When Love Matters Most
When Love Matters Most
Kate James
Keeping her safe at all costsCould their backgrounds be any more different?Rick Vasquez, a K-9 unit sergeant with the San Diego Police Department, fled drug-related violence in Mexico as a boy. Madison Long, who recently became primary veterinarian to the SDPD’s canines, is the privileged daughter of a judge.Rick has dedicated his life to curtailing cross-border drug trafficking and preventing other young boys from being drawn into the dark world of the cartels.But everything Rick and Madison value, and the growing love between them, is threatened by the dangers of Rick’s job, and the risks he’s determined to take…
Keeping her safe at all costs
Could their backgrounds be any more different? Rick Vasquez, a K-9 unit sergeant with the San Diego Police Department, fled drug-related violence in Mexico as a boy. Madison Long, who recently became primary veterinarian to the SDPD’s canines, is the privileged daughter of a judge. Rick has dedicated his life to curtailing cross-border drug trafficking and preventing other young boys from being drawn into the dark world of the cartels. But everything Rick and Madison value, and the growing love between them, is threatened by the dangers of Rick’s job, and the risks he’s determined to take...
The more he discovered about this woman...
The more he thought there was something special about her.
As he watched Madison examine Sniff, he felt an odd churning in his gut. Yeah, he’d had breakfast at six, grabbed a quick sandwich for lunch and it was almost five now, but he didn’t think his reaction had anything to do with being hungry.
Rick shoved both hands back into his pants pockets. He didn’t want to dwell on the fact that all of a sudden he was tempted to reach out and discover the texture of the veterinarian’s springy red hair or how smooth her flawless complexion really was. He liked women, sure. Too much sometimes. This felt different somehow, and he’d just met her. He considered how gentle and sweet—not a word he used often, but it seemed right—she was with his dog.
That’s it! It was Sniff, he rationalized. Anyone who loved his dog was okay by him.
That was it. That was all.
Dear Reader (#ulink_88ad727c-474d-52ee-b30c-2308a85b7700),
Thank you for choosing to read the second book in my K-9 trilogy. This book tells the story of San Diego Police Department K-9 unit sergeant Rick Vasquez, veterinarian Madison Long and Rick’s narcotics detection dogs Sniff and Nitro. While both Rick and Madison do important and meaningful work in their day jobs, they share a passion for making a difference to those in need. Rick is determined to do what he can to keep susceptible youth from getting involved with drugs, and Madison is leading groundbreaking research to help injured animals heal. When two such deeply moral people come into conflict, finding common ground can be surprisingly elusive.
If you enjoyed the first book in the trilogy, When the Right One Comes Along, this book also provides an opportunity to revisit old friends San Diego Police Department search and rescue officer Cal Palmer and Dr. Jessica Hansen (now Palmer).
I hope you enjoy getting to know Rick, Madison and their dogs. If you do, watch for the third and final book of the trilogy, planned for release in early 2016. It’s the story of K-9 unit captain Logan O’Connor and San Diego International Airport chief of security Arianna Atkins. When these two come together, their interaction promises to be explosive!
I would love to hear from you. You can connect with me by email (readers@kate-james.com), through my website (kate-james.com (http://www.kate-james.com)), Facebook page (facebook.com/katejamesbooks (https://www.facebook.com/katejamesbooks)), Twitter (@katejamesbooks (https://twitter.com/katejamesbooks)), or mail me at PO Box 446, Schomberg, ON, L0G 1T0, Canada.
I’ve also provided some discussion questions on my website, in case you’d like to use this story in your book group.
Happy reading!
Kate
When Love Matters Most
Kate James
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KATE JAMES spent much of her childhood abroad before attending university in Canada. She built a successful business career, but her passion has always been literature. As a result, Kate turned her energy to her love of the written word. Kate’s goal is to entertain her readers with engaging stories featuring strong, likable characters. Kate has been honored with numerous awards for her writing. She and her husband, Ken, enjoy traveling and the outdoors with their beloved Labrador retrievers.
To Wil Cohn. With love.
And
To the men and women who dedicate their lives to law enforcement.
Acknowledgments (#ulink_7374856e-d2ed-560e-804b-45983a0c4ec3)
Thank you to my editor Paula Eykelhof for always making my books stronger and continuously challenging me to tell the very best stories in the very best way that I can. Also, thank you to Harlequin Heartwarming senior editor Victoria Curran for her unwavering vision, good humor and warmth.
Once again, much thanks to the York Regional Police (Ontario, Canada) and Constable Jim Hilton, in particular. Constable Hilton, a YRP canine unit officer and trainer, was generous with his time, resource materials and limitless knowledge as I conducted my research for this trilogy. I would also like to thank him for introducing me to his explosives detection dog, Max, and proudly showing off some of Max’s considerable skills for me!
Contents
Cover (#u8bfa847f-024d-5f8d-81a8-554fba6e17e2)
Back Cover Text (#u3a4bf540-ef3a-5113-9271-00d2807b42ed)
Introduction (#uad46bbae-53c8-591c-a86d-bdc30f3aded8)
Dear Reader (#ubf98f6c5-6365-5fe8-890d-ecf5d66396ea)
Title Page (#u09079094-5d9b-52bd-954e-2420090bfeba)
About the Author (#ue06cf2aa-59e8-5fba-90f6-a1294e15086b)
Dedication (#u5a989701-ab77-5911-8fab-ee4734a82d31)
Acknowledgments (#u07d2a84e-c31c-5651-bd12-a43be613d82e)
CHAPTER ONE (#u665bd13c-3ed1-5f90-b95e-3e12f3f2c6bf)
CHAPTER TWO (#u33fab368-0dd5-57b5-b216-cd942a300258)
CHAPTER THREE (#ucb6dffe1-b7fb-58fc-b55b-140ff97812ba)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u24bde7b5-8059-51b6-a81d-1dfc28e759d2)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_1bd7201d-405d-59dc-a32f-c0ae5d28104f)
ENRIQUE FLINCHED AT the burst of gunfire. That slight motion nearly made him lose his balance. He’d been hiding in the corner of his closet for a while, as high up as possible, bracing himself with his back against one wall and his feet against the facing wall. It wasn’t the first time he’d hidden there, trying to avoid discovery, but at twelve he was almost too big to fit. His muscles spasmed from the exertion. He rubbed his thigh, trying to get the blood circulating.
The next round of gunfire sounded as if it came from the hall. Despite the stifling heat in the dark, cramped space, he felt icy perspiration on his brow. The door to his room banged open, accompanied by a rapid exchange in Spanish and the clatter of booted feet rushing in. He bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying out. He heard a swooshing sound, which he guessed was the cover being torn off his bed; under it, he’d stuffed a couple of pillows to resemble a body. He’d prayed they’d take their shot and not bother to check if he was there.
He wasn’t that lucky.
A loud crash—likely a piece of furniture toppling—startled him. Movement halted as the cartel enforcer yelled again to someone outside the room.
Then he heard heavy footsteps approaching. His closet door was yanked open and light flooded in. Looking sideways, he saw the barrel of a machine gun slide in and ruffle the hanging clothes that were concealing him.
The barrel paused a mere six inches from his hip. He knew he was as good as dead if they found him. Petrified, the boy held his breath...
And waking from his nightmare, the man bolted up in bed, drenched in sweat and gasping for air.
Rick Vasquez raked back the damp hair from his forehead with both hands and glanced at the glowing red numerals of his bedside clock. Still shy of five in the morning. He’d barely had three hours’ sleep, but getting any more was out of the question. This was not how he’d hoped to start his day.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. With his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he gave himself a moment to let the vestiges of the nightmare fade and his heart rate level out.
Sniff, his narcotics-detection canine partner, scurried to his side and nuzzled him.
Rick straightened and stroked the yellow Labrador retriever’s head. He felt Sniff’s tension subside. He and Sniff had been working together since the day he’d joined the San Diego Police Department’s K-9 Unit six years ago. They were as connected as it was possible for any man and dog to be. The contact steadied him as much as the dog.
Sniff slid down and stretched out across Rick’s bare feet, head nestled between his paws.
Rick exhaled heavily. It had been a while since he’d had the nightmare. He recalled the fourteen-year-old kid he’d caught the night before, crossing the San Ysidro border from Tijuana into San Diego with a kilo of marijuana, and he should’ve expected that the nightmare would revisit him.
He gently nudged Sniff off his feet and stood. Placing his hands on the small of his back, he stretched and yawned. He wasn’t due at work until the evening shift, but he’d go in and have a strenuous workout to clear his mind. He had plenty of time before he and Sniff were scheduled to be at La Valencia High School for their drug-abuse awareness session. His yawn turned into a smile. He and Sniff loved the work they did counseling inner-city youth about the dangers of drug use. If, through their efforts, they managed to keep just one kid from using or selling drugs, that made it worthwhile. But he hoped their influence was much wider-reaching than one kid.
Rick tugged on a pair of gym shorts and a San Diego Police Department T-shirt that had seen better days before letting Sniff out in the backyard. He winced at the dog’s awkward little hop as he navigated the final step of the deck. He’d make a point of taking him to the veterinarian again, although there wasn’t much that could be done for the dog’s morning stiffness.
It was all part of the aging process, he acknowledged philosophically but with regret. He had to face it: Sniff was no longer a young dog. Police dogs tended to be retired early because they had a dangerous and demanding job. Sniff was exceptional at what he did and enjoyed doing it. That was the main reason Rick hadn’t already initiated the process to retire him, but well aware of Sniff’s physical limitations, Rick was careful not to overexert him.
Maybe it was time. Sniff had more than earned the right to retire, Rick thought as he stuffed street clothes into his duffel.
After Sniff had his breakfast, Rick helped him into the back of his police-issue Ford Explorer. On the way to the division, he pulled into a Starbucks to grab a breakfast sandwich and a coffee. Before he had a chance to indulge in his meal, his radio signaled.
“We have a situation,” the dispatcher announced.
Rick took a sip of his coffee and cursed as the hot liquid burned his tongue. In sharp contrast, apprehension chilled his skin.
“What kind of situation?”
“We have an officer down.”
The chill slithered up his spine. Rick knew it would be one of his team if they were contacting him. “Who?” he inquired.
The voice on the other end was barely audible. “It’s Jeff.”
“What happened?” Jeff Bradford was one of his best officers and specialized in narcotics, just as he did. Rick prayed the injury wasn’t serious.
