by Amy Shojai
A September Day and Shadow Thriller
SHOW AND TELL
Book Three
AMY SHOJAI
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Second Print Edition, February 2017
Furry Muse Publishing
Print ISBN 978-1-944423-21-6
eBook ISBN 978-1-944423-22-3
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author or Furry Muse Publishing except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
First Published by Cool Gus Publishing
First Printing, December 2015
COPYRIGHT © Amy Shojai, 2015
PUBLISHING
P.O. Box 1904
Sherman TX 75091
(903)814-4319
[email protected]
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
FIGHT OR FLIGHT (excerpt) CHAPTER 1: SHADOW
GET FIGHT OR FLIGHT HERE!
FACT, FICTION & ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
Eighty pounds of German Shepherd vaulted onto her bed and startled September from a sound sleep. She froze, mouse-quiet in the dark. Her heart trip-hammered in concert with the dog’s low, bubbled growl that shook the bed, the vibration more felt than heard.
The downstairs clock struck five times. Clouds moved aside for moonlight to spill through the wooden blinds, painting the room silver with black shadows. The dog leaned closer. White-bright fangs glistened from his sooty muzzle, and September didn’t need to see Shadow’s expression to understand the dog’s warning.
Shadow had good reasons for everything he did. He’d saved her life more than once.
The big black dog licked her face, and she pushed against his muscled chest, urging him off the bed so she could rise. His hackles continued to bristle despite her soothing touch, a warning she couldn’t ignore. He was concerned, but not in full protection mode. Probably a furry trespasser. Better to see what had him on alert. She hadn’t said a word, and didn’t need to. The two partners were so in sync with each other, they might as well have read each other’s mind. Shadow’s tail flagged with excitement, anticipating her command to check-it-out, his signal to investigate and ensure no danger loomed.
Before she could move, a coffee-dark streak of fur leaped into her arms. The cat’s bottlebrush tail echoed Shadow’s concern, and September’s mouth turned dry with fear. She briefly hugged Macy and brushed aside her long disheveled locks that matched the Maine Coon’s fur. Even the stark lock of white hair at September’s temple matched Macy’s snowy bib. The cat’s tilted green eyes, twin to September’s, glowed a stoplight warning. Macy shivered. Even the cat reacted to Shadow’s concern.
The dog’s concern heightened the foreboding that had lived inside September as long as she could remember, despite knowing the ghosts from the past couldn’t hurt her. It had taken a year since moving home to Texas for her to begin to heal. Shadow’s solid presence and the purring warmth of Macy anchored September in the here-and-now. They were real. They were chosen family. The crawly sensation on the back of her neck mocked her newfound confidence.
September jumped out of bed, berating herself and silencing the what-ifs. Shadow’s alert had been silent, not the full-on bark-warning given for a household intruder. Besides, the house alarms hadn’t triggered. She took a calming breath with that realization. Clear the house, and then check the grounds outside.
With a plan in place, September hugged Macy again, and plopped the cat back onto the bed. Best to lock the cat in her bedroom and keep him out of harm’s way. Macy didn’t need more stress on his heart.
She showed the cat her closed fist. He obediently sat and began self-grooming, a way to calm himself down. September wished she had the ability to self-medicate with purrs.
September cautiously opened the bedroom door, stepped outside with the dog, then closed and latched the door. Shadow pressed against her, and she knelt and gave him a quick hug before signaling with the silent hand-wave command to check-it-out.
He bounded ahead, a silent black wraith invisible in the dark. She could track his progress from his thumping paw-jumps down the stairs, claw scrabbling on the wooden entry, and huffing breath as he tasted the air from room to room.
Finally, after clearing the house, Shadow raced back up the stairs, sat before her, and barked once. Her shoulders relaxed, and her grin nearly split her face.
“Baby-dog, what a good dog!” Not such a baby-dog anymore, with his first birthday nearly here, just a week after Valentine’s Day. Her first shepherd Dakota taught her to love again, but Shadow became her heart.
She followed him down the stairs, encouraged when her knee gave barely a twinge. After surgery repaired the injury, physical therapy—what she called specialized torture—had her nearly back to normal even though she hated water therapy. After weeks of therapy, she could tread water for twenty minutes without breaking a sweat.
September paused in the office/music room. Playing her cello honored the memory of her old instrument. The gift from Combs and her new circle of friends meant perhaps a new life was possible, too.
September debated calling Combs to come check out the house. But no, she had to take charge of her life. Calling for help meant her stalker still controlled her from his jail cell. Courage meant moving forward despite the fear, and she wanted to be independent.
She still couldn't believe someone like Detective Jeff Combs—handsome, smart, accomplished—wanted to be with her. He'd promised no pressure, yet he wouldn't take no for an answer. So after several "not-a-date" casual lunches or dinners with friends, a couple of coffee meetings, and countless phone calls and texts, September surprised herself by saying yes to a for-real formal date.
