by Amy Shojai
Gonzales offered quietly, "You want me to talk to her?"
He grunted, not trusting himself to speak but shook his head and waved Gonzales toward the house. When the smaller man took the hint and walked away, Combs strode so quickly toward September, she shrank against the car and Shadow offered a warning bark. That took him aback. Combs tried to soften his tone but the words still sounded accusing. "You found the body?"
September’s catlike green eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms, her tone equally defensive. "BeeBo called for a consult." She gestured toward the dogs in the pen beside the house. "They were inside with him, already contaminated the scene. Didn’t want emergency folks to be delayed waiting for animal control.” She spoke so fast the words barely made sense. “Took me a while to get them out. The animals, I mean."
"You know better than to disturb a crime scene." She’d let her concern for the animals rule her actions but Combs acknowledged she had a point. They couldn’t process until someone removed the dogs.
"I couldn't leave them in there. It was heartbreaking." Her voice caught, then steadied and she pushed mahogany hair out of her eyes. "They tracked blood everywhere, and Teddy—he’s the red one—wouldn't let me close enough to see if BeeBo was alive. I had to try."
Combs rubbed his eyes. "Okay, yeah, I get that." He offered a conciliatory smile. "Seeing you here surprised me, that’s all. Dispatch didn't say who found the body. Can't quite wrap my head around you being here. "
"Neither can I." She hugged herself again.
He noticed the dogs had retreated to an igloo-style house and huddled so tightly together they could have been a two-headed dog. "They’re calm enough." He strained to see. "Is that blood? Were the dogs injured?" Something dark stained the white one's lower flank. "BeeBo was a dog guy. What he didn't know about his dogs you could fit in a thimble. Never figured he'd need your advice."
Her arms tightened across her chest.
"That didn't come out right." Combs mentally kicked himself. September didn’t know Doty recruited BeeBo to infiltrate the dogfight ring, but that wasn’t his info to share. Combs wanted September as far away from this case as possible. "Okay, tell me top to bottom what happened, what did you see, you know the drill."
"Don't you want to read me my rights? Or record my statement? So you can check later to see if I change my story?" The sarcasm didn't suit her but he probably had it coming.
He put out a hand, wanting to pull her into his arms, and knew he couldn't. Not here. He'd make it up to her later. Right now, they both had to keep a professional distance. "Let's start over, okay? Finding a dead body doesn't do great things for my personality."
She finally offered a tentative smile. "Me either. The sooner we get this over, the quicker I can get out of your hair."
He leaned against the car door, and absently scratched Shadow when he stuck his big head out the window. "Gonzales has the recorder, and sure, you'll have to tell it three ways to Sunday. I need a general time line for now." She played with the zipper on her coat, avoiding his eyes. "I'm not mad at you.” He wanted to throttle Doty, though. “I'm angry you had to discover another victim. Now tell me—"
"Victim?" Shocked, September stuck her hands in her pockets and shivered. "You haven't even been inside. BeeBo was shot, yes, with that fancy gun he inherited. I figured he wasn’t used to it and it went off or something."
Combs caught her arm. "Walk with me." She started to follow him away from the car, and Shadow yelped. When September raised her eyebrows, Combs sighed. The pair was a team virtually joined at the hip. "Sure, bring the mutt, he's already trampled all over the field." Shadow hopped out, leaned briefly against September's leg to get his head stroked, and then raced ahead at her signal. "Now, tell me what happened."
She spoke in a rush, walking so quickly he barely kept up with her long legs. "BeeBo called about Fuzzit, the stray kitten he found." She told him the rest. "The kitten is in a carrier in my car."
That made more sense. Dogfights used all sorts of "bait" to train the bloody sport, and if BeeBo got close enough to rescue the kitten, he also could have learned about Damenia. The Doctor had killed before to protect his mission. "Animal control will take it."
She made a face. "But the kitten is so young. The city shelter will expose it to all kinds of things. Let me handle it?" She put a hand on his arm. "What difference can it make?"
