K-9 Hideout

by Elizabeth Heiter

  Locking the door leading out of his garage behind him so no one could slip inside while he was investigating, Tate did one more sweep of the area. Then, gun raised, he crept toward the front of his house. He forced his breathing to stay deep and even, the way he would on a run. Years as a police officer helped prevent his senses from dimming into a dangerous tunnel as he scanned his surroundings. Not having a partner at his side made him extra aware of every twig breaking beneath his feet, telegraphing exactly where he was and where he was going.

  When he reached the front of his house, he blew out a surprised breath. The item leaning against his front door was a newspaper. Still not putting his weapon away, he moved closer, studying it carefully as he approached. It wasn’t a copy of some New York paper like he might have expected if Sabrina’s stalker wanted to send him a message, but the Desparre Daily.

  As he reached the porch, he was sure it wasn’t rigged. There was just a sticky note on it that read, Thought you’d enjoy this! It was signed by Ariel Clemson, a local reporter he’d helped out once.

  Tucking his gun into the waistband of his pajama pants, Tate picked it up and unrolled it. His heart gave a hard thump as he read the headline: Woman Rescues Police K-9 from Runaway Truck.

  He swore as he stared at the picture underneath the headline. The photo was grainy, taken from way down the street at an awkward angle, but there was Sabrina frantically trying to free Sitka as the truck barreled toward them. And in the background there was Tate racing to help.

  Dread sank from his chest, settling low in his gut. The Desparre Daily was a tiny local paper, with such low distribution that they were constantly in danger of folding. But they had an online presence.

  Were the officers who wanted revenge on him actively searching for him the way he’d been searching for Sabrina’s stalker? Would they find this photo and consequently find him?

  He flashed back to the warning from his friend who handled Witness Protection relocations: “If we think someone has been exposed, we don’t wait and hope. We get them out and start over somewhere else. New name, new backstory and no contact with their last life. I recommend you follow the same protocol.”

  The dread he felt expanded outward. After promising Sabrina that he’d help her get her life back, would he have to desert her to save his own life?

  Chapter Nine

  As he came back inside his house, Tate was swearing enough to make Sitka stare up at him with concern.

  He dropped to his knees in front of her and rested his head on top of hers. Although he’d adopted her and covered her everyday costs, the Desparre PD had paid thousands of dollars for their K-9 training. If he had to leave, they’d probably expect to keep her.

  “What am I going to do, Sitka?” he asked softly.

  She whined in response, then gave him a sloppy kiss across his chin.

  The idea of leaving her behind made his chest tighten painfully. But if he took her with him, would the Desparre PD search for them? Since the safest option would be to leave without any notice or explanation, they probably would. He’d be a lot easier to track with an Alaskan Malamute at his side. Plus, if he was in danger, bringing her along would put her in danger, too.

  She might be better off staying here, being placed with another officer. But Tate wasn’t sure if anyone else at the station would want to become a K-9 handler. Even if they did, he doubted the station could afford more training. That meant Sitka might be paired with someone who didn’t know what they were doing, who inadvertently put her in danger anyway.

  He swore again, the anxiety in his gut and chest expanding as his head started to throb. Maybe he’d been a fool to get so comfortable here, to make connections that he’d ultimately have to leave. Maybe Sabrina had the right idea, trying not to get close to anyone.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Tate continued resting his head on Sitka’s until she let out another whine. Knowing he was worrying her, Tate lifted his head and stroked her fur until it helped relax him enough to think clearly.

  Maybe his old police chief would have an idea. Although he and Keara Hernandez had rarely talked about his past, there had been comfort in knowing he could go to her if the burden of his past started to impact his present.

  He grabbed his cell phone off the kitchen table, then cringed as he glanced at the time while he made the call. He’d have to hurry if he wanted to be on time for work. But should he even go?

  When Keara answered, Tate replied, “Hi, Keara.” He cringed at the anxiety in his voice.