Butterflies threw a party in her midsection. It felt good.
The kitchen’s stained glass windows usually splashed the slate floor with peacock colors but sunrise wouldn’t arrive for another two hours. Several phone messages beckoned on the landline reserved for her pet tracking and behavior consulting business, and September resisted the urge to review them. They could wait.
Shadow insisted something
outside needed attention. It was his job to check-it-out whenever they returned home, or visited somewhere new. Anything different—a sound, a smell—could set off his alert, and she’d rather Shadow err on the side of caution. Even if they found nothing she didn’t want to discourage the dog by ignoring his concern. Training never stopped, after all. She’d learned the hard way to trust her gut, and her dog. Shadow yawned and stretched, but his tail continued to signal his agitation.
Six months ago, she’d have locked the bedroom door and called the police. No more, not after what she’d survived in the last few weeks. She’d take her dog for a walk, and check out the property, like any other normal person. Let it be a squirrel or raccoon.
Shadow spun and twirled, nearly running into the wall in his excitement when she slipped on her coat, and stuffed bare feet into mud-caked garden shoes. She grabbed his leash on the way to the door.
"Sit. Wait." She bent to hook the leash to Shadow's collar, and unlocked the kitchen door to the back patio, keyed in the security, and switched on the outside lights. If someone intended harm, the lights would either flush them out or send them scurrying on their way. With luck, any interlopers would be kids taking a dare to trespass on the notorious property. Nobody had any legitimate business being out here so early at five-frickin’ o’clock. She slammed the door shut. It had a nasty habit of unlatching and swinging open in the wind.
No stars broke through the overcast sky, and the setting moon's glow tarnished heavy clouds. She should have pulled on a pair of sweats. The down-filled coat, a remnant from her years in Chicago, made her look like the Michelin Man, but covered only her upper thighs. Despite the muggy atmosphere, her bare legs chilled in the sixty-degree temperature.
She couldn't walk too fast in the sloppy garden shoes, and the dog adjusted his gait but remained insistent. Every time he paused to sniff, she found herself dodging one of the dozens of wind chimes she'd hung from every available spot. They served as a low-tech security system. The tinkle of bells, clatter of shells, and rattle of pottery shards played a counterpoint to the clop-shuffle-clop of her awkward shoes on the brick pathway.
She stepped off bricks and into grass when they rounded the house, and the soil squished. The rain finally stopped last night, at least for a while, but the countywide flash flood warnings continued. February more often unleashed ice storms that coated trees, broke branches and downed phone and power lines, so nobody complained about the extra rain. Except maybe her garden, if the plants hadn’t drowned. Maybe they’d all die, and she’d have a good excuse to get rid of the roses that had become thorny memories of past pain.
Shadow led her to the wooden ladder next to the carriage house/garage. She'd created the set up as part of his training. You never knew what a search might require of a tracking dog, even climbing a ladder. She’d never met a dog so hungry to learn new things. He sniffed the area thoroughly before moving on.
September scanned the end of the driveway. A pair of carriage lamps on each side spilled light through the bars of the closed green gate, throwing jailhouse shadows in her path. No traffic lit the county road. She started to relax. Maybe the intruder had left. Shadow hadn’t alerted to anything yet. Trust the dog.
He slowly made his way down the drive, and stuck his nose through the gate, tasting the air. He huffed, and pulled harder, and she noticed an old car parked some distance away, half hidden beneath a live oak. Her throat tightened as Shadow delicately sniffed one side of the gate. His nose hit the ground.
Okay then. She squared her shoulders. “Seek, Shadow. Seek!”
He towed her quickly up the other half-circle of the drive. September could barely keep up and cursed her decision to wear the sloppy shoes. Shadow dragged her up the front steps, exploring the front door’s brick landing. Her heart thumped faster.
The dog continued to track his prey. He pulled September off the side of the front steps, across the lawn and padded quickly around to the other side of the house. They’d made a full circle. The dog moved faster and faster, signaling the target was near. His head came up.
Shadow’s tension traveled up the leash and she trembled in response. His bristled fur made him look half again as large when he stalked stiff legged toward the kitchen door that now stood ajar. No wind had tugged it open; she’d latched the door securely.
His deep-throated roar shattered the quiet. September grabbed the leash with both hands to contain Shadow’s sudden lunge. He wasn’t a Schutzhund-trained protection dog, but after what they’d gone through together, Shadow had every right to be defensive when a stranger invaded their home.
September put a hand on his ruff, and he quieted into a down position, but continued to shake and huff with tension. She had to steady her own voice, outrage as much as fear fueling her emotions.
"Who's there? I'll send in the dog." At her words Shadow lept to his feet. This time, September didn’t correct him, but watched when Shadow whined and cocked his head, listening. She wished she’d collected her gun from the SUV’s glove box while they’d been near the garage, or brought along her cell phone to call Combs for backup. Screw being self-sufficient, she’d welcome some help. But they were on their own. She’d have to trust Shadow to do his job.