He hesitated. They'd need to have someone examine the dogs and the kitten for evidence. He couldn't forget that September's cat Macy provided evidence last Christmas. Blood from beneath Macy's claws matched her stalker. Juries loved that kind of evidence. "Okay, no shelter for the cat. But you can't take it home either.” Cats weren't his thing, and he'd been grateful his sister agreed to take Mom's old cat Simba.
"I'll give Doc Eugene a call, he's got a quarantine room."
"Perfect. I'll sign off on any fees incurred. Tell him we'll try to get the cat seen in the next 48, sooner if possible. I don't know how long evidence can be preserved on a cat. They're self-cleaning, right?"
She rolled her eyes. "Right. Like an oven. Now it's your turn. Why do you say murder?”
“I didn’t say murder, I said victim.”
“Don’t play that game with me, Combs. You said I disturbed a crime scene.” The contrasting white strand of hair nested among sable tresses blew across September’s lips, and she impatiently smoothed it behind her ear. “You’ve got uniforms out here, so why do you need two of Heartland’s detectives? You suspect it’s more than an accident." Shadow raced back to her, carrying a stick he'd found and pressed it into her hand to throw. She tossed it and they watched him bound away. "BeeBo grew up with guns, and I don’t buy him being careless.” She wiped her eyes. “His dogs were the world to him. But it did seem weird Dot and Teddy were inside."
"Weird? I figured BeeBo slept with them." The joke fell flat. He knew September slept with Shadow, but that was different. He couldn't help a bit of jealousy, of a dog, no less. "No offense." Hell, he kept eating his foot today.
"Lots of owners share their pillow with their pets, not only us PTSD folks." She answered softly, but her fists clenched.
"Truce, okay? We're both on edge." Hair blew across her face again. Combs reached to push it aside, and she jerked away, and then relented. He cupped her face, started to say something else, and then pulled back when the coroner arrived.
Combs, September and Shadow walked back to her car. He caught her arm. "What was weird about the dogs being in the house?"
"BeeBo didn't trust them with the kitten. He'd kept Dot and Teddy in the kennel, so it strikes a sour note they were all in the house."
Combs pointed the coroner to the house as Gonzales came out the door, snapping off disposable gloves. The small man ducked his head in greeting to September, and she offered a tight smile in return.
"It's a mess in there." Gonzales’s mustache twitched. "Dogs tracked blood everywhere, but the prints are dry and the blood pool under the body congealed. The coroner will give us a timeframe." He pulled out his digital recorder. "I know you already told Combs, but give me the Cliff's Notes version and we'll get you out of here." He winked at Combs. "He knows where to find you for details."
She quickly recapped what Combs already knew.
"Wish you hadn't moved the dogs." Gonzales clicked off the recorder. "We've got shoe prints, one set is probably BeeBo but the other's too small. To cross all the t's we need to eliminate you from the trace."
She shifted her weight as if her feet had betrayed her. "I have a change of clothes in the back of my SUV." She stroked Shadow's face. "Do you need Shadow's paw prints, too?"
"And the cat," said Combs drily. "Dealing with a Noah's Ark."
Gonzales didn't hide his disgust. "Not the way the Captain wanted us to liaise with you. We can do the consult here, or head downtown.”
Combs made a "zip it" gesture with his fingers.
September frowned. "Consult? In this investigation?" She turned to Combs with
surprise. "What does all this," she waved a hand toward BeeBo’s house, “have to do with dogfights?”
Gonzales kept the recorder going.
"Tell me." Her jaw tightened.
Combs cracked his knuckles and stretched his neck, but the tension wouldn't leave. "Several departments, including Heartland, are on alert.” He hesitated.
Gonzales picked up the narrative. “The fights move around. Every time the investigation gets close enough to shut it down, it disappears. Oklahoma, Louisiana, even Kansas. Now we got word they're here. Somewhere in North Texas.”
Her mouth gaped. "You think BeeBo was involved in dogfights?" She laughed, and then choked off the garbled sound.
“I didn’t say that.” Combs glared at Gonzales, and the smaller man took the hint. The less anyone, including September, knew about the operation, the better. She was an outside consultant, period. Although after this, she might refuse to help at all.