  “What’s going on?”

  Trust his old police chief to get right to the point. She’d always been that way, and he was happy to see that trading in her job as police chief in tiny Desparre for a detective job in Anchorage hadn’t changed her.

  “I think I might have been exposed.” He told her about the article.

  There was a slight pause, then she asked, “How clear are you in this picture? How much detail does it give about you?”

  “I’m in the background. The image is a little blurry, but my face is recognizable. And I’m named in the article—by my fake name, of course. The focus is on Sabrina and how she rescued Sitka. It’s a feel-good kind of story.”

  “Sitka? Really? That’s what you named your pup?” Keara demanded to know.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I was about to say that the risk was minuscule, but that just increased it a little.”

  “Because someone searching for the name Tate Donnoly—” his real name “—might think to search with Sitka, Alaska,” Tate realized.

  “Exactly,” Keara affirmed.

  He’d chosen the dog’s name because it had felt like a way to hold on to some small piece of his past, the place where he’d spent his childhood. It had felt like an inside joke no one knew but him. Now it just seemed reckless.

  “Did your old colleagues know you grew up there?”

  “I didn’t talk to those guys much. But it probably wouldn’t be hard to figure out if they asked around.”

  Keara sighed. “It’s still probably a low risk level. I’m sure these guys know you disappeared. How likely would it be for you to get another job as a police officer under an assumed name? But if you want to feel totally safe...”

  “I know. But I have a life here.”

  “I’m sorry I’m not there to help,” Keara said.

  Tate smiled. “I’m not. I can tell you’re enjoying being a detective again. Plus, being in Anchorage must be better than a long-distance relationship.” Her boyfriend, Jax, was a Victim Specialist for the FBI in Anchorage.

  “Well, there’s that,” Keara said, and the tone of her voice told him what was coming before she announced, “We got engaged last weekend.”

  “Congratulations, Keara. That’s great.” He tried to sound enthusiastic, because he was happy for her. If anyone deserved it, it was his old chief, who’d come to Alaska to escape memories of her husband’s murder. But he couldn’t help the tinge of jealousy that came with it. Would he ever be in a place where he’d feel safe enough to let someone in his life that way?

  “Look,” Keara said, her voice back to serious. “It’s pretty unlikely those officers would dig this article up. But there’s no guarantee. If it was me, I’d be cautiously patient. But, Tate, you need to get ready to run. I can try to help you. Jax isn’t an investigator, but maybe he can talk to his colleagues at the FBI, help you disappear.”

  “No,” Tate said. Right now, he was using a name illegally. He was acting as a police officer under a false name, too, and if it ever came out that Keara had known it, he wouldn’t be the only one facing legal action. “If I need to disappear again, I’ll do it alone.”

  There was another pause, and Tate knew that even though Keara would risk her own life to help him, she had to be relieved he wouldn’t ask her to do it. “Keep me informed, if you can.”

  “I wi
ll.”

  “And, Tate? Watch your back, okay?”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, saying goodbye. He hoped it wasn’t the last time he’d talk to her.

  He hoped this newspaper article wasn’t the beginning of the end of his time as Tate Emory.

  * * *

  SABRINA STARED AT the headline of the Desparre Daily that Adam Lassiter handed her when she ran into him later that afternoon at the grocery store, dread clenching her chest.

  “You’re a hero,” Adam said, looking surprised that she wasn’t excited. “You rescued a K-9.”

  She offered a wan smile, then glanced at the article. It was written by Ariel Clemson, the woman who’d shown up on her doorstep the other day. Apparently, she’d decided she didn’t need Sabrina’s input to tell the story.

  As she stared at the slightly blurry photo, she remembered a woman standing off in the distance that day, snapping pictures after Sabrina had jumped out of the way of the truck. At the time, she’d thought the woman had simply been a gawker. She’d turned her head, hoping the images wouldn’t be plastered on social media.