September leaned down, stroked both sides of Shadow’s face, and he wagged at her touch. She unhooked the leash but held his collar a moment longer, and whispered. "Good-dog, Shadow. You know what to do." She spoke the command full-voice. "Check-it-out," and released his collar.
Shadow sprang forward, claws scrabbling on the slate floor of the kitchen. He paused, then dropped his nose and traced the scent of the stranger's tread. September edged inside, and stood in the doorway to watch him work. His tail wagged with excitement. Shadow loved hide and seek games.
He tested the edge of the table where someone must have touched before he raced from the kitchen to the adjoining dining/living room. September hurried to keep up, but he easily outran her.
She didn’t bother to switch on lights. Scent lit up rooms for a dog brighter than any lamp. Shadow raced into the dark living room, sniffed past the big table and across the carpet until his claws tap-danced on the wooden entry, with September in his wake.
September nearly ran into Shadow when he stopped to nose the handle on the front door. The deadbolt and other locks remained engaged, though. His head whipped around, attention drawn to the music/office room. A split second later, September heard the soft sobbing breath, too, and tore after the sound.
Shadow blocked the doorway, lay down, and barked once, his signal of a successful find.
The soft snuffling came from the kneehole of the desk. Someone as small as a kid. They’d have to be small to have wiggled through the bars on the green gate.
"Come out. I know you're in there." September took a cautious step into the room, and finally turned on the stained glass lamp. "Good-dog, Shadow. Wait."
A girl called back. A tremor in her voice. "I only want to talk. Please don't send the dog after me."
Shadow wagged and stuck his head forward, but didn't break the wait command. He'd gotten better about that. His attitude, more excitement than defense, bolstered September’s confidence. If the dog showed no fear, she’d trust his judgment.
"Come out from under there. Shadow won't hurt you. Unless you do something stupid." She stood with elbows wide, chest out, and tried to quiet her noisy breathing. Nobody showed up at five in the morning and walked into a stranger’s house.
Shadow tipped his head, looking quizzical as the stranger finally pushed the chair away from the desk, and cautiously crawled out of the hiding spot.
“Where'd you come from? Who are you?" She softened her words for Shadow’s sake when his ears went down and he yawned and turned away. Despite his scary size, shepherds were sensitive and he didn’t like loud voices.
"Came from Chicago. Claire O'Dell." She answered quickly, but moved with slow caution to put the chair between herself and Shadow. "I parked outside your gate, I rang the bell, a
nd when nobody came, I walked around the house. I've called you before, but you never answered, never returned my calls." Her tone became strident. "So I had to come. Beg you to help."
Not a girl, but a petite woman stood trembling, gaze locked on Shadow. Claire’s head barely came level with September's shoulders. The whites of her eyes shined in the dim light, and she held up her hands in surrender. "Is he going to bite me?" Her voice traveled up an octave.
"No, he won't bite. Sit down already." September's exasperation made Shadow slick back his ears. "But stop staring at him, no dog likes that.” She waited until Claire perched on the edge of the desk chair. “I’m calling the police."
"Oh no, you can't.” She wrung her hands. “If you call the police, my little girl will die." Claire sobbed.
Shadow broke his wait command. With an apologetic glance at September for disobeying, he trotted over to the stranger, and licked clean her tears.
Chapter 2
Kelvin Quincy's dreams had come true. He'd waited ages for this and couldn't wait to rub everyone's face in his success. Not that he would. He’d act modest and classy, like the stuck up District Attorney, but he'd gloat on the inside.
Kelvin nursed two decades of professional hurt. He'd been passed over for promotions, denied raises he deserved, and relegated to the background time after time. His credentials should have put him over the top when he ran for DA, but instead, the public bought into the pretty skirt, prettier face, and Lollipop TV sound bites.
He couldn't do sweetness and light if you dunked him in syrup, even though he'd never lost his west Texas drawl. On a woman, it sounded sexy but it turned Kelvin into a backwoods hick. His acne-scarred face, balding head and geeky-good grades didn’t help so he'd compensated with bodybuilding and tattoos in college and gone overboard. Now Kelvin tried to cultivate a classier appearance. Most of his extra income went toward three-piece suits (not those cheapo off the rack kind, either), silk bow ties, designer suspenders, and tailored shirts with French cuffs and signature cuff links.
Kelvin got into the law to see justice served. He'd been a team player. But he gave and gave and gave, provided the brains and behind-the-scenes support, and stayed invisible with nothing to show for his good works. Although surrounded by less qualified and talented individuals, Kelvin ran a hamster-wheel life while others received acclaim and praise. If you ain't—aren't—the first horse over the finish line, you get real damn tired of the view.