September connected the dots anyway. "BeeBo couldn't hurt a fly. I watched him melt into a blubbery mess when one of his dogs got sick. He’d have nothing to do with that abomination.” Her brow smoothed and she took a staggered step backwards, and caught herself against the car. “Did you get him to snoop for you?" She breathed heavily, outraged.
Combs reached out for her, but September danced out of his way.
"That’s perfect, just perfect. Just because BeeBo has Pit Bulls.” She fought tears. “I can imagine all the arguments.” She knuckled her eyes. “You encouraged that gentle soul to cozy up to dog abusers, put himself at risk.” Her eyes widened. “They did this! How could you?”
Combs flinched. She’d pretty much nailed Doty’s argument, and his suspicions. To his mind, Doty might as well have pulled the trigger. He pinched his lips white with the effort to stay silent. Right now, the best he could do for September and the case was to shut his mouth and let her rage.
"I'm not a simpleton. I know dogfights attract gambling, illegal guns, drugs and who knows what else." September whirled, her lightening-streaked dark hair a storm cloud spilling over her shoulders. "BeeBo never would have agreed, unless you told him it would save dogs."
Gonzales interrupted her tirade. “You’re making assumptions not in evidence.” He gestured with the recorder. “We don’t know that BeeBo’s death had anything to do with the dogfight ring. You’d agreed to consult on the case.”
She leaned against her SUV as though fearful she’d fall to the ground. September ignored Gonzales, refusing to break eye contact with Combs. “Tell me you didn’t ask BeeBo to sniff around the dogfight ring.”
“I didn’t.” He kept his eyes steady. “Neither did Gonzales.”
She didn’t back down. “Someone did.”
He hesitated, but couldn’t lie to her. “You know we can’t share everything about investigations, and sometimes we don’t agree with every decision . . .”
"Oh God." Her voice broke. Color drained from her face until her complexion matched the moon mark streak in her hair. She pushed past Combs and yanked open her car door, and searched for her keys. It took three tries to find the ignition. Shadow whined from his perch in the back seat and yawned.
Gonzales held up a hand. "Hey, you can't leave yet—"
September ignored Gonzales but stared up at Combs with brimming eyes. She slipped off her shoes, thrust them at him without a word, slammed the car door, and drove away.
Chapter 11
September knuckled her eyes with one hand, driving as fast as she dared with the other. Hard-to-miss potholes turned the car into a bronco ride. Shadow bounced once too often and yelped when his nose banged the bars separating him from the front seats.
"Sorry. I'll slow down." She stuck her hand between the seats, and he nosed and licked her palm. The contact helped, as always.
The lump in her throat wouldn't go away, though, and she hiccupped a muted sob. Poor BeeBo. She didn't know which hurt worse: his senseless death, or Combs’s investigation putting BeeBo in harm’s way. She blinked hard when Shadow again licked her hand.
She'd planned to thank him for sending the private investigator, and let him know about Damenia’s reappearance without betraying her promise to Claire. But BeeBo's murder left her reeling.
September knew cops made tough choices. That didn’t make it any easier to accept. During her short marriage to Detective Chris Day, she'd seen him agonize over cases. He'd always protected her and refused to discuss details. Chris rescued her, kept her safe, and introduced her to the joy of tracking dogs. After Chris's murder, she'd run home to barricaded herself behind dozens of deadbolts, and kept everyone at a distance, even her family. Shadow broke through, insisted they belonged together and convinced her that chosen family was every bit as important as birthright. September dared to hope she’d have a future, maybe even with Combs.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid." She pounded the steering wheel in rhythm with her words. She hadn’t considered if she could live with the tough, unsavory choices of a detective. What did it say about him? She’d never thought much about it with Chris, but at that point, in her life, she’d been in hibernation mode.
She wanted the dogfight ring shut down, too. Combs wouldn’t confirm it, but he didn’t deny BeeBo’s involvement, either. There had to be a better way, without risking innocent lives.
Maybe Mom was right after all. She kept trying to set September up with men that were more “appropriate.” Wouldn't that be a laugh? She pressed hard on the muddy gas pedal, icy sock feet as bruised as her heart.