  Looking at Adam, she asked, “How many people get this paper?”

  He shrugged, reminding her that he hadn’t lived here all that long. “I have no idea. I doubt very many. I mean, I came to Desparre because I figured I was more likely to run into a moose than another person most days.” He flushed, then added, “Not that I mind talking to you. I just—”

  “I understand,” Sabrina said softly. She hadn’t shared with anyone that she’d come here after losing a boyfriend to violence, but she’d been tempted to share a sanitized version with Adam because he was clearly so lost since his wife’s death a few months earlier.

  “Yeah.” Adam looked away, probably thinking she was just trying to be supportive. “Well, anyway, I thought you might want the paper. I already bought it.” He hefted his bags of groceries, then nodded goodbye.

  After he was gone, Sabrina read the article more closely. It was heavy on drama, a firsthand report of watching the vehicle slide out of control. It detailed Sabrina’s “heroic” determination to free the town’s new police K-9, a dog Ariel described as “a town treasure.”

  Sabrina’s amusement faded as she got to the section that described the incident as “suspicious,” saying police were investigating the possibility that it had been targeted. Ariel hadn’t mentioned who police thought the attack had targeted, however.

  “Sabrina!”

  Her head jerked up at the sound of her name, and she tried to smile as Lora hurried toward her.

  “I see you read the paper!”

  “Yeah.” Sabrina folded it into her purse to look at more closely later. “How many people see this paper?”

  Lora laughed, a rich, hearty sound that sounded like it belonged to a much bigger woman than the barely five-foot-tall Lora. “I never took you for a fame hound! Sorry to say, not very many. I think our population is maybe five hundred. And that’s including all the recluses up the mountain who avoid everyone and I doubt are keeping up with local news. But it is online.”

  Online. Of course it was. Sabrina gritted her teeth to keep from swearing.

  “What’s wrong? You don’t like the fame?” Realization washed over Lora’s face, and she lowered her voice. “You’re running from something, aren’t you, honey? I should have realized. So many of the people in this town are.”

  She put a hand on Sabrina’s upper arm and squeezed lightly. “Don’t worry. The Desparre Daily website is poorly run. It goes down at least once a month, and you’d really have to search hard to find it. Besides, I’m guessing Sabrina Jones isn’t your real name?”

  Sabrina shrugged, not wanting to lie to one of the few people she’d dared to call a friend since going on the run. But she wasn’t about to tell her the truth, either.

  Lora squeezed her arm again. “This is a pretty remote spot. Someone would have to be really determined to track you down here.”

  Sabrina mustered up another smile, and this one must have been more convincing, because Lora smiled.

  Patting her arm once more, she said, “Try not to worry. No one’s going to use that tiny little article to track you down.”

  Sabrina hoped it was true. Because her stalker might have already found her, but he wasn’t the only one she wanted to stay hidden from.

  Her family loved her. They hadn’t wanted her to go. She’d bet a lot of money that both Conor and her mom searched for her still. And she didn’t want them to find her, didn’t want them to be in any danger like Dylan. If they did, it would defeat most of the purpose of her leaving.

  Glancing up as a young officer whose name she couldn’t remember entered the grocery store and gave her a subtle nod, Sabrina hoped the Desparre PD found her stalker soon. Because no matter how small the risk of exposure was with this article, she wasn’t willing to take chances with her family’s safety.

  It was definitely time to figure out a contingency plan.

  Chapter Ten

  A day after her picture had shown up in the paper, people were still yelling out, “Great job!” and “Thanks for saving our K-9!” when she walked around. But the newspaper’s online site had been down most of the day, and she hoped it would stay that way. Hoped the only people who’d ever hear about her supposed heroics were Desparre locals.

  She’d acted on instinct that day in the park, and she’d do it again. But she could do without the attention.

  Stepping out of her old truck, she couldn’t help but glance around for the man who’d put her in the paper. Whoever he was, he wasn’t obviously staring. Hopefully today they’d identify him.

  She walked into the police station and Officer Nate Dreymond rose from the front desk and opened the door to let her into the area marked Police Only.

  “Good luck,” he told her.

  “Thanks,” she said as she walked through and immediately spotted Tate and Sitka.

  Tate smiled at her, a soft smile that somehow managed to be perfectly professional but still completely directed at her.

  It made her pulse pick up, and her feet followed suit. When she reached his side across the open-concept space a minute later, he asked, “What’s it like being a local hero?” But something in his eyes told her the newspaper article bothered him as much as it did her.

  “You saw that?”

  Woof! Sitka contributed.

  The dog’s tail thumped the floor when Sabrina looked at her, and Sabrina grinned and pet her.

  “The reporter left a copy on my doorstep. I forgot that she lived near me. I helped her when she thought someone was sneaking around her house last year and mentioned that I lived close in case she was in trouble. Apparently, she remembered.”

  Sabrina felt a brief, ridiculous spurt of jealousy that she pushed aside. “So you think we can find this guy today?” She heard the hopeful note in her voice and realized that it felt different than it had in a long time.

  The fact that the stalker hadn’t left her a note or tried anything else since he’d sent that truck speeding toward them three days ago made her wonder if he’d noticed that police were always around and he’d fled. For once, she prayed he hadn’t, prayed he’d stick around long enough to get caught.

  “I’m ready to look at those pictures.”

  Tate had called her that morning, letting her know the officers who’d been watching over her the past couple of days while she walked around town had managed to get pictures of men who might be paying too much attention. She’d been shocked; she hadn’t noticed any of the officers taking pictures. But then she’d felt a surge of hope. Maybe she’d recognize someone. Maybe this two-year-long nightmare would actually have an end.

  “Let’s do it, then,” Tate said, leading her into a conference room with a long table where the chief of police was waiting.

  Sitka followed, too, pushing past her to
stand next to Tate at the far end of the table.

  The police chief stood. “How are you feeling, Sabrina?”

  She gave a smile. “Hopeful.”

  Chief Griffith smiled back at her. “Me, too. My officers got a lot of pictures.” At the look she must have given him, he laughed and said, “Don’t worry. We didn’t notice tons of people watching you. But someone skilled who has practice stalking gets good at blending in, at appearing like he’s not watching you. We took pictures of anyone around you.”

  “Oh.” She heard the surprise in her voice. Police in New York had tried hard to locate and catch her stalker. She knew they had. But this was a whole different level.

  The same hope sparked again, a little stronger this time, as she took a seat where the chief indicated. On the table in front of her was a folder.

  “Take a look at the pictures in there,” Chief Griffith said. “We printed them out and blew them up to make it easier. Take as much time as you want. You don’t need to be certain. If you think you recognize anyone from New York or if you’ve seen anyone in places you wouldn’t expect—near your house or around you more than once—let us know. It might just be that we’re a small town, but we’d rather check it out. Even if you’re just getting a weird vibe from someone, point him out. Okay?”

  She nodded, opening the folder as Tate sat next to her and Sitka pushed her way between the chairs to sit beside her, too.

  Sabrina smiled at her and paused to pet the sweet dog. “Thanks, Sitka,” she whispered. It might have been her imagination, but it felt like the dog knew she was nervous and was trying to support her.

  Then she started flipping through the photos. She stopped periodically to study some more closely, but she didn’t remember any of the people in them hanging around her in Desparre. And she definitely didn’t remember any of them from New York.

  She paused on an image from two days ago, when she’d been heading toward the park. One of the photos had captured the man she’d seen standing beside a car parked right near where Talise’s had been before it came racing toward Sitka. Even in the photo, the way he was looking toward her made her shiver. Just like it had when she’d first seen it, his mustache seemed out of place on his face, as if it was some kind of disguise. She pointed at him and looked over at Tate, then Chief Griffith.