by Alexa Grace
It hit him again how odd it was that Hunter took off like he did. Hunter was not just any dog. He was a certified search and rescue dog who'd undergone hours of training to perfect his special skills. If Hunter was begging Ashley to let him out, he had to have a good reason to want to leave their home. But what was it?
When Lane realized he'd driven at least half a mile, he braked again to call for Hunter and look around. Looking back, he couldn't see the lights of his house. Looking ahead, he saw nothing but huge flakes of snow that scooted across his ski goggles, now blowing in powerful gusts that threatened to knock him off the ATV.
Lane drove ahead until he unexpectedly saw something big and black crossing the road ahead. Hunter? He slammed on the accelerator to pick up speed, when suddenly the ATV crashed against something hard enough to propel Lane into the air, until he landed hard on his back in a snowdrift. He lay there stunned for a moment, the wind knocked out of him.
Sucking in the cold air was painful, but he had to fill his lungs. Lane struggled to sit, and then stand up. He looked in every direction. A thick, white cloud surrounded him, blinding him to everything. He could see nothing. Lane had no idea which direction to take. Where was the ATV? He took a deep breath to calm himself. By his estimation, he was thrown maybe four or five feet. But in which direction?
Fighting the violent gust of wind, he trudged through the snow toward what he hoped was the road. Minutes later, which seemed like hours, Lane found the ATV slammed against a fence, lying on its side. He pushed on the vehicle as hard as he could until he could upright it. He leapt onto the snow-covered seat and turned the ignition. Nothing. It wouldn't start.
Lane cursed and kicked the side of the vehicle. He then headed down the road in a direction that he prayed would lead him home. After a long, cold and exhausting walk, Lane saw the lights of his house, and prepared himself to tell Frankie and Ashley he had not found Hunter, and the weather had turned too bad to go out again to search for him, at least until tomorrow.
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Blake drove the ATV down Elm Street, passing a couple of houses that could have been Billy Collins' house. He stopped at each, but unsure he had the right address, moved forward. The reduced visibility spawned by the storm made it increasingly difficult to identify the right house. He had Billy's address with his house number written on a piece of paper in a file that now lay on his desk back at his office.
The front porch at the next house looked familiar. With its porch light blazing, there were red and green twinkling holiday lights hung in the large front picture window that lay beneath a transom window made of etched and leaded glass. This was the Collins' home. Blake had admired that transom window from his car, he'd know it anywhere.
He stopped the ATV, turned off the ignition, and trudged through snowdrifts, at times reaching his knees, as he made his way to the house. Blake had made it to the front porch and was about to ring the doorbell, when he noticed a large, dark, furry mass lying against the side of the house. Approaching it, he pulled his flashlight from his pocket, shining it into the face of a huge, black dog that wore glistening flakes of snow all over his body. Stroking the dog's head, he pulled at its collar until he found the identification tag that read "Hunter." It was Frankie and Lane's search-and-rescue dog.
"What the hell are you doing this far from home, Hunter?" Blake asked, as he brushed the snow from Hunter's coat. The dog leaned into him for warmth and whined as Blake pulled him closer. Blake fished out his cell phone from his pocket to call Lane, but soon discovered there was no service. He had no choice but to keep the big dog with him until he could interview Billy Collins again. Then he'd take Hunter home to the Brennan's house with him in the ATV.
Blake moved to the front door to ring the doorbell, with Hunter pressed against his leg. No one answered, but that did not deter Blake. He opened the screen door and pounded on the front door.
Soon he heard footfalls, the twist of the knob, and the door opened to reveal a surprised Tom Collins. "What in the world are you doing out in this storm, detective?" he asked.
Tom had barely asked the question when Hunter bounded inside, with Blake calling after him. "Hunter, stop."
"Is that your dog?"
"No, he belongs to my boss and his wife."
The men followed the Giant Schnauzer, who was sniffing the sofa, chair, then rug, racing from one to the other.
"What's he doing?" asked Tom as he watched.
"Not sure. He's a search-and-rescue dog. This is the way he behaves when he's on the job."
Hunter sat on his haunches and barked as if to communicate his frustration. He then ran down a short hall into the kitchen, where Blake could hear a woman and a small boy scream in alarm.
"Hunter, come back here," Blake shouted as he raced toward the room. Terrified that a strange and huge dog had entered their kitchen, both Cheryl and Billy Collins were standing on kitchen chairs when Blake and Tom arrived.
"It's okay," Blake began. "You can get down. This is Hunter. As soon as I can catch him, I'll put him outside."
Tom helped his wife and son down from the chairs, as Hunter, still sniffing wildly, headed back toward the front of the house. By the time Blake reached him, Hunter sat before a door in the hallway in an alert position that Blake had seen many times when the dog found the person they were looking for.
Quietly, Blake moved toward the dog, then bent down and whispered, "What is it, Hunter?"
Suddenly, Billy Collins rounded the corner and bolted down the hallway until he came to a stop and wedged himself between the door and the dog.
"Bad dog," he screamed at Hunter. "Bad dog, go away!"