"Who needs him, right Shadow? You're my best boy anyway." She checked the mirror, and smiled when the black dog laid his ears back. She could hear his tail thwacking against the seat cushion. "Want to go see Doc Eugene?" He barked, and wagged faster, and that tickled her.
Doc Eugene had treated Shadow for several injuries, yet instead of associating the clinic with scary pain, Shadow adored the veterinarian and his staff. Most of them, anyway.
Pulling into the parking lot, September noticed the new office manager's car parked in the only handicapped spot right next to the front door. Typical. Robin Gillette probably didn't want to get her hair wet in this rainy weather. While efficient and thorough, something bothered Shadow about the woman and as a result, September treated Robin with respectful caution.
"You didn't like Sunny Babcock, either." Shepherds typically acted reticent around strangers, and September worked hard to counter Shadow's natural suspicion. As a service dog, he needed to be calm and nonthreatening in public, as much to counter her own PTSD as to be welcome wherever she might go. He acted more comfortable around kids, probably because of his training with Steven.
Dog savvy folks like Doc Eugene usually turned Shadow into a fuzzy puddle of wags, so September wondered why he'd taken such an instant dislike to Babcock. The woman had worked on the same reality TV show with BeeBo, and had her own brace of hog hunting dogs. But people sometimes took an instant hate-at-first-sight dislike toward each other. So could dogs.
She plugged her cell phone in the charger and left it in the car. Shadow jigged and whined in the back seat when September grabbed the cat carrier and juggled it out of the car before releasing him. He immediately scoped out the best places to baptize with a blissful expression as he sniffed up all the juicy Pee-mail messages left by clinic visitors.
Her sock feet squished despite avoiding puddles. September scrubbed her face with the cuff of both sleeves. She'd only recently begun wearing a bit of makeup again. What a waste. Now, tears had turned her into a clown. She could blame it on the pouring rain. She stopped for the moment to stare at the glowering sky. Grabbing the armful of dry clothes and boots from the back of the SUV, she balanced them atop the carrier and slammed the hatchback shut.
"Shadow, let's go. Take your leash." He bounded to her, took the leash in his mouth, and she followed him to the clinic doorway. After elbowing open the lever handle she pushed the door closed, and left a dirty sock print on the kick plate. September made a mental note to clean
it off before Robin noticed and complained.
Shadow paw danced around the empty waiting room, claws ticking like tap shoes on the tile. He ran to the front counter, jumped up to peer over the edge, ears forward and tail waving. His ears fell and he hopped down and dropped his leash when Robin stood up and glowered.
"I told you before, he should be on a leash. Carrying it doesn't count." Her disapproval extended to the muddy footprints, both dog and human.
September didn't bother to acknowledge the old argument. "Is Doc Eugene around? Need to talk with him about this kitten." She set the carrier on the counter and the baby stuck a paw through the grill. "And I need to change clothes."
"Another charity case, I bet." Robin said something under her breath and started to take the carrier. "All these freebies cost the clinic money. The Good Samaritan Fund is nearly depleted."
“It's a rescue, yes, but a special case." September shifted the carrier out of reach. She gave in to temptation. "Please tell your boss I'm here. I'll wait."
Robin stepped away, her back stiff. "I just mopped the floor, you know, and appointments could come in at any time. Why don't you wait in the dog room—number three—and stop dripping all over." She flipped her hair as she whirled, and this time September caught the muttered, "Cheapskate."
Shadow leaned against September's thigh and whined, so she stroked his ears. "Don't let her get to you. She wants to be in charge, and gets pissed when reminded she's not." Robin knew about her lottery winnings and thought, like much of Heartland, that September had money to burn. She didn't know and probably wouldn't care that most of the money was gone. Robin would be equally surprised to learn September funded the Good Sam program that paid fifty percent of care costs for un-owned critters, if the rescuer agreed to pay the other half.
September heard arguing voices. Crap. Robin probably redirected her aggravation toward someone else. People did that with spouses and kids after a bad day at work where they couldn't talk back to the boss. Even pets did it, lashing out against other pets or owners when they couldn't reach the preferred target.