the house without me knowing.”
Davey glanced toward Simon. “I’d feel better if you had more than the dogs.”
“I’ve got a gun, and you know I can use it. I can’t uproot my life on the possibility he may decide to come here in a week, a month, six months.” She dragged a hand through her hair, ordering herself to stay sensible. “He’s not as patient as Perry,” she repeated, “and he’s following someone else’s pattern. They’ll catch him. I have to believe they’ll catch him. Until they do, I’m not helpless.”
“One of us is going to check in with you every day. We take care of our own, even when they aren’t helpless.”
“That works for me.”
Simon held his silence until he and Fiona were alone. “Why don’t you go visit your mother for a while?”
“Because I have to work. And I do have to work,” she added. “I have a mortgage, a car payment, bills. I’ve had to juggle like a circus clown to manage the time and money for a long weekend off.” She picked up the shovel to put it in the back of the truck. “And what happens if he doesn’t go after some other poor girl for weeks? Do I just put everything on hold because of a maybe? I won’t be stupid and I won’t be careless.” Because it made her feel strong and capable, she hauled up the sagging bag of peat. “But I will not let this ruin my life. Not again. And I won’t be taken. Not again. Not ever again.”
“You leave your door unlocked. Half the time you leave it open.”
“Yes, that’s true. And if someone they didn’t know tried to get within twenty feet of the house, or me, the dogs would stop them. But you can believe I’ll be locking up at night now, and my nine millimeter’s going in the drawer next to my bed.”
It took him a minute. “You have a nine millimeter?”
“That’s right.” She tossed the bag of topsoil after the bag of peat. “Greg taught me how to shoot, how to respect a weapon. And after... after I started going to the range regularly until I was proficient. I’m probably a little rusty, but I’ll fix that. I’ll fix it.” The words came out too fast, too fast, and she fought to slow them. “I’ll take ca
re of myself. I need my life. I need my home and my work, my routine.”
She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I need it.”
“Okay. Okay.” He glanced toward the dogs. They looked like happy, friendly, lick-your-face-off types. But he remembered the low growl from Newman when he’d tussled a little with Fiona in the kitchen. “Why don’t you cancel your classes for the day?”
“No, no. Some of them are already on the ferry, or heading in. Besides, routine. It keeps me centered.”
“Is that what does it?”
“Apparently. The tree’s still pretty,” she said, calmer again. “It’s still a nice morning, and I still have work to do. It helps.”
“Then I’d better move my truck.” He opened the door. “Teach him something else.” He lifted his chin at Jaws. “Like how to get me a beer out of the fridge.”
“Not altogether impossible. But we’d better nail down the basics first.”
Routine did help, and part of that routine was people, and their dogs. She listened, as always, to clients relating progress, or the lack of it. She listened to problems, and arranged her lesson for the day around them.
She used the first few minutes for walk, heel, sit to get both handlers and pups settled in.
“Some of us are having problems with jumping, so we’re going to take that discipline first today. Puppies jump on us because it’s fun and because they want our attention, and they’re so cute we give in to them, even encourage it, rewarding bad manners—and behavior that won’t be so cute in bigger dogs as they grow. Annie, why don’t you tell us what happened the other day.”
Annie from San Juan Island gave her collie mix an apologetic glance. “My niece came to visit with her little boy. He’s three. Casey was so happy to see them, she ran over and jumped on Rory. She knocked him down and he hit his head. He wasn’t really hurt, but he could’ve been, and it scared him. She didn’t mean it.”
“Of course not. Casey’s a friendly, happy dog. Energetic. I imagine most of us have had something like this happen. Or at least scratched legs, dirtied pants, shredded hose.”