Hunter ignored the boy's pleas and remained frozen in his alert position.
Losing the fear he had of the dog just moments before in the kitchen, Billy pushed at Hunter, crying out, "Go away! Go away!"
At that moment, Billy's parents reached them. Tom grabbed his son's arm and said, "Billy Collins. Stop it. What's gotten into you?"
Billy burst into loud, hysterical tears, and struggled to get out of his father's grip. "Daddy, make the bad dog leave. Make him leave."
Blake straightened, looking directly into the eyes of the confused father, and asked, "Where does this door lead?"
"It goes to the stairs that lead to our attic," answered Tom.
"Nooooooo," screamed Billy, tears flowing from his eyes and down his face. "You can't go up there."
Unmoved by his sobs, Blake bent down to the boy's eye level and asked, "Who's in the attic, Billy? Who are you hiding?"
Panic-stricken, Billy implored Blake, "If you're really Shawn's friend like you said you were, you'd take this dog and go away. Please, just leave him alone."
Cheryl's hands went to her face as she gasped. "Oh, Billy. What have you done?"
Remembering he didn't have a warrant, Blake realized he couldn't search the Collins' home without their permission. "Tom, may I go up to your attic?"
Tom picked up his still-hysterical son, and said, "Yes. Do it."
The second Blake opened the attic door and switched on the light, Hunter raced through the door and up the stairs. The first thing Blake saw when he reached the top was the pup tent that sat by a round window. There were used paper plates and cups littering the floor around it, along with some green plastic Army men and wooden blocks. He crept to the tent to lift the closed flap, but there was no little boy inside.
Like most attics, this one was filled with a sea of storage boxes of various sizes. If Shawn were up here, as he strongly suspected, Hunter would find him. So he stood, looking in various directions until he saw the big dog, tail wagging frantically as he stood beside a wall of boxes at the other end of the attic.
Carefully avoiding weak or loose floor boards, Blake moved toward Hunter and the boxes. He stroked Hunter's head with fondness and appreciation, and gave him Frankie's unspoken signal to sit and stay. If the person behind the boxes was the one he thought was back there, the big dog would have his undying gr
atitude.
Blake moved one box and then another until he came to a large moving box braced on its side. As he bent before it, he could see the little boy who had stolen his heart long ago.
Shawn was trembling so hard the box in which he was hiding was shaking. "No, Detective Blake, I won't go with you! No, you can't make me go back there."
"Shawn, you're safe with me. I promise," Blake said in a soft voice.
"You can't promise," Shawn sobbed, tears filling his eyes. "You work for the sheriff's office and you have to make me go home."
"No, you're wrong. I won't make you go back to your mother's house. I promise." He held his arms out. "Come to me, Shawn. Please."
"You don't know," he cried. "She made me promise not to tell anyone about how she beat me. If you take me back there, I know she'll kill me. I don't want to die, Detective Blake."
Blake shook his head with disbelief. His eyes filled with tears and sadness that this little boy had experienced such violence and felt such fear and despair. "Please trust me, Shawn. I won't take you back to your mother."
"Then are you taking me to those mean people my mommy told me about? The ones who hate little kids and beat them worse than she ever would?"
Christ, had Eve Isaac really told her little boy such a thing? What kind of a monster was she? He said a silent prayer that the right words would come.
"Shawn, remember when you chose me to be your mentor for the Buddy Program?"
Shawn nodded ever so slightly, his large eyes glued on Blake.
"Why did you choose me?" Blake asked. "There were a lot of officers in the Buddy Program, but out of all those men, you chose me. Why, Shawn?"
Shawn just stared for a moment, silently thinking of his response. Finally, he said, "Because you're my hero, and you made me feel safe."
Blinking back the emotions rushing through him, Blake cleared his throat and said, "Shawn, I'm asking you to trust me now. I promise not to take you home to your mother, and I would die before I'd let mean people get anywhere near you. Do you trust me?"
Shawn bit his lip, indecision racing across his face, then nodded his head and said, "I trust you."
"Thank you, Shawn," Blake said. "Now will you please crawl out of that box and let me hug you? It's been a long journey to find you, and I'm tired, and a hug from you is just about the best thing that could happen to me right now."
The little boy crawled from the depths of the box and held his arms out to Blake when he reached the opening. Blake swept him, weightless, into his arms, and held him snugly to his chest. He gently rocked Shawn back and forth, kissing the top of his head and assuring him with whispers that he was going to be okay, that he was going to be loved and safe.
Cradling Shawn in his arms, Blake stood, preparing for the precarious walk across the attic floor to the door.
"Where are we going, Detective Blake?"
"I'm taking you home with me. Jennifer, Mrs. Stone, is waiting for us."
"Am I going to stay with you and Mrs. Stone?" Shawn asked. Fear mixed with hope, lacing his voice.
"Do you want to stay with us, Shawn?"
"Yes. I wish I could stay with you forever."
"Then that's where you'll stay," said Blake. "Forever and ever."
