Operation K-9 Brothers

by Sandra Owens

  Jack complied without hesitation. “What’s this about?”

  Instead of answering, one of the cops next to him snapped a handcuff around his wrist. “Hands behind your back,” he said.

  This was getting to be a habit he didn’t like. Once he was cuffed, he was ordered to stand. When he was on his feet he was frisked. The position they had his arms in was hurting his shoulder, but he pressed his lips together and kept quiet. He had no idea what was going on and could only conclude that they had the wrong house. If that was what it was, it would be cleared up soon enough.

  An older man wearing plainclothes walked in, and Jack noted the detective’s badge clipped to his belt. He stepped in front of the officers and eyed Jack. “Check the house,” he said.

  Three of the four cops disappeared while one stayed with the detective. “Guns,” one yelled from the direction of his bedroom.

  “I’m a Navy SEAL. Of course I have guns.” He was ignored.

  His weapons were piled on the dining room table, and Jack was losing his patience. If they were going to threaten his dog and manhandle his guns, he wanted to know why.

  He glanced at his broken door. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

  “You’re under arrest for assault and battery on Lane Gregory.”

  “Whoa there. The dude came at me. All I did was defend myself.”

  The detective’s gaze roamed over him. “Strange that he’s in a coma after getting in a fight with you.”

  “No way. All I did was take him to the ground and twist his arm when he tried to attack me. There was even a witness, the bartender. Ask him. He’ll tell you the same.”

  “We talked to him. He said that’s all he saw you do, but he also said he went back inside while you still had Mr. Gregory down.”

  “I did not put Gregory in a coma.” Jack wondered who in the universe he’d pissed off. First learning that his shoulder was permanently damaged, and he wouldn’t be returning to his team, getting in a fight with Nichole’s ex—where he did not do anything to put the man in a coma—and then running Nichole off with hurt in her eyes.

  What about the part you don’t remember and the blood on your knuckles? There was no way, though, that he would put a man in a coma. He just wouldn’t have. Wouldn’t have needed to take it that far.

  “He was found behind the building a few hours after your fight with him. No one else was seen near him. Took us a while to identify you, then we found your truck in the bar’s parking lot. Why did you leave it behind?”

  Because he was an idiot and had gotten too drunk to drive. “I want a lawyer.” And that was all he was going to say from this point on.

  The detective walked around him. “When you get him to the station, get pictures of his hands,” he said to the officer.

  * * *

  So this was what an interrogation room looked like. Handcuffed to a bar bolted down to the tabletop, Jack glanced around, his gaze sweeping past the wall painted barracks gray and landing on the large mirror. He wondered who was watching him from the other side.

  They’d brought him into this room over an hour ago. The chair was hard, his butt was numb, his throat as dry as the godforsaken Afghanistan desert, and his brain on the verge of exploding.

  How had he gone from waking up yesterday morning with his future set and the girl of his dreams in his life to sitting in a police interrogation room charged with putting a man in a coma, his future gone, and probably the girl.

  The door opened and Deke walked in. He took a seat across from Jack. “I have to say you’re the last person I expected to see handcuffed to this table.”

  “I didn’t do it, Deke. Yeah, we got in a fight, but when I left, the man had nothing more to complain about than a sore wrist and knee.” That was his story, and he was sticking to it despite the black hole in his memory. There was just no way he would have hurt a man that badly, even an asshole like Gregory. He had to believe that, because if he had, he was a disgusting human being and deserved whatever they threw at him.

  “I believe you.” He glanced at the camera mounted on the wall. “But the detective on the case doesn’t.”

  “What happens now?” Jack eyed the camera. He doubted his friend was winning any points by talking to him.

  “You stop talking and wait for a lawyer. You got one you want to call?”

  “Not off the top of my head.” It wasn’t like it had occurred to him to have a criminal defense attorney standing by.

  “I doubt you qualify for a public defender. I have someone I can recommend if you want. She’s one of the best.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Deke slid a business card across the table. “Her cell number is on there. You probably won’t go up before a judge until tomorrow, so that means a night in jail.”

  “Damn, that means Dakota will be locked up in the house. That’s my dog.”

  “Want me to take care of her?”

  “Yeah, man. I’ll owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me shit, Jack. How do I get to her?”

  “There’s a key box next to my back door.” He glanced at the camera, then the two-way mirror before sliding his free hand across the table and tracing four numbers with his index finger.

  “Got it,” Deke said.

  “They broke my front door, so you might not need a key. They let me put Dakota in my bedroom. She’ll be wary of you, but she won’t bite or attack unless commanded to by me. Tell her you’re a friend, and she’ll let you put her leash on her. It’s on a hook in my mudroom.”

  “I’ll head over as soon as I leave here. Does Nichole know what’s going on?”

  “No.”

  “Want me to call her?”

  Jack thought about it, then shook his head. “She doesn’t need my shit dumped on her.”

  “You don’t think that should be her decision?”

  “No.” After the way he’d treated her, and then hadn’t been able to apologize, the last thing he wanted was for her to have to deal with his mess.

  “Okay, have it your way.” He stood. “Don’t let anyone make you their bitch tonight.”

  “Funny. And thanks for putting that image in my head.”

  “You’re welcome.” He smirked, then walked out, leaving Jack alone again.

  Jack stared at the card in his hand, then lifted his gaze to the window. “I want my phone call.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Jack didn’t show up this morning and he hasn’t called,” Mark said when Nichole walked into the kitchen, heading for the coffeepot.

  He was probably too hungover. “Have you called him?”

  “Yeah, but he’s not answering. I left a message but haven’t heard back.” He frowned. “We’re supposed to be at the dog place. It’s not like him to blow that off.”

  She sighed as she poured a cup of much needed coffee. Sleep had been elusive as her mind had bounced all night from never seeing Jack again because it was the best thing for her to that would mean...well, never seeing him again. When she’d tried to imagine her life without him in it, she’d buried her face in her pillow and cried.

  She should be standing by him, helping him get through this, but...his team mattered more than she did. That was the kicker, what she couldn’t get past. She understood why he’d gone straight from the doctor to getting drunk, although she would have preferred for him to come to her. Getting drunk didn’t solve anything. But apparently, she wasn’t important enough for him to come to when his life took a turn he hadn’t foreseen or wanted. That was why she was doubting they had a future.

  Rachel was right. Lane had messed with her mind, but she’d also come away from her time with him resolved to only be in a healthy relationship with a man. She’d thought she’d found that with Jack. Now she wasn’t sure.

  She didn’t know what to do.

 
“Will you call him?” Mark said.

  “No.” She needed to be honest with him because Jack could hurt her brother as much as he was hurting her. Maybe not as much, but too close for her liking.

  Mark frowned at her. “Why not?”

  “Sit.” She took her coffee to the kitchen table and sat across from him.

  Jack had performed a miracle with her brother, and she didn’t want to damage their relationship, or the strides forward on Mark’s part. But she couldn’t pretend things were still great between her and Jack.

  “What’s going on?” Mark said. “He’s not sick, is he?”

  “Not in the way I implied last night, but I do think he has some serious issues he needs to deal with. He found out yesterday that his shoulder’s permanently damaged. That means—”

  “He won’t be able to be a SEAL?”

  “I don’t think so.” She stared into her coffee, knowing what that meant to Jack, her heart breaking for him. She lifted her gaze to her brother. “He’s not taking it well.”

  “No shit.”

  “Language, Mark.”

  Her brother snorted. “I’m not twelve anymore, Nic. You don’t get to reprimand me.” He stood and took her coffee cup away. “Let’s go. He needs us.”

  “You go to him. I don’t know if he’s the best thing for me.”

  “You’re wrong, but I’ll let you figure that out.”

  That was easy for him to say. He hadn’t seen how Jack had treated her, hadn’t heard what Jack had said. When she was alone, she grabbed her earbuds, clipped the leash on Rambo, and took a long walk, hoping the exercise and fresh air would calm the battle going on between her brain and aching heart.

  When Rambo flopped down on the grass, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, she glanced around, realizing she’d walked much farther than she’d planned. “Come on, you lazy thing. I’m not carrying you home.”

  Mark was pacing in her driveway when she returned.

  “Did you talk to Jack?”

  “He wasn’t there. I guess he went to the dog place without me.”

  Or he was nursing a hangover, maybe still too drunk to answer the door.

  “But that’s not important right now.” He bounced on the balls of his feet. “Lane’s in the hospital. A friend called, said he’s in a coma.”

  “Did he wreck his bike?” That wouldn’t be surprising considering the way he drove it sometimes.

  “No, someone beat him up last night. I’m going to the hospital.”

  So Lane’s temper had finally caught up with him. “I’ll take you.” Mark was too agitated to drive himself.

  “You don’t have to. I know you hate him.”

  She shook her head. “He’s not my favorite person in the world, but I don’t wish him harm. Let me put Rambo in his kennel and we’ll go.”

  * * *

  They weren’t family, so they weren’t allowed to see Lane or get any information on his condition.

  “How about I make you some French toast?” she said to Mark when they returned home. Growing up it had been his favorite meal, one of the few things he had an appetite for when he was going through chemo.

  “Sure, that would be great.”

  “Hey, Mark?” He’d been quiet ever since leaving the hospital. She guessed he was keeping his worry for his friend to himself because he knew how she felt about Lane.

  “Yeah?”

  “I know Lane’s your friend, and it’s okay to be worried about him. You don’t have to hide that from me.”

  He glanced down at the floor, then sighed. “I’m feeling guilty. I’ve been blowing him off ever since meeting Jack.”

  She kept how much that pleased her to herself. No matter what was going on between Jack and her, she would pick Jack to be her brother’s friend over Lane any day.

  His gaze lifted to hers. “The thing is, I haven’t been liking Lane so much lately.”

  About time. She also kept that thought to herself as she grabbed the carton of eggs from the refrigerator and the bread from the pantry. “There’s no reason for feeling guilty for not admiring a man who thinks it’s okay to hit a woman.”

  “Jack would never do that,” he said.

  “No, he wouldn’t.” The doorbell rang. “Get that, would you?” She hoped it wasn’t Jack finally showing up. She had no idea what to say to him since her brain and her heart were still waging war.

  “Nichole, this is Detective Matthews. He says he needs to talk to you.”

  Weird. Why was Deke here to see her? She turned off the burner, then smiled as she faced Jack’s friend. “Deke? This is a surprise.”

  He didn’t smile back.

  Mark glanced from her to Deke. “You know him?”

  “I do. He’s a friend of Jack’s.”

  “Cool,” Mark said. “Have you talked to him today? He was supposed to pick me up this morning. We’re volunteering at a service dog place.”

  “I have. He’s...ah, he’s busy with something right now. Nichole, can we talk in private for a minute?”

  At seeing the serious look in Deke’s eyes and the odd way he’d answered Mark’s question, she knew it had something to do with Jack. “We can talk outside.”

  Mark frowned and stepped closer to her. “Why can’t you talk in here? Is she in trouble or something?”

  “No,” Deke said. “I just need a few minutes of her time.”

  She put her hand on Mark’s arm. “It’s okay.” It was the first time that he’d tried to be protective of her. Maybe he was finally growing up, and no matter what happened between her and Jack, she knew he’d played a part in her brother’s new attitude. She’d always be grateful to him for that.

  “It’s about Jack, isn’t it?” she said as soon as she and Deke stepped onto her porch.

  “Yeah. He’s in trouble, Nichole. He’s in jail, accused of beating up your ex-boyfriend.”

  “What? You’re saying he’s the one who did that to Lane?” She gave a hard shake of her head. “No way.”

  “He says he didn’t do it.”

  “Of course he didn’t. Jack is one of the kindest souls I’ve ever known. Who’s accusing him of such a ridiculous thing?”

  He leaned back against the railing. “No one. He actually did get in a fight with Gregory yesterday afternoon, but Jack claims all he did was twist Gregory’s arm and take him down to the ground. There was a witness who backs up Jack’s story that your ex started the fight, and he did see Jack take Gregory down, but the witness walked back inside before the fight was over. A few hours later, Gregory was found unconscious behind the bar.”

  “I just can’t believe Jack would hurt him that bad. I don’t believe it.”

  “I don’t either. The reason I’m here telling you is that there’s history between you, Jack, and your ex, and I’m going to have to tell the detective on the case that. I wanted to warn you that he’ll want to talk to you.”

  “I’ll tell him the same thing. Jack didn’t do it.”

  “Unfortunately, the detective’s made up his mind that Jack did, especially since this isn’t the first time there was an altercation between Jack and Gregory, which he’s aware of. When he finds out there’s history between the three of you, it will only confirm what he believes.”

  “Then we have to find out who did do it.”

  “Hopefully Gregory will wake up and tell us that.”

  “Can I see Jack?” She didn’t doubt him, but she wanted to look into his eyes when he told her he hadn’t put Lane in a coma.

  He sighed. “I talked to him this morning. I’m sorry, Nichole, but he doesn’t want to see you right now.”

  Because she didn’t matter to him.

  * * *

  The bunk’s sheet felt like sandpaper, and Jack was pretty sure it hadn’t been washed since the last inmate used it. The f
irst thing he was going to do when he got home was take a long, hot shower.

  On the bed above him, his cellmate was flying high, talking about God knew what. Nothing he said made sense. In between his gibberish monologues he sang sad country songs. The dude actually had a good voice, so Jack preferred the singing.

  “Imma a federal cadaver dog, ya know.”

  Jack couldn’t help chuckling. The man came out with the most outlandish things, and this one was something he’d claimed to be numerous times. Jack guessed him to be in his fifties, but because of his drug-ravaged face, he could as easily be years younger than he looked.

  “Shut the fuck up,” someone from another cell yelled when the man started singing again.

  His cellmate started crying. Jack groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. He’d tried pot when he was in high school, hadn’t liked how spaced out it had made him feel, and had decided drugs weren’t for him. If he was ever tempted, though, he’d remind himself of his cellmate, and that would cure him of any desire to mess with that shit.

  Since there was no hope of sleeping with a roommate who jumped from babbling about who knew what to singing to crying at the speed of an incoming missile, Jack let his thoughts drift to Nichole.

  He missed her.

  * * *

  “Daniels!”

  Jack jerked up, thinking he was back with his team and his commanding officer was bellowing his name. Had he slept through roll call? Then the words to George Jones’s “He Stopped Loving Her Today” sounded from above him, reminding him that he was in a jail cell and not with his team. He rubbed his eyes, surprised he’d apparently drifted off after all.

  “Sir?” Jack said, his automatic response to anyone in authority.

  “Follow me.”

  He was led to the same room he’d been in yesterday before they’d booked him. An attractive woman sharply dressed in a gray business suit sat at the table. He was handcuffed again to the metal bar bolted to the table.