“We received a tip at oh-four-hundred this morning about a drug shipment coming in. We got the route, the vehicle description and the estimated time of travel. Jeff and a couple of guys from the Narcotics Task Force took the call. Jeff was shot.”
A million questions crowded Rick’s mind, but he asked the one that mattered most. “What’s Jeff’s condition?”
“It doesn’t sound good, Rick,” the dispatcher responded. “Jeff took a bullet in the neck above his body armor. He was unconscious and was transported by ambulance to Ocean Crest Hospital.”
“How did it happen?”
“The captain is certain it was a setup.”
“Is Jagger in?” Rick asked about K-9 Unit captain Logan O’Connor by his alias. He needed the details.
“No. He’s at the hospital. Jeff’s family has been notified, and they’re being taken there by a couple of uniforms.”
Rick thought of Jeff’s young wife and their two-year-old son, and grief and anger warred within him. He placed the coffee cup in the center console holder, tossed the unopened sandwich on the passenger seat and switched on his lights. “I’m on my way to the hospital.”
“No. Wait! The captain and half the unit are already at the hospital or headed there. Jeff’ll be in surgery for a couple of hours at least. Logan asked me to contact you,” she said. “He wants you at the scene. He wants you to find Zeke.” Zeke was Jeff’s narcotics-detection dog.
“What do you mean, find him? He’s trained in handler protection. Even if he wasn’t, he would’ve stayed with Jeff until the ambulance took him away. Why didn’t someone from the division get Zeke? There must’ve been others on the scene by then.”
He heard a drawn-out sigh. “From what I understand, Zeke was injured trying to protect Jeff. Also a gunshot wound, we suspect. No one’s seen him since Jeff was loaded into the ambulance for transport. Logan figures that Zeke stayed with Jeff as long as he could, but his injury must be serious. In all the confusion, he must’ve gone off...”
She couldn’t finish the thought. None of them wanted to think about losing an officer or one of their dogs. Rick assumed Logan was correct. Injured animals tended to find a quiet place to be on their own. If Zeke hadn’t been hurt, there was no way he would’ve left like that.
There wasn’t anything Rick could do for Jeff right now, except pray, but maybe he could help the dog. “I’m on it,” he said in a flat voice as he drove out of the parking lot.
If Rick hadn’t taken all that extra time to do what he had for that Mexican kid coming across the border the night before, detaining him well beyond the end of his shift, he was sure he would’ve been the one called in to respond to the tip instead of Jeff. Would that have made a difference? Would he have done anything different? Would he have seen something because of his intimate knowledge of the cartels that Jeff or the others had missed?
As Rick sped along I-5, he spoke to the detectives conducting the investigation so he could gather as much information about the incident as possible. From what he was told, Jeff had done everything right. They’d found the cube van parked at the side of the road, apparently abandoned. Jeff and Zeke had been doing the perimeter check for narcotics to establish probable cause to search the inside of the van. When they’d approached the back, the doors had swung open and the shooting started. One of the Narcotics cops had been at the side of the van, out of the line of fire. He’d taken down the shooter, but it had been too late for Jeff.
There’d been no drugs in the van. Just the shooter. It had to have been a setup, as Logan thought. Their unit had been making a huge dent in the activities of a number of the cartels. This must have been payback from one of them. The guilt burned through Rick and settled in his gut, a hard, uncompromising knot. It should’ve been him, if anyone. Not one of his men. Not a cop with a young family.
His assumption about his own absence was confirmed when he spoke to Logan. They’d decided not to call him for the reason he’d surmised. If he hadn’t helped that kid the night before, it would’ve been him at the back of that cube van when the scum with the rifle had taken his shot. If he’d been there instead, Jeff wouldn’t have taken the bullet and wouldn’t be in the hospital with critical injuries.
It was hard enough when one of their own got hit, but to make matters worse for Rick, the burden of guilt weighed heavily on him.
As for Jeff, they were hopeful he was going to make it through the operation. After that...the doctors couldn’t say. The guilt surged up again and Rick tasted bile in his throat.
Rick had to take comfort in the fact that Jeff was receiving the best possible care. Right now his concern was Zeke. He knew Zeke well. He’d helped train him when he’d come to the K-9 Unit from the Czech Republic as a cute, floppy-eared shepherd puppy. Rick wanted to stay positive, but if Zeke had gone off on his own, it wasn’t a good sign. Rick rubbed his eyes when the road blurred in front of him. He stopped by a cordoned-off area, a cube van at its center. Leaving the air-conditioning on in the back of his SUV for Sniff, he jumped out.
By the time he got to the crime scene, there were cops everywhere. He greeted the ones he knew and headed to where the detectives were gathered. It was obvious where Jeff had been shot from the pool of blood on the pavement, but Rick could see a second, smaller pool, too...and the trail of drops that led away from it.
He followed the trail at a fast jog to a residential yard, where it ended by a wooden step at the base of a deck.
Rick crouched down and peered into the dark, confined space. Relief flooded through him when he heard the panting. Even before he dropped to his belly and shone his light in, he started to murmur to Zeke in a calm, reassuring tone. He wanted to reduce the chances of the injured animal—out of pain or self-defense—lashing out at him.
He needn’t have worried. Large chocolate-brown eyes stared up at him and a warm, dry tongue brushed the back of his hand when he reached in. Zeke was lying on his left side. From what Rick could see, he must have taken a bullet on his right side. Judging by the dark crimson stain on the packed dirt, he’d lost a considerable amount of blood.
But Zeke was alive and conscious. Rick needed to get him to a vet. And fast.
Resting his flashlight on the grass, Rick elbowed into the tight space and maneuvered the big dog gently out from under the deck. He could tell from the whimpers that he was hurting Zeke, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. The dog remained stoic, seeming to trust him implicitly.
“I’ve got you, pal,” he murmured. “You’re going to be okay.”
Rick carried Zeke to his truck as fast as he dared. He didn’t want to jostle him too much, didn’t want to cause him more pain, or aggravate his injuries and blood loss. At his vehicle, he looked around quickly. Not wanting to set Zeke down only to have to lift him again, he needed help. He saw another cop from his division and called out, “Give me a hand, would you, Steve?”
The cop glanced at Zeke. His brows drew together and his mouth formed a hard, straight line. “It’s terrible what happened to Jeff. Is his dog going to be okay?”
“If I have anything to do with it, yeah. There’s a blanket on the floor just behind the passenger seat. Get it for me, and help me wrap it around Zeke. I want to stem the flow of blood, and keep him warm and still, if possible.”
“Sure.” The cop did as he was asked.
“Now recline that seat all the way.”
“Why don’t you put him in the back? Wouldn’t it be more comfortable for him?”
“My dog’s in there, and there isn’t room for both of them.” Almost as if on cue, a short bark and a whine came from the back compartment of the SUV. Sniff must have sensed Zeke’s presence and his distress.
“Besides, I want Zeke up front with me so I can keep an eye on him,” Rick added.
“All right,” Steve said, and complied with Rick’s directions.
They slid Zeke carefully onto the near-horizontal seat.
“Thanks, man. I owe you one,” Rick said, slapping the other cop on the back. Then he skirted his truck at a run.
He buckled himself in, put a reassuring hand briefly on Zeke’s head and turned on his lights. He needed to get Zeke to the Mission Bay Veterinary Clinic as swiftly and smoothly as possible. He called ahead to make sure they could see Zeke right away.
Despite the short interval, by the time Rick drove into the clinic’s parking lot, Zeke’s breathing had become shallow and labored. His eyes had drifted closed.
Rick carried the dog as fast as he could into the clinic.
“Oh, my gosh! What happened?” The receptionist—not Heather, the clinic’s regular one, but the college kid who filled in sometimes—sprang up from her desk and rushed around the counter.
“He’s been shot. As I told you on the phone, he needs attention right away.” Rick’s voice was hoarse with emotion. They couldn’t lose Zeke.
“Here! We’re ready for you.” She indicated an examination room and quickly opened the door for him. “You’re Sergeant Rick Vasquez, with the SDPD, correct?”
Rick laid Zeke down on the examination table. “Yeah. Good memory, but can you hurry, please? Zeke needs help urgently.”
“Okay, I’ll get Madison right now.”
Rick’s head whipped up. “What? Why not Jane? I need the best for Zeke.”
The girl took a stumbling step back. “I... I’m sorry, but Jane’s off this week.”
Rick fought to keep his temper in check, more for Zeke’s sake than the receptionist’s. He didn’t want the dog to be any more agitated than he already was. “What about Don, then?” He inquired about the other partner in the practice.
She shook her head. “He’s at a conference.”
“Fine,” Rick said tersely. “Get whoever you mentioned in here, then.” Recognizing the girl’s distress through his haze of anger and fear, he added in a more controlled voice, “As fast as possible, please.”
The girl nodded briskly and rushed out of the room.
Rick could see that Zeke’s condition had deteriorated considerably during transport. It made the wait seem interminable, although it couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes before the door finally swung open again.
Seeing the vet enter, he felt a jolt. His immediate reaction was elemental and hormone-driven. The woman standing in the doorway was of average height, with impressive curves obvious even in the boxy white lab coat, and she had long, curly red hair. When she introduced herself as Madison Long, he heard Texas in her sultry voice. He was unaccustomed to his shock at the sight of an attractive woman. He ignored the feeling, astonished that he’d even noticed her appearance when all he cared about was Zeke and his survival.
She narrowed her eyes and he realized he must have been scowling. “Are you qualified to deal with trauma?” he blurted out, to reestablish focus on Zeke and his care. Stupid question, he chastised himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but there was no taking them back.
The V that had formed between her brows deepened. Her curt “Of course” sounded haughty, and made him angry for some reason...probably at himself, if he was honest. During the drive to the clinic, his feelings of guilt had extended from Jeff to Zeke, and that hadn’t helped his disposition. He was desperate for them both to pull through.
Then the veterinarian was all business. She asked him to explain what had happened and began her examination.
When she manipulated Zeke’s leg and the dog yelped, Rick’s angst spewed forth. “You’re hurting him,” he accused.
She looked aggravated. “I’m trying to diagnose him.”
“Well, can’t you give him an anesthetic or something to ease the pain?” He couldn’t stand to see the dog suffer. “You...”
The door opening interrupted Rick, and one of the techs rushed in.
Ignoring Rick, the veterinarian spoke to the tech. “Oh, good, Sean. Can you please hold Zeke still and try to keep him calm while I finish my examination?”
“Sure,” Sean replied, and moved into position beside the examination table.
When Zeke whimpered again, Rick threw his hands up. “You can’t let him suffer like this! Can’t you just...”
“I have to determine the extent of his injuries before I can sedate him,” she cut in. “I need you to stay quiet and let me do my job.”
“But...”
“Sean,” Madison interrupted and addressed the tech with a voice that brooked no argument. Her gaze, steady and angry, rose to meet Rick’s. “Since the officer is being a distraction, please escort him out so he can wait in the reception area and we can do our best for his dog.” As she lowered her eyes to Zeke, her expression softened and her whole demeanor changed. “We don’t have time to waste quarreling.”
Rick was about to object, insist that he had to stay. He needed to know what was happening with Zeke. When he felt Sean’s hand on his arm, he wanted to argue or resist, but realized it wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Zeke. It would only take valuable time and energy away from his care. Whether Rick liked it or not, this doctor was Zeke’s only chance, and antagonizing her would do no good. He didn’t bother to correct her that he was a sergeant or that Zeke wasn’t his dog. Both facts were irrelevant.
He shrugged off Sean’s grasp. “I can manage on my own,” he grumbled, and left the room, with Sean closing the door none too gently behind him.
Rick moved restlessly about the waiting area, occasionally stopping to stare out the window. He worried about Jeff. He worried about Zeke. He fumed at the way the bust had fallen apart, and berated himself for not having been there to begin with. The guilt, anger and worry were an ugly maelstrom in his gut.
He called his parents to tell them he was okay. He knew they’d be worried because they would’ve heard the news by now. He called his sister, Sophie, as well, since she’d left him a couple of frantic messages. He assured her, too, and asked that she call their brother, Daniel. Rick phoned Logan next to get another update on Jeff’s condition and the state of the investigation.
Jeff was out of surgery, but the doctors still couldn’t give any guarantees that he’d make it. They’d done all they could for him, Logan reported, but Jeff had lost too much blood, and the internal damage had been extensive. There were no developments with respect to the investigation. All they knew of the shooter at this point was that he was probably Mexican.
Rick couldn’t believe how what should’ve been a straightforward bust had gone so wrong. They’d received a tip, as they often did. It wasn’t from one of their usual confidential informants, although they’d dealt with this CI in the past. Nothing major, but enough to establish a degree of credibility. With the time frame so short, they’d never properly validated the tip.
Would he have taken any additional precautionary measures if he’d been called in? In retrospect, he felt that an abandoned vehicle would have been a yellow if not a red flag for him, but would he have thought so in the moment? Or would he have been so anxious to get the bust that he would’ve done exactly the same thing they had? He let out a string of expletives as he spun away from the window.
And nearly bumped into Andrea or Angela or whatever the part-time receptionist’s name was. He hadn’t realized she’d approached him.
“Um, would you like some coffee or water...while you wait?” she asked.
Her eyes were round, and she linked and relinked her fingers in front of her. Rick exhaled heavily. It wasn’t like him to take his feelings out on other people. It was also rare that his temper got the best of him. He sighed and smoothed the harsh edge to his voice. “I’m sorry. Yeah, a coffee would be good. Thanks.”
When she left to get it for him, he stared at the closed door to the exam room. Why was it taking so long?
His cell phone rang, and he answered it.
Jeff had gone into cardiac arrest.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_714fa0a4-a058-5492-ae53-b8e4381619eb)
MADISON HELPED SEAN wheel the gurney on which the sedated dog was lying to the clinic’s recovery area. Once Zeke was settled and she’d given Sean strict instructions for his care, she washed up the best she could. She was a mess; it had taken nearly two hours, but she was optimistic that Zeke would be fine. That was worth anything to her. Fortunately, the injury wasn’t as bad as she’d first suspected. The bullet must have just grazed him, and the damage was limited to the muscle and nerves in his right rear leg. An artery had been nicked, accounting for the significant blood loss, but his handler had been smart and acted quickly to stanch the flow. He’d likely saved the dog’s life.
With some rehab therapy, Zeke would recover, as long as he didn’t develop an infection. That was always a risk in cases like this, and she’d watch for it. She’d have to talk to the dog’s handler, though—Rick, Angela had told her—and strongly urge him to consider retiring Zeke. The dog might only be six years old, but he shouldn’t work again. With any luck, he’d enjoy eight or nine more years of just being a dog. However unpleasant the handler had been, it was clear he cared about his dog, so she figured it would be an easy sell.
Madison stripped off her soiled lab coat and stuffed it in a hamper. She thought about the groundbreaking platelet-rich plasma research she was part of at the San Diego Animal Rehabilitation Center. Zeke could be a candidate for a trial because of his muscle and possible nerve injury. But she was getting ahead of herself in her enthusiasm for the early success of her research. Whether platelet-rich plasma therapy was right for Zeke or not, she’d see to his rehab. If not through PRP, then definitely through aqua therapy.
She washed and dried her hands, then took a deep breath. She didn’t relish facing the truculent cop, but at least she had encouraging news for him. She didn’t want to consider what his reaction might have been otherwise. Was it just her personal experience, or did great-looking guys always have attitudes or tempers that were off the charts? This cop certainly proved her theory.
The cop in question was standing by the window when she entered the reception area. He had one hand jammed in the pocket of his pants and was holding a Styrofoam cup in the other. There were no other clients waiting. Fortunate, she mused, because if the strained look on Angela’s face was any indication, the cop’s disposition hadn’t improved.
Madison had a definite aversion to ill-tempered people, but she accepted that in this case he had a legitimate reason. She would’ve been surly, too, if it was her Alaskan malamute, Owen, who’d been injured. Yes, police dogs had a job to do, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t a very real attachment between a handler and his dog. Perhaps it was even greater, since their very lives could depend on each other.
He was looking outside, and yet with the tension almost visibly rippling off him, she doubted his mind was on the tranquil green space the practice maintained for its patients next to the building. The slope of his shoulders and the fatigue evident on his face told their own story. He was hurting and vulnerable.
He must have been deep in thought, too, since he seemed oblivious to her presence when she approached him. Of course, the comfortable, soft-soled clogs she wore might have had something to do with it.
She took another minute to study him. Tall, with wide shoulders that narrowed to a lean waist, he was obviously fit. She knew K-9 cops had to be. He had thick, jet-black hair, not closely cropped as many cops favored, but more stylish with loose waves. She guessed that, working narcotics, he’d go undercover at times, and a brush cut on a physique like his all but screamed cop.
She took a couple more steps forward. “Excuse me, Officer...”
His head snapped toward her. She must have observed him in a weak moment. Now his shoulders were squared and there was no sign of vulnerability.
“How’s Zeke?” he demanded.
Madison raised an eyebrow at his brusque tone. She tried to rationalize again that it was out of concern for his dog and rushed to give him the good news. “Zeke’s prognosis is positive. I was able to repair most of the internal damage. There might be some sustained muscle and nerve injury, but we’ll have to assess that once he’s recovered from the immediate trauma and the surgery. I’ll watch for infection. Barring that, Zeke should recover well.” She could see the relief on his face, softening the harsh lines, and his whole body appeared to sag. She glimpsed the vulnerability again and warmed to him a little. He must care deeply about his dog, she concluded.
“My expectation is that he’ll require rehab,” she said. “At the appropriate time, once we’ve assessed his needs, I’d like to discuss some experimental work that I’m involved in that might be beneficial for Zeke.”
“Experimental? What are the risks? I don’t want Zeke to be a guinea pig if there are any risks.”
So much for warming to him. Did he really think she’d do anything that wasn’t in the absolute best interest of an animal? “As I said,” she continued in clipped tones, “we can discuss the options at the appropriate time. In the meanwhile, I want to talk to you about his future.”
He frowned. “What about his future?”
She might not intimidate easily, but this cop set her nerves on edge. She thought she heard her own gulp and hoped it wasn’t audible to him. Thinking of Zeke and what he’d been through firmed her resolve. Whether he’d like what she had to say or not, she had a responsibility to her patient. “You should retire Zeke,” she said emphatically.
He paused, and seemed to reflect on it. “Is that a medical opinion?” he asked curtly.
“No. It’s a humane one,” she retorted.
“Well, it’s not up to me. How long will you need to keep Zeke here?”
“Probably a week but, as I said, he’ll likely need rehab. And he should be retired from active duty.”
“Yeah. I heard you the first time.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Unless you need anything else from me, I should get going.”
Need anything from him? How about a personality? Or a little courtesy? A simple thank-you would’ve been nice. He couldn’t fathom how much it took out of her when she feared she might not be able to save a life. With Zeke, it had been touch and go because of the amount of blood he’d lost. “No. We’ve got everything we need.”
He crushed the coffee cup, tossed it in a waste receptacle and started to walk away. Unexpectedly, he paused. “Look, thank you for what you did for Zeke. For saving his life.”
It was almost as if he’d been reading her mind. Without the harsh undertones, she liked the deep timbre of his voice. How strange that goose bumps formed on her arms.
“Just doing my job,” she said, wanting him gone because of the sudden discomfort she felt in his presence. When the front door chime sounded, she glanced toward it, and the tightness in her chest eased. She smiled broadly when she saw her next clients, twelve-year-old Tammy Montpelier, her mother and their miniature Doberman, Gustav. “I’ll be right with you,” she said before shifting her attention back to the cop. In that brief moment, his frown had returned. What was it that made him so moody? It had to be more than concern for his dog, since she’d told him the dog would be fine.
“I’ll be in touch tomorrow to check on Zeke,” he said.
“No problem.” What an odd man, she thought as she watched him walk out the door. Leading Gustav, Tammy and Mrs. Montpelier to an examination room, she tried to block Rick—and the disconcerting sensation he stirred in her—out of her mind.
* * *
RICK’S EMOTIONS WERE a muddle. He felt light-headed with relief over Zeke. At least the dog was going to be fine. He wished the same could be said for Jeff. The last he’d heard, the doctors had restored Jeff’s heart function with a defibrillator, but he was back in the OR. The doctors were concerned, although they said he had a fighting chance. And Jeff was a fighter.
Rick tried to ignore the worry, but that just left the anger and guilt to consume him.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that what had happened to Jeff and Zeke was his fault. Intellectually he rationalized that it was nonsense, but it didn’t negate the feeling. Jeff was a good cop but relatively young. With his own experience and more personal insights into how the cartels operated, Rick wondered again if he would’ve been able to detect that it was a trap. The simple fact that they’d had a tip—from a questionable informant—and that the van was found apparently abandoned should’ve been reason enough to exercise extreme caution. Who’d abandon a vehicle voluntarily if it contained drugs? Why hadn’t the Narcotics Task Force guys see that, if Jeff hadn’t?
Rick had no answers. Second-guessing was futile, but Jeff was part of his team, so Jeff was his responsibility. Rick had decided to go to the San Ysidro border area the night before because the Sinaloa Cartel was rumored to be active there. Then he’d caught that boy trying to smuggle the kilo of marijuana across the border. Although Rick had never run drugs as a kid, it had struck too close to home, and he’d taken pity on the boy. He’d made arrangements to get him to Child Services instead of booking him. And that skirting of the law, even with the best of intentions, had taken considerably more time than arresting him would have. The result was Jeff and the Narcotics cops handling the incident without him.
Was his fixation on the Sinaloa Cartel all these years later—although they were no longer the SDPD’s biggest concern since the Los Zetas Cartel had risen to prominence—a contributing factor? Rick had to admit that, right or wrong, he couldn’t forgive or forget. Had his personal grudge caused him to make the wrong decision, and consequently a good cop, a young father, was fighting for his life?
And if it was an ambush, why? To send a message to the SDPD K-9 Unit because of the significant headway they’d made in shutting down the cartel’s usual smuggling routes? It was plausible.
When he reached his SUV, he let Sniff out to relieve himself and stretch his legs before they headed back to the police division. He watched Sniff favor his left rear leg as he ambled about. Lying down for long stretches wasn’t good for his partner. Watching Sniff, he considered next steps.
The unit needed to debrief, and he planned to have a one-on-one with Logan. He was almost certain that the Los Zetas Cartel was behind the trap. That made sense, since they were the ones who’d been impacted the most. Yet they were still the dominant force. The SDPD needed to take down their operations in San Diego.
Rick checked his watch. Logan should be back from the hospital by the time he got to the division.
Helping Sniff into the vehicle because he couldn’t make the jump on his own reminded him that he wanted to take him to the clinic for a checkup. And that got him thinking of the new veterinarian, Madison Long.
He’d treated her terribly. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it. It was just that he was angry, worried and—if he was rationalizing—he might as well add sleep deprived. He felt rotten about having questioned her competence. She had to be good at what she did. Jane and Don wouldn’t have brought her into the practice and entrusted her with the care of the SDPD canines if she wasn’t.
Rick wasn’t rude or ungrateful. His parents had raised him better than that. All the more reason for him to feel ashamed of the way he’d behaved. He knew he’d made a horrible impression, and couldn’t really blame her for being abrupt with him. He could come up with all the excuses he wanted, but the bottom line was that he’d been a jerk. The vet had saved Zeke, and he should’ve shown her all the gratitude in the world for that alone.
Then she’d voiced his own thoughts about Zeke’s having earned an early retirement. She was clearly a caring person. He wished he could have said yes, but Zeke wasn’t his dog. With Jeff in the hospital, he’d make the recommendation. The decision, however, was Logan’s. Something else he’d have to discuss with the captain. Had it been just that morning that he’d contemplated approaching him about retiring Sniff?
He and Logan had been talking about a renewal of the canines, planning for the future by bringing in some younger dogs. If they were going to be training, they might as well train a few young dogs at the same time. Those dogs would have to be checked over by the vet to ensure that they were physically sound...and that brought his thoughts full circle to the beautiful redhead.
It had been an emotional day, and he needed some sleep. That was all. Nothing more. He had to cancel his drug-awareness counseling session at the school, which he hated to do, but he just couldn’t take the time. That didn’t help his mood. It had turned out to be one of his worst days in recent memory.
He’d stop by the division, talk with Logan, find someone to cover his shift that night, set the wheels in motion for a debrief at oh-seven-hundred hours the next day, then go home, have a beer, get some sleep.
If he could shut his brain down long enough...
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_71cb4dc2-cab2-51b0-8a8e-ef71e72630ab)
AS IT TURNED OUT, Logan wasn’t back at the division when Rick got there. He’d apparently gone from the hospital straight to the scene of the shooting. Couldn’t blame him. Rick would’ve done that, too, if he hadn’t been with Zeke. In fact, he might just go there now, catch up with Logan at the scene.
“Where’re you going, Pitbull?” Shannon Clemens, the sole female officer in their unit and one of the most recent additions to their team, called out to him as he started to pack up his gear. “You just got here.” She made a sweeping motion around the mostly empty squad room. The few cops who were present had their eyes on him. “Everyone’s asking what we’re going to do about Jeff. About what happened to him.”
Rick ran his fingers through his hair for what must have been the thousandth time that day, something he did when he was frustrated or overtired. “If I knew anything, I’d tell you. But I don’t. Not any more than you already know.” There’d been no updates since Jeff had gone back into the OR. He looked around, scanned the furious faces. They were all aware of what had gone down and praying for Jeff to pull through.
“The good news is Zeke’s going to be okay.” He could at least give them that much. “I’m going to try to catch Logan in the field.”
“You won’t get him there,” Shannon said. “I was just speaking with Dispatch. Jagger’s coming in,” she said. “But he plans to make a couple of stops first.”
She took a long look at Rick, so intense and appraising it made his skin itch. He was just about to ask, “What?” when she continued.
“You might not have been involved in the incident, but you look as though you could use some downtime. Why don’t you go home? Get some rest. We’ve got the debrief tomorrow morning anyway. I’d bet that both you and Logan will be in before it starts. You can see him then.”
Rick felt the need to act. To do something. But what Shannon said was true. He probably looked like hell—and she was just showing her concern. He finished stuffing everything in his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“You’re right, and thanks,” he said to Shannon, giving her shoulder a light pat as he walked by. “See you all tomorrow,” he said.
* * *
DESPITE A RESTLESS NIGHT, Rick couldn’t remember a single dream or nightmare, for which he was thankful. He’d believed the events of the day before would bring the nightmares back to haunt him, but he’d gotten a solid five hours of uninterrupted sleep. That wasn’t bad under the circumstances. He’d woken twenty minutes before his alarm was set to go off. Since then, he’d been lying wide-awake, listening to Sniff snoring softly on his own bed.
Rick folded his arms under his head and stared up at the ceiling. Why his thoughts kept veering back to the new vet he couldn’t say, especially when he had so much else to occupy him. Well, he supposed he did have an idea why. He was intrigued, and it was more than her looks. She’d gone toe-to-toe with him and in a manner of speaking had won. She’d gotten him out of the way, not backing down when he was at his belligerent worst. And she’d done her job. He thought of himself as a nice guy, a gentleman—thanks to the Stewarts and how they’d raised him—but he certainly hadn’t left Madison with that impression.
He knew exactly what his mother, Hillary, would have to say about his behavior. He smiled ruefully. He was twenty-nine years old and just short of six-three, and it was his mother, maybe five-four and a hundred and fifteen pounds, who could put the fear of God into him.
As he climbed out of bed and turned off his alarm, he resolved two things. He’d apologize to the veterinarian. Maybe even surprise her, stopping by the clinic to bring her a bunch of flowers or make some other conciliatory gesture. Second, he was well overdue for a visit with his family. He wasn’t shy about admitting that he missed his parents. He’d set that up today, too. Plan a get-together for the weekend, if Sophie and Daniel were available.
He didn’t accomplish either of those goals over the course of the day. Jeff hadn’t survived the night, and that had cast a pall over the debrief they had that morning.
Everyone was both grieving and fueled up to bring justice to those responsible. Rick had barely had time to take restroom breaks; it was insanely busy at the division. When he’d found a rare moment to check on Zeke’s condition, Heather, the clinic’s regular receptionist, advised him that Madison was unavailable but Zeke was doing well. She also informed him that Logan had already arranged for the unit’s admin, Beth, to stay in touch with her for regular progress reports. Rick’s opportunity to make casual contact with the veterinarian and attempt to redeem himself was lost.
The important thing was that Zeke was recovering, and the risk of infection was diminishing with the passage of time.
The division had set a plan in motion to track down the men responsible for killing Jeff, bring them to justice and, if everything worked out, take down the Los Zetas Cartel’s operations in California. It was a bold plan, not without risk, and would require cooperation from a number of policing entities on both sides of the border. Rick had volunteered to co-lead it with the captain of the SDPD’s Narcotics Task Force. That was the least he could do.
* * *
IT HAD BEEN one emergency after another at the clinic over the past three days since Zeke had arrived. Even her regular appointments had created challenges. Daisy was a perfect example, Madison thought, while she cleaned up after seeing the skittish little bull terrier. Daisy had been in for a routine checkup and her shots, but she’d been so nervous, she’d emptied her stomach and her bladder during the examination. Madison shook her head. She hadn’t managed to get out of the way quickly enough. As a result, she’d had to change, and one of the techs had to do a cleanup in examination room three.
Despite days like this, Madison loved her job, and she loved the groundbreaking research she was doing at the San Diego Animal Rehabilitation Center.
She was very excited and confident about the progress she and the center’s team were making in the area of platelet-rich plasma therapy. The opportunity to participate in the PRP research and what it would mean for tens of thousands of injured animals had been the key reason for her move to San Diego from El Paso, Texas, where she was raised and where her father still lived.
She’d done her homework before making the move, of course. The San Diego rehab center was the best and most advanced in the country in her area of interest. They also had the necessary funding, an essential consideration since the research was costly. In addition, they gave her free rein with her secondary interest—advanced aqua therapy. The opportunity had been compelling enough for her to leave her father, the only family she had.
She took a moment to think of Patrick Long, Supreme Court judge and the best father anyone could hope for. He’d started his career as a crown prosecutor, had gone into private practice and had been ultimately called to the bench. Since her mother had died of ovarian cancer when Madison was a toddler, it was just the two of them. As a kid, she’d shadowed her father and spent many hours with him at his office and even in the courtroom.
She missed him. Much more than she’d expected.
But her career meant a lot to her. A professional drive and a desire to make a difference were values her father had instilled in her from an early age. And those factors had resulted in her move to San Diego and the Mission Bay Veterinary Clinic.
Through her father, she’d gained a tremendous respect for police officers, and the dangerous and often thankless work they did. She’d also had enough exposure to police dogs to know their jobs weren’t any easier and often more dangerous than that of their handlers.
When she’d joined Mission Bay, Madison had learned that they provided care for the SDPD’s canines, and she’d expressed keen interest in working with them. It hadn’t taken long to prove herself to Jane and Don, the clinic’s owners. She’d been thrilled when in addition to her other duties she’d been entrusted with the care of the SDPD’s dogs.
Zeke was the first police dog she’d treated for an injury sustained in the line of duty. It had hit her hard emotionally, and she was gratified that she’d been able to help him.
She’d checked on Zeke first thing in the morning. He was still groggy from his medication, but she was pleased with his progress and had reduced his dosage. There was no sign of infection, which was a huge relief. If all went well, she thought he’d be an excellent candidate for a trial of the PRP therapy.
She put on a clean lab coat, brushed her hair and braided it. She wanted to have another quick look at Zeke before her next appointment to ensure that he was doing okay with the lower dosage. As she did, she thought of the cop—Rick—who’d brought Zeke in. Too bad he didn’t have a personality. A guy like him probably got by on looks alone, and didn’t care how rude and unfriendly he was. Well, that wasn’t her type. She appreciated appearance as much as anyone, but what really mattered to her was a man’s inner qualities—what was inside. Rick seemed to have more than his fair share on the outside, but a major deficit in the personality department.
In the months she’d been at Mission Bay, she’d met most of the K-9 Unit officers and their dogs. Being single, Madison accepted the amiable flirting from the officers. And being human, she wasn’t immune to the attention from the mostly good-looking cops. She didn’t take any of it seriously. If she allowed herself to be shallow for just a moment, she had to admit that Rick was the most attractive of the group. But based on what she’d seen of him, there wasn’t going to be any flirting.
Which was probably for the best. He made her feel uneasy.
Then, why was she even thinking about him? And why Rick rather than one of the supernice cops who were gracious and pleasant? She knew a lot of women were attracted to a rogue. She’d always scoffed at that, but maybe she wasn’t immune to it, either. She laughed at herself. She really needed to get more of a social life if her thoughts were turning in that direction.
Satisfied that Zeke was fine, she left the recovery area. Her next appointment was with one of the few SDPD K-9 cops she hadn’t met yet, K-9 Unit sergeant Enrique Vasquez or Pitbull. She rolled her eyes at his alias. His canine partner’s name was Sniff. She smiled at the cute name for a narcotics dog. The cop evidently had a sense of humor. Sniff hadn’t come to the clinic for nearly seven months, certainly not during the time she’d been there.
Madison checked her watch. Of course she had to meet a new client on a day she was behind schedule. She happened to be a stickler for organization and effective time management. She didn’t like to keep clients waiting, nor did she want to make a poor first impression, but she needed to review Sniff’s patient file first.
Sniff was the only Labrador in the SDPD’s K-9 Unit. If she wasn’t mistaken, Sniff’s handler, Enrique, was the cop Heather gushed about—classically tall, dark and handsome.
Madison remembered what Heather had told her about this particular cop. He and Sniff patrolled the most hazardous part of the border between San Diego and Tijuana to thwart the cartel-related drug trafficking that occurred there. Heather had gone on at some length about Enrique’s looks and charm when she’d handed her the file, until finally Madison had laughingly told her to stop. Heather had claimed he was the best looking in the unit, which she considered unlikely after having met Zeke’s handler, Rick. In any case, Enrique would have to be more pleasant and better mannered than Rick had been, she thought as she rounded the corner to the reception area.
And she came to an abrupt halt.
Enrique Vasquez might have had his back to her, talking to one of the techs, but from what she could see, Heather had not been exaggerating about his looks. He was tall, with broad shoulders that narrowed to a lean waist and a trim backside. Realizing where her gaze—and her thoughts—had drifted, she pulled both away. He wore a baseball cap and must’ve been off duty, as he was wearing street clothes. He rested one hand comfortably on his dog’s head, which showed a caring that appealed to her soft heart. When the cop raised his other hand to push back his ball cap, impressive biceps bunched under his short-sleeved shirt. “Wow,” she breathed before she could catch herself. When he did it again, she focused on the way he moved rather than his physique. There was something familiar about him.
She felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder and heard a soft voice next to her ear. “I told you!”
It was just Madison’s luck that she’d let her guard down when Heather was coming out of the back storage area.
“Yeah, well, I’m late and I’d better get going.”
Heather placed a hand on her arm. “I’ll let him know you’ll be with him in a minute. Come join us when you’re ready.”
Madison was about to protest, but recognized that a minute or two to get herself in a more professional frame of mind wouldn’t make much of a difference, time-wise. She was already worried about her first impression on a new client because of being late. A little later wouldn’t matter, but if she was tongue-tied and scatterbrained when she met him, she’d embarrass herself. So she let Heather precede her.
* * *
“HEY, ENRIQUE,” HEATHER greeted Rick in a pleasant singsong voice.
He waved goodbye to the tech, who’d been grilling him about his chances of becoming a police officer, and turned his attention to the receptionist. He generally didn’t like to be called by his full given name—it reminded him too much of his childhood in Mexico—but Heather preferred it, and he’d stopped trying to dissuade her.
“I’m sorry we’ve kept you waiting. Madison had a bit of a...an incident with a patient and had to clean up. She’ll see you and Sniff any minute now.” Her face sobered. “I’m so very sorry to hear about Jeff. Please give his family our condolences.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” It hadn’t gotten easier to deal with Jeff’s death, despite the passage of several days.
“What have you got there?” She gestured to the duffel he’d rested on the floor beside his feet.
Rick felt the heat rise to his face. “Just stuff,” he mumbled. “So I understand Madison’s taking over from Jane for our dogs.”
“Uh-huh,” Heather responded. She walked around the reception desk to return to her station.
Rick leaned on the counter. He wasn’t at all perturbed about Madison’s being late. It gave him a chance to question Heather about the new vet. Heather obviously didn’t realize he and Madison had already met. There was no reason she would have, he reminded himself. Unless the part-time receptionist had told Heather he’d been in, she’d have no way of knowing that he was the one who’d brought Zeke. Even though he’d called about Zeke a few times, Heather must have assumed he was checking up on one of the unit’s dogs. Her not knowing gave him the advantage. “Has Madison worked with police dogs before?” he began.
Heather sat down behind her desk. “You know, I’m not sure. She moved here a few months ago from Texas. She must have some experience. They wouldn’t have assigned her to care for the SDPD’s canines if she wasn’t qualified. Logan wouldn’t have approved, either,” she added. “You’d have to ask Madison about her experience.”
“Is she good?” He’d concluded that she was, based on what she’d done for Zeke, but he was curious about what Heather had to say. Working with Madison would give her a different point of view. The more he’d thought about it, the more he recognized the skill and calm resolve it must have taken to save Zeke. He was anxious to see him, after Sniff’s examination.
Before Heather had a chance to answer, he heard soft footsteps behind him.
“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” Heather motioned toward the hallway. “Here’s Madison now.”
“Great. Thank...” Rick looked over his shoulder, and whatever else he was going to say escaped him. He felt his mouth go dry. Sure, he’d met her before, but he must not have been seeing clearly at the time. He certainly hadn’t been thinking clearly. He’d remembered her as attractive but not drop-dead gorgeous. She was wearing a lab coat again, a blue one this time, yet her curves were evident. Today, she had her hair in a thick braid, hanging over one shoulder. Even braided, the mass of it hung well down toward her waist. Instead of greeting him, she stood still, her lips slightly parted, shock on her face. It was almost as if she hadn’t been expecting him—or had forgotten that she’d met him.
He took a step forward, Sniff trailing him, and smiled. “Are you ready for us?”
She gave a slight shake of her head, not so much to indicate no, but almost as if clearing her mind of whatever had preoccupied her. Before she could say anything, Heather filled the silence.
“Madison, this is Sergeant Enrique Vasquez, aka Pitbull, and his canine partner, Sniff.”
“Officer Rick,” Madison said with frost in her voice, and Rick’s smile faded. Apparently, she wasn’t inclined to let bygones be bygones.
“You’ve met?” Heather asked, obviously confused.
“Yes,” they responded in unison.
Heather glanced from one stern face to the other and backed up. “Okay, then. I’ll just get back to work.”
Madison gave Rick one more long, hard look before stepping forward and bending down to greet Sniff. Her features softened; the dog’s good nature must have won her over. By the time she straightened and extended a hand to Rick, the reserve had returned.
“As you know, I’m Madison Long,” she said in a perfunctory manner, putting the emphasis on know, and flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Follow me, please.”
Rick tapped his thigh, and had Sniff heeling next to him as he followed her. Madison’s braid swung across her back with each step she took. Glancing at Heather, he saw her bemused expression and wondered what had caused it. Then he noticed the duffel he’d forgotten and rushed back to grab it before joining Madison.
“How’s Zeke?” was the first thing he asked when they were in the examination room.
“He’s coming along nicely.”
“That’s terrific. Can I see him when we’re done here?”
“Of course,” she said, gathering everything she needed for Sniff’s exam.
She was being professional and courteous, but there was a distinct remoteness in her voice and demeanor. Conscious of the duffel in his right hand, he wondered how smart an idea that was. “The unit’s retiring Zeke,” he offered as an olive branch.
Her hands stilled and she gave him a contemplative look before nodding, but her cool formality remained as she opened a cabinet to get additional supplies. There was something...out of character about her expression. The lines bracketing her mouth were a dead giveaway that she laughed more than she frowned. He shifted the duffel from one hand to the other, then placed it on a chair in the corner of the room. “Look, I’m sorry for the way I acted when we first met.”
She turned back to him, and he saw the surprise on her face.
“It was a hell of a day. Zeke being hurt wasn’t all of it.”
“I heard on the news that an officer was shot...and that he passed away... I’m sorry...” Her voice rang with sincerity and compassion.
“Yeah. Jeff didn’t make it.” Rick broke eye contact, reached down and stroked Sniff’s back. The grief was still too raw. The dog raised his head, tongue lolling, adoration in his eyes that never failed to melt Rick’s heart.
“What will happen to Zeke?” Madison interrupted his thoughts.
Rick’s eyes lifted to hers and he could see she was moved, too. The fact that she seemed to care about Jeff and about Zeke said a lot about her. “Jeff’s family—his wife and son—want to keep Zeke. Zeke mattered to Jeff and is therefore important to his family.” He cleared his throat with a small cough and changed the subject to a more practical matter. “SDPD will pick up the cost of Zeke’s treatment and rehabilitation. Whatever it takes, just do what’s best for him. We’ll help the family with some retraining so Zeke can adapt to being a pet. Jeff was a good cop...a good man. He’ll be missed and not just by his family.”
“I’m so sorry,” Madison repeated in a whisper, and briefly rested a hand on his forearm.
“Thanks.” The sense of loss and futility, the sudden rush of emotion, was threatening to strangle Rick. He coughed again to try to cover up his feelings, but the sorrow was backing up in his throat. He grabbed his duffel and held it out to her. “We got off on the wrong foot the other day. I brought you something. Sort of a peace offering.”
Her gaze slid from his eyes to the black, well-worn bag and back. “You’re giving me a used gym bag?”
His nervous, amused laughter burst forth. He wasn’t usually this awkward around women. But then he generally didn’t start out from such a deficit. “No. Of course not!” He chuckled and fumbled with the zipper before placing the bag on the chair and unzipping it. He reached in and handed her a brightly wrapped bunch of flowers. “These are for you.”
Her eyebrows seemed to be stuck under her bangs, but at least the corners of her mouth had turned up. She took the bouquet from him. “You brought me flowers?”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants. “Yeah. It’s a small token of apology. I was a jerk and I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” She raised the bouquet to her nose and took a deep breath. “I love freesia. They smell heavenly.”
He had no idea which of the colorful flowers was freesia, but he’d have to remember the name. It had evidently done the trick. He was surprised by and appreciative of the ease with which she’d put their awkward beginning behind her. No stalling. No making him grovel.
She retrieved a jug from the cabinets and filled it with water. When she’d placed the flowers in it, she lifted them to her nose again, closing her eyes as she inhaled. She opened her eyes again, and her gaze locked with his. He could have sworn he heard the clock on the wall ticking the seconds away as they stared at each other. There was something unfathomable in the depths of her eyes. “Sniff...” he finally said.
Madison smiled, took a treat out of her lab coat pocket and offered it to the dog.
Sniff accepted it politely. She lowered to one knee beside the dog. “What brings you here today, my friend?” she asked while she checked Sniff’s eyes and heart rate.
Rick noted the tender, caring way Madison touched and manipulated Sniff’s joints. She immediately eased up when he flinched as she moved his hind left leg. She raised her eyes, a hand on Sniff’s back. “Cruciate ligament acting up?”
Rick nodded. She’d obviously checked the file. “I know he’s not that old, but I want his policing days behind him soon.”
Madison had a thoughtful expression on her face. “He’s more than a tool to you, isn’t he?”
Through her work, she must have discovered that very few handlers were able to maintain the detachment from their dogs to consider them “tools.” Rick and Sniff were a team. He cared about Sniff as much as he cared about his two-legged colleagues. He nodded again, slowly.
As he watched Madison continue her exam, he felt a peculiar churning in his gut. Yeah, he’d had breakfast at six, grabbed a quick sandwich for lunch and it was almost five now, but he didn’t think the sensation had anything to do with being hungry.
Rick shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He thrust his hands back into his pants pockets. He didn’t want to dwell on the reason he’d done it—the fact that all of a sudden he was tempted to reach out and discover the texture of Madison’s springy red hair or how smooth her complexion really was. He liked women. Sure. Too much sometimes. But this felt different somehow, and he’d just met her. He considered how gentle she was with his dog.
That’s it! It was Sniff, he rationalized. Anyone who loved his dog was okay by him. That was all. He cleared his throat, wondering if he was coming down with a bug, and tried to ignore the strange sensation in his stomach.
Madison cocked her head slightly and shone a light into Sniff’s right ear. “You would’ve initiated the process to retire Zeke, even if I hadn’t bullied you into it,” she said, switching the light to the dog’s other ear.
Rick laughed. The thought that she’d be able to bully him into anything struck him as ludicrous—but judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t amused. “Yeah,” he said, sobering. “Of course. Zeke’s earned retirement.” Seeing that she was about to give Sniff a cortisone injection for the pain in his leg, he bent down to soothe and distract his dog.
Rick’s head was only a foot or so from hers, and her scent swirled around him. It was something subtle and musky. It caused an uncomfortable itch at the back of his neck. He reached behind him to scratch at it. “So has Sniff,” he went on. “And I don’t want him getting injured to earn it.”
Madison looked up at him again, and he noticed that her green eyes were specked with gold, the irises rimmed with it. “Sorry,” he murmured, “what was that?” He’d entirely missed what she’d said.
She smiled again. “I asked what the SDPD usually does with service dogs when they retire. You told me what’s going to happen with Zeke. Is that typical? And what’ll happen to Sniff once he retires?” she asked while uncapping the hypodermic needle.
He shrugged. “In most cases, if a dog’s handler is able to, he or she will generally keep the dog. Sniff will live out his life with me.”
Madison gave Sniff his shot, the dog barely noticing the pinprick sensation. Seeing the look of understanding and concern in her eyes, Rick felt even more drawn to her.
“Jagger—our captain—he’s having a barbecue for the unit this weekend. On Sunday.” The words tumbled out before he realized he’d said them. Her eyes were questioning. She was no doubt trying to figure out what his declaration had to do with her. Before he could question his own sanity, he barreled on. “You’ve met Jagger and most of the unit already?”
She nodded, uncertainty still evident on her face.
“Why don’t you come with me?” he suggested. They both rose, and Sniff danced between them, knowing the routine well enough that he expected a dog treat after an exam. Madison didn’t disappoint him and offered him a biscuit she extracted from a glass jar on the counter, slipping some extras in her pocket.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?” He must have missed part of the conversation again. He didn’t understand the question.
“Why are you asking me to go with you?”
What was she expecting? It was just a spontaneous thing. Did she have to analyze it?
She must have sensed his confusion and clarified. “Are you inviting me so you can introduce me to the whole unit? To help me fit in?”
He laughed. “No. I’m asking you as...as my date.” He grinned, hoping it would seal the deal. He really wanted to get to know her better. The more he saw of her, the more he liked her.
Madison bent down to scratch Sniff behind the ears, pulling out another treat from her pocket and presenting it to him.
The fact that she seemed to be thinking about his invitation wasn’t a good sign. At least she hadn’t given him an outright no. But the “no” was coming. Rick could feel it. He was seldom wrong about women’s reactions to him. He supposed it would be understandable if she declined. They hadn’t had the smoothest of introductions, and he had to accept responsibility for that. He assumed his customary stance of hands in pockets, anticipating rejection.
Madison held his gaze for a long moment, until a smile spread across her face. “Sure. Why not?”
“Great. That’s great. Are we done here with Sniff?” It seemed he’d been wrong this time, and he was glad of it.
“Yes. Other than the cruciate, he’s in good health and obviously happy, but I agree that you should think about retiring him. His hind legs will only get worse with age and strenuous use. You want him home as a pet, enjoying a well-deserved retirement, before he injures himself and perhaps does permanent damage.”
“That’s the plan. Can I see Zeke now?”
Madison nodded and took him to the recovery area.
Zeke looked good, considering everything he’d been through. Madison explained that he was coming along nicely and could go to Jeff’s family in a few days.
When they’d finished with Zeke, Rick paused by the door. “I’ll pick you up at five on Sunday. Does that work for you?”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s fine.”
“All right.” He was about to exit when he saw her grin. “I guess I’d better get your home address, right?”
“I guess.” She took a pen out of her pocket, scribbled an address and phone number on a sheet of paper and handed it to him. “See you Sunday.”
He folded the paper and tucked it in his shirt pocket, then gave her a jaunty little salute. “Yeah. I’m looking forward to it. Grab your leash,” he instructed Sniff. Tapping the side of his thigh, he had Sniff heeling again as he walked through the reception area.
“Everything okay?” Heather asked when he passed the reception counter.
Rick raised his eyes to the ceiling, and his expression made Heather giggle.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first man and you certainly won’t be the last to come in here and react to Madison like that.”
* * *
MADISON CLEANED UP the exam room. Since there were no patients waiting for her, she walked over to Heather and leaned on the reception counter.
“How’d it go with Enrique?” Heather asked with a smirk.
“Fine. Why do you call him that?”
“What? Enrique?”
“Uh-huh.”
Heather shrugged. “I think Enrique suits him better than Rick—too common. So does Pitbull.”
“What kind of alias is Pitbull anyway? Why do they call him that?”
“Logan told me it’s because he’s tenacious. About his work. About what matters to him.”
Oh, yes, Madison could see that. She could see him being very determined and stubborn, depending on the circumstances.
“You two met before?” Heather interrupted her thoughts. “And you didn’t remember him?”
“Oh, I remembered, all right,” Madison said.
“But you let me go on about him...”
“First, I didn’t know he was the sergeant. I thought his dog was Zeke, not Sniff. Also, you called him Enrique. I was introduced to him by Angela as Rick. No last name.”
Heather grinned. “Well, I really do think Enrique suits him better. He’s not keen on it... I like it, though. I think it actually amuses him when I call him that. The aka suits him, too, but in a different way. Pitbull fits his personality. Enrique... Well, he’s got that whole sexy Latino thing going for him, and that appeals to me!”
Madison chuckled.
“What can I say? I’m attracted to tall, dark, good-looking men.”
Madison felt her eyes widen. It occurred to her that she might be treading on Heather’s territory by having accepted a date with Rick. “Are you...together?”
Heather laughed, as well. “No! We’re not.” She got up and walked to the printer. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she retorted, “But a girl can dream, can’t she?” She grabbed a printout and left the reception area, her laughter drifting over to Madison.
Madison watched Heather walk away, but her thoughts were on a tall, dark and decidedly handsome cop. Yeah, a girl could dream.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_8a847bac-6544-5518-9ae0-0c45c54ecb17)
RICK RODE HIS Harley-Davidson Electra Glide onto the narrow driveway at Madison’s house. He shut off the engine and removed his helmet. The small cottage-like house wasn’t what he’d expected. As structured, organized, practical as Madison seemed to be, he’d expected something a little more...well, a little less fanciful. Whimsical was a word he couldn’t remember ever using, but that was what popped into his mind. It made him think of the houses the hobbits occupied in the Lord of the Rings movies.
He remembered his parents taking him to all three films in the series when he’d first lived with them. He smiled at the memory of how they’d tried to translate, in their broken Spanish, some of the finer points related to Middle Earth that he hadn’t understood, despite the fact that he’d spoken English reasonably well as a kid.
Just thinking about it gave him a warm feeling he’d never experienced prior to being part of the Stewart clan. Madison’s place made a similar impression on him.
Her house was well maintained, neat and orderly, if on a small scale. From what he’d seen, neat and orderly defined Madison. He dismounted and grabbed the spare helmet that had been strapped to the back carrier of his bike, then made his way to the front door.
He knocked and glanced at the planter next to him. It didn’t surprise him that he couldn’t see a single dead petal or leaf on the colorful, sweet-smelling plants or in the container. The flowers were so perfect he was tempted to touch them, to make sure they were real. He was a stickler for cleanliness, but he couldn’t consider himself particularly neat. It was almost impossible, living with a police dog.
When the door opened, he felt like a teenager experiencing his first high-school crush.
Madison was wearing a flowing, frilly, multihued summer dress that might have looked fussy on someone else. On her it looked... He couldn’t find the word for it, other than right. Her hair was in some fancy updo, little ringlets teasing the sides of her face. She wore dangly earrings. And her lips, with that beguiling smile, glistened with some sort of shiny stuff as if...well, as if she’d just been kissed and her lips were still moist from it.
He rubbed a hand over his stomach where a knot was forming because the thought of kissing her was all too tempting. Watching those lips, he saw her smile fade. He shifted his gaze to her eyes and noticed her staring at his motorcycle. He glanced over his shoulder at his bright blue bike—his pride and joy—wondering what had put the look of consternation on her face. There wasn’t anything wrong with his bike. He’d polished it to a gleam that morning. He glanced back at her. “Is something wrong?”
She motioned toward the Harley. “You brought a motorcycle.”
“Yes.”
“Look at me.” She gestured with a hand from her torso to her feet. “How am I supposed to ride on that thing in this?”
Rick did look at her. The light material fluttered in the gentle breeze, accentuating the curves he admired so much, the hem ending just above slim, shapely ankles. And he looked down at her feet, virtually naked in the high-heeled, delicate, almost nonexistent sandals she wore. He understood her dilemma, and felt a little foolish. “It’s a barbecue we’re going to,” he said in self-defense. He indicated his own faded jeans and white T-shirt. “You know, burgers, fries, apple pie and beer.”
Madison’s eyebrows furrowed. Obviously, he’d said the wrong thing.
Rick tucked the spare helmet under his arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I’d be bringing my bike. It didn’t occur to me that it would be a problem.” He dropped his gaze to her feet again, those darn sexy feet with the orangey polish on the toenails. “You can’t ride in those shoes. Do you have some sneakers or something?” He almost groaned at the look she gave him. He’d managed to put his foot in his mouth again.
“Do you really expect me to get on that thing with you? As far as my outfit goes, you’re taking me to meet your boss and your colleagues. My clients. I know I’ve already met most of them at the clinic. But that was work and I was in work clothes. Did you expect me to wear jeans?”
Rick felt frazzled and was starting to think this was a big mistake. He wasn’t usually an impulsive person, and this seemed to be a perfect example of why he shouldn’t be. “Well, yeah. That’s what they’ll all be wearing.”
“And their wives or girlfriends?”
“Much the same. But you look great!” he added hastily, forcing a too-wide smile and trying to appease her or at least recover some of the ground he seemed to be losing fast. “Really beautiful.”
Her frown was more pronounced as she eyed his bike again. “I’ll get my keys and we can take my Cayenne instead,” she decided.
He waited until she’d turned her back, then rolled his eyes. She disappeared inside her house but left the door ajar. Before Rick had a chance to wonder why she hadn’t invited him in, a big silver-gray dog, a beautiful Alaskan malamute, sauntered into the doorway. Rick wasn’t afraid of dogs—obviously not with his profession—but he knew all dogs could be protective of their handlers, uh, owners. And their territories. In this case, the dog seemed relaxed, even friendly, although he had to weigh at least a hundred and twenty pounds. There’d be a lot of power in the dog’s broad jaw. Madison hadn’t mentioned anything about having a dog, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. He wouldn’t have expected one quite so large, though. Rick tucked his hands in his pockets and smiled. “How’s it going?”
The dog plopped down right in the middle of the doorway, raised his snout and let out a woo-hoo sound.
He didn’t look menacing. Rick held out a hand for the dog to sniff. When that went well, he crouched down and scratched him behind the ears, all the while wondering what was taking Madison so long to find her keys. He might not have known her well, but one thing he’d gathered from her office and her house—she was organized and neat, meticulously so. He would’ve thought she’d know exactly where her keys were. She should have been back already.
To pass the time, Rick ran a hand along the dog’s silky coat.
He caught a whiff of that alluring musky scent of Madison’s before he saw her enter the vestibule from a hallway to the left.
“Oh, I’m glad you met Owen. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Seeing her, he nearly toppled over. He steadied himself with a hand on the railing.
He’d been disappointed that she was averse to riding a motorcycle, something he had a zeal for. He’d also been a bit baffled by her apparent lack of spontaneity. But now, seeing her... Wow!
She didn’t seem to be holding keys. Instead, she’d reappeared wearing dark skinny jeans, a snug long-sleeved T-shirt and—biggest surprise of all—low-heeled biker boots. She’d undone the arrangement of her hair, and all that springy red now rioted around her face and shoulders, nearly down to her waist.
“You changed?” Rick immediately felt ridiculous about stating the obvious, but his brain cells must have gone into a coma. He couldn’t think straight, staring at her looking so undeniably hot.
He rose, and she gave him a flirty smile. If she’d appealed to him before, what he saw now could drive him crazy. It wasn’t about the clothes or how sexy she looked. Okay, that didn’t hurt, he corrected himself. But it was about her spontaneity and her willingness to change her plans—and her clothes. This woman was someone he could really fall for.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “You’d made your point.”
“Sorry? What?” He’d been so distracted again he’d lost the train of their conversation.
She smiled, showing even, white teeth between sexy, full lips. “I had to change to be able to ride on your motorcycle.” She slid an elastic off her wrist and reached up to tie her hair in a ponytail. “I’m glad Owen kept you company while I was gone,” she said, and gave the dog an affectionate hug before sending him out into the yard.
“Great dog. Big dog!” Rick said as they watched him find the perfect spot on the grass. When Owen sauntered back, Madison placed a kiss on his snout, signaled him to go inside and closed the door behind her.
“Ready?” he asked, holding out the helmet he brought for her.
“Ready,” she said, accepting the helmet and putting it on as she preceded him down the steps.
Rick theatrically patted a hand over his heart.
* * *
SINCE IT WAS SUNDAY, they made good time to the captain’s house in Poway just off I-15, where the barbecue was being held. Logan O’Connor’s place was a sprawling bungalow with an ample backyard. That was handy, since there were a lot of people there.
Taking in the throng, Madison was glad she’d changed. As Rick had predicted, all the men wore jeans or shorts, and there wasn’t a single woman wearing a dress.
Shortly after their arrival, Logan asked for everyone’s attention and made a toast to Jeff Bradford, their fallen colleague. Logan said that Jeff’s widow had declined to attend; her loss was too recent, her pain too raw. One by one, all the cops present shared their most memorable story about Jeff. Then they all agreed to put aside the sadness and use the occasion to celebrate Jeff’s life.
Rick introduced Madison to everyone she didn’t know. It was nice to see the cops she’d already met through work outside the clinic environment. See them relaxed. Having fun. They were welcoming and friendly, even if a few reacted with raised eyebrows or meaningful looks cast toward Rick. A couple of the single cops—the ones who’d flirted with her the most outrageously at the clinic—jokingly pretended to be heartbroken that she’d chosen Rick over them. Mostly they did it out of earshot of their dates, but the few women who heard didn’t seem to take offense.
It felt like a big, boisterous extended family, and everyone appeared to get along. Madison noticed only one person who appeared not to fit in. He sat by himself in a corner of the yard, a bottle of beer clasped in his hand. At first, she didn’t think he was a cop. He didn’t look like one. He was heavy and out of shape. She hid her surprise when Rick introduced him as Tom Brody, a K-9 Unit officer. She hadn’t met him at the clinic yet, which was fine with her. There was something about him that made her uncomfortable. In a group where everyone was having a great time, he seemed sullen.
Madison was glad when Rick moved her along toward the two police dogs that were present. He introduced her to Boomer, Logan’s explosives-detection dog. The other dog, Sawyer, was one of the newest dogs in the unit. He was still in training to be a cadaver dog.
Once she’d met everyone, they circled back to join Logan, who was standing by his barbecue.
“Can I get you a drink?” Rick asked her.
“That would be nice.”
He excused himself to move to where the coolers were, returning a short while later. He held a well-chilled bottle of beer and a can of Coke. He offered her the beer.
Madison wasn’t a big fan of beer. In fact, she’d never had a full bottle in her life. She didn’t want to be rude to their host or offend Rick, but she couldn’t stomach the stuff. “Why don’t you have the beer, and I’ll take the Coke?” she suggested, reaching for the soda instead.
“Sorry, but that’s mine. When I ride the bike, I don’t drink.”
Logan snatched the opened beer bottle from Rick. “Thanks,” he said to Rick, and tapped the bottle against the can of Coke Rick held in his hand. “Since this is my place, I’m not driving anywhere. How’d you know I wanted a cold one?” Before Rick could reply, Logan turned to Madison. “Presumptuous of him. Thinking you’d want a beer without asking you. And not even bringing you a glass!” He made a tsking sound. “Personally, I picture you more of a wine drinker.” He took a sip of the beer. “I’m thinking white wine. A well-oaked chardonnay?”
She laughed and he smiled in return. “I take it that means I’m correct?”
“It sure does. And I’d love a glass of chardonnay.”
Logan grinned at Rick, handed him his bottle and smacked him on the back. “Hold this for me, will you, while I get Madison a drink?”
Madison watched Rick for some adverse reaction, but he didn’t seem to mind. She liked a confident man who wasn’t easily offended and wasn’t unreasonably jealous.
They watched Logan’s retreating back, saw him stop occasionally to chat with a guest or two, then disappear into his kitchen through a set of sliding doors.
Rick motioned with his Coke bottle toward the doors. “You just experienced firsthand why he’s called Jagger.”
“Jagger?”
“You know the Rolling Stones?”
“Of course.” She was perplexed and amused. “What are you getting at?”
“Well, let’s just say that the captain has moves like Jagger.”
Madison laughed. “I assume you don’t mean on the dance floor, like in the song by Maroon 5? ‘Moves Like Jagger’?”
Rick raised his soda bottle to her in salute and took a sip. “I’ll let you be the judge of that. And speaking of...” His words trailed off when Logan rejoined them and handed Madison a glass of wine.
“So, Madison,” Logan began. “You’re from El Paso.”
She wondered how he’d known that. She hadn’t shared much about herself with the cops who came to the clinic. But people talked. Including Heather, the clinic’s receptionist. It occurred to her that being the captain of the unit, he might have done a background check on her when she’d been assigned to take care of the SDPD dogs. She wasn’t sure that was acceptable procedure, but realized it happened.
“And your father is Patrick Long, Supreme Court judge, correct?” he continued.
“That’s right.”
“My father used to be a police chief. He had some dealings with your father concerning matters that had fallen under your father’s jurisdiction. He held him in high regard,” Logan added.
That answered her question about how he’d known where she was from.
Rick let out a low whistle. “Your father’s a judge?”
Madison nodded. A lot of men were intimidated by what her father did for a living. She expected a cop wouldn’t be, but you never knew.
“Impressive,” was Rick’s reply.
He didn’t seem daunted. That was positive—and refreshing.
“With your family in El Paso, what brought you to our fair city?” Logan asked.
She was a private person, but one thing she didn’t mind talking about was the reason she’d moved to San Diego—her research. Still, it was a hefty subject to get into, and she had a tendency to bore people with it. Rick must have picked up on her hesitation, because he interjected smoothly. “C’mon, Jagger. Save the interrogation for business hours.”
Logan didn’t seem disturbed in the least. Madison sensed there was more than a professional relationship between these two cops based on the way they bantered back and forth; they were friends, too.
“You’ve got a point.” He smiled at Madison. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m glad Rick brought you, and I hope you enjoy yourself.”
Logan excused himself to play host to his guests, and soon he started preparing dinner. Madison knew he wasn’t married and she surmised he didn’t have a date. She did, however, see exactly how attentive and smooth he was with his female guests.
She watched him with amusement. He manned the barbecue expertly while carrying on a conversation with one of the women. Suddenly Madison was distracted by a disturbance she caught in her peripheral vision. “No. Oh, no!” she whispered.
Rick, who’d been chatting with one of his colleagues, turned to her with a questioning look. She shifted her gaze back to Logan and the barbecue just as one of the dogs, Sawyer, with a near-effortless leap, snagged a steak right off the grill. Boomer, not far behind, started to bark furiously, getting everyone’s attention. Logan, closest to Sawyer, gave him an “Out!” command, to no effect. He tried again, but Sawyer ignored him, and cavorted with the piece of meat dangling from his mouth.
“Jackson!” Logan bellowed for the officer who must have been Sawyer’s handler. “Get your dog under control and get that piece of rib eye away from him.”
Jackson rushed over, but it was obvious he was having a hard time containing his hilarity, which only incited Sawyer, who proceeded to engage in a spirited game of chase with his handler. Boomer joined in, until Logan ordered him down, and he dropped where he was.
Madison tried not to laugh, watching Sawyer frolic around the yard. When the dog pranced in front of Brody, still sitting in the corner by himself, her eyes connected with his. Even from a distance, she could see something disconcerting in their depths. Her smile dimmed and she quickly looked away.
“Should we worry about your cooking, Jagger?” someone called out, drawing her attention back to the dog’s antics. “Sawyer’s a cadaver dog. He usually goes after rotting things!” There was another ripple of good-natured laughter as Sawyer continued to elude his handler, the steak hanging from his mouth. Another cop made a grab for the meat but ended up sprawled on the grass with only a piece of gristle that had torn loose in his hand to show for his effort.
By the time Jackson finally got hold of Sawyer, he was red-faced both from exertion and embarrassment. Everyone laughed uproariously at his expense. Jackson did his best, without success, to get the dog to release his prize.
“Might as well let him have it now,” Logan suggested. “No one’s going to want to eat that steak.”
“Sorry, Jagger,” Jackson said self-consciously. “Can I put Sawyer in Boomer’s kennel for a time-out?”
“Sure.” Logan pointed to the side yard. “But since I only had enough steak for my two-legged guests, you, my friend, are going to be eating a hot dog.”
That made all the cops laugh even harder. A few catcalls could also be heard. Madison couldn’t help laughing along with everyone else.
Rick excused himself, explaining that he’d been involved in Sawyer’s training and wanted to check on the dog and his handler, and loped after Jackson and his dog.
“Enjoying yourself?” Madison heard a slurred voice by her ear and was assailed by the scent of sour breath. She stepped back. It was Brody. He must have left his perch after they’d made eye contact. She took another step back.
“Yes, I am. Thank you.”
She was about to walk away, but Brody grasped her upper arm with a clammy hand. “Where you going?” he asked.
There was no doubt in Madison’s mind that he’d had too much to drink. She wondered how he could get away with it at a party with a bunch of cops, including his boss. Then she realized that the whole time she’d been there, she hadn’t seen him talk to a single person other than her when Rick had introduced them. Whenever she’d noticed him, he’d been sitting by himself in the same spot at the far end of the yard, drinking beer. She looked down to where he held her arm, hoping he’d get the hint and back off. When that didn’t work, she tried to pull free, only to feel his grip tighten on her biceps. He had more strength than she would’ve given him credit for. She wasn’t worried, though, not with a yard full of cops, but she was annoyed and uncomfortable. She didn’t want to cause a scene.
“Look,” she began. Before she could say more, the hand was off her arm, and a flailing Brody landed on his backside on the grass, the bottle of beer spilling on the soft ground.
Madison rubbed her upper arm where Brody’s fingers had been digging, trying to ease the dull ache. For a second time, everyone stopped to look at the commotion. This time she wasn’t on the periphery but central to the incident.
Rick towered over Brody, a menacing look on his face. He extended a hand. “Gotta be more careful there, Brody. Uneven ground here,” he said, speaking loudly enough that anyone who was paying attention could hear. She was grateful that Rick was trying to defuse the situation to avoid causing a scene. But Madison was closest and heard him continue in an undertone as he helped the other man up, “Touch her like that again, and you and I are going to have a problem.”
Madison glanced around quickly to see if anyone else had heard, but it seemed that they’d all gone back to what they’d been doing. Except Logan. The charm was gone as he watched the interplay with narrowed eyes. He obviously knew there was more to the incident than Rick had let on.
Brody grumbled something under his breath, then dusted off his jeans and moved away. She assumed he’d gone home, because she didn’t see him again the rest of the evening. A couple of people mentioned that they’d seen him get into a cab. A smart move, in her opinion.
She saw Rick and Logan huddled together shortly after the incident, with long faces and intent eyes. She was certain it had to do with what had happened with Brody, but when Rick returned, he was all smiles and easy manner.
He hardly left her side for the rest of the evening. The altercation with Brody aside, Madison had enjoyed herself. She was sad to see the evening end, but she had an early start at the clinic Monday morning.
At Madison’s house, Rick placed both helmets on his seat and walked her to her front door. She hadn’t thought to turn on the outside light, so they stood in the silvery glow of the moon.
“Thank you for coming with me today,” Rick said.
“I had a nice time. You work with great people.”
“I hope those great people will stop flirting with you now when they bring their dogs to the clinic!” he joked.
“And take all the fun out of my job?” she retorted.
He laughed and reached out to tuck a strand of her hair that had come loose behind her ear. His fingers lingered on it, and when he took a step closer and lowered his head, she let her eyes flutter closed. She didn’t have to see him to know he was only inches away. She could feel his warmth, the caress of his breath. She didn’t exhale, anticipating the brush of his lips across hers.
At the loud woo-hoo from behind the door, they both stepped back. Madison gave a nervous laugh.
“Your chaperone?” Rick asked, his voice a little hoarse.
“So it would seem.” Madison might not have been accustomed to good-night kisses on a first date, but she was disappointed that the opportunity with Rick had slipped away. There was something she really liked about him. A number of things, actually. “I had a nice time,” she repeated to fill the silence. “Thanks for inviting me.”
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Kate James
Keeping her safe at all costsCould their backgrounds be any more different?Rick Vasquez, a K-9 unit sergeant with the San Diego Police Department, fled drug-related violence in Mexico as a boy. Madison Long, who recently became primary veterinarian to the SDPD’s canines, is the privileged daughter of a judge.Rick has dedicated his life to curtailing cross-border drug trafficking and preventing other young boys from being drawn into the dark world of the cartels.But everything Rick and Madison value, and the growing love between them, is threatened by the dangers of Rick’s job, and the risks he’s determined to take…
Keeping her safe at all costs
Could their backgrounds be any more different? Rick Vasquez, a K-9 unit sergeant with the San Diego Police Department, fled drug-related violence in Mexico as a boy. Madison Long, who recently became primary veterinarian to the SDPD’s canines, is the privileged daughter of a judge. Rick has dedicated his life to curtailing cross-border drug trafficking and preventing other young boys from being drawn into the dark world of the cartels. But everything Rick and Madison value, and the growing love between them, is threatened by the dangers of Rick’s job, and the risks he’s determined to take...
The more he discovered about this woman...
The more he thought there was something special about her.
As he watched Madison examine Sniff, he felt an odd churning in his gut. Yeah, he’d had breakfast at six, grabbed a quick sandwich for lunch and it was almost five now, but he didn’t think his reaction had anything to do with being hungry.
Rick shoved both hands back into his pants pockets. He didn’t want to dwell on the fact that all of a sudden he was tempted to reach out and discover the texture of the veterinarian’s springy red hair or how smooth her flawless complexion really was. He liked women, sure. Too much sometimes. This felt different somehow, and he’d just met her. He considered how gentle and sweet—not a word he used often, but it seemed right—she was with his dog.
That’s it! It was Sniff, he rationalized. Anyone who loved his dog was okay by him.
That was it. That was all.
Dear Reader (#ulink_88ad727c-474d-52ee-b30c-2308a85b7700),
Thank you for choosing to read the second book in my K-9 trilogy. This book tells the story of San Diego Police Department K-9 unit sergeant Rick Vasquez, veterinarian Madison Long and Rick’s narcotics detection dogs Sniff and Nitro. While both Rick and Madison do important and meaningful work in their day jobs, they share a passion for making a difference to those in need. Rick is determined to