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Downstairs, as Tom Collins apologized repeatedly, Cheryl Collins turned her house, including the attic, upside down to find Shawn's coat. Discovering it upstairs behind the pup tent, she rushed downstairs, handed it to Blake, then raced to her bedroom. When she returned, she held several blankets in her arms, as Blake helped Shawn into his coat. Billy handed Shawn a pair of his gloves, then ran his hand across Hunter's soft coat.
Outside, Blake carried Shawn to the ATV with Hunter close behind. He put both boy and dog in the back seat, and then used the blankets Cheryl gave him to wrap around the two to keep them warm for the drive ahead.
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"Jennifer, please come away from that window and sit down," Megan urged. "You're supposed to be on bed-rest. Please get off your feet."
Jennifer sat back down on the sofa and crossed her arms protectively around herself. The sun was going down, and Blake still had not returned home. She stared at the fireplace, as her mother covered her with the quilt, and tucked it around her body.
Her dad came in from the kitchen and sat in an easy chair by the fireplace.
"Tim, you're going to ruin your appetite before dinner," Megan chastised.
"What are you talking about?"
"Are you going to sit there with crumbs all over your mouth and on your shirt and tell me you weren't out in the kitchen munching on Christmas sugar cookies?"
"What cookies?"
Megan jumped from her seat, and before he knew what hit him, she was sitting on Tim's lap, sealing her lips on his in a kiss. "That's exactly what I thought. Christmas cookies crumbs," she said triumphantly.
Jennifer rolled her eyes and laughed at her parents. She'd thrown off the quilt, and was on her way to the window when she froze. Looking back at her parents, she asked, "Did you hear that?"
Megan shook her head.
Jennifer heard the sound again; this time it was louder. "Do you hear that? It sounds like a motor, and it's getting closer." She moved to the window in time to see a pair of headlights shining brightly in the driveway.
Tim moved behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "Those are ATV headlights. I think it's Blake." He hugged his daughter and prayed Blake was not alone. Grabbing his coat from the hall closet, he headed outside.
The snow was still coming down in lacy sheets of white, and Tim worked his way through the snow until he reached the ATV. Blake was bent over something in the back seat.
Seeing the Giant Schnauzer, Tim said, "Isn't that Frankie and Lane's dog, Hunter?" When Blake didn't respond, he asked. "Blake, do you need help?"
"Yes, I do." Blake answered, as he moved aside. If you wouldn't mind giving this little boy a ride to the house, I'll help Hunter make his way."
Tim blinked, his eyes filling with happy tears, as he looked down at his new grandson, snow-covered and wrapped in blankets. He looked toward the sky with a silent thank you for delivering man and boy home safely.
Tim picked up the little boy, hugging him close to his body as he kissed his forehead. "Welcome home, Shawn." With Shawn in his arms, he maneuvered around deep snowdrifts and waited for Blake and the black dog to reach him.
"So how did you meet up with Hunter?"
"He was lying on the Collin's front porch on Elm Street. Hunter had found Shawn, and he wasn't going to leave until the boy was rescued," said Blake. "And as soon as I can, I'm buying him the biggest box of dog biscuits I can find."
"Hell, I'm getting that dog a truckload!" Tim laughed, then said, "I bet Frankie and Lane are worried sick about him. That dog is never out of their sight. I'll call them. But there's something I need to do first."
Tim carried the little boy into the living room, winking at Megan as he passed her. He set Shawn down next to Jennifer on the sofa, who peeled back the blankets, and helped Shawn get out of his wet coat. Then she wrapped her mother's quilt around him and pulled him into a warm hug as she planted tiny kisses all over his little face. "You're here, Shawn. You're really here."
Blake watched his wife holding Shawn as he got out of his damp snowsuit and boots. He handed his things to Megan, who took them to the laundry room to dry. Once Blake reached Jennifer, he pulled her into a kiss and then sat down on the other side of her, with one arm around her shoulders, his hand stroking Shawn's back affectionately.
Though he'd gotten assurance from Blake, Shawn was still fearful and wanted to make sure it was really going to happen. Leaning his head back to gaze into her eyes, Shawn asked Jennifer, "Is it okay if I stay with you?"
Breaking into a wide, open smile, Jennifer kissed him on the cheek and answered, "Only if you stay forever."
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Epilogue—January 1
Shawn stretched as he woke up in a bedroom fille
d with a soccer ball, small train, red fire truck with a fire station, Lego police station, and more than a dozen books. Ignoring them all, he grasped his new Spiderman, which Dad explained to Mom was an action figure and not a doll, and then padded down the hall.
Once Shawn reached their bedroom, he crept to the side of the bed and noted his new dad and mom were still asleep. He then tiptoed to the big rocking chair where he sat and gazed with wonder at the tiny baby kicking her legs beneath the pink blankets in the bassinet next to him. With his index finger outstretched, Shawn ever so slowly stroked the velvety soft skin of her arm, and then smiled with delight when her tiny hand clutched his finger and she cooed. She was named Mylee. Her middle name was Faith, because Mom said that faith was the only thing that got her through the days he was missing. She told him that faith would get them through all the days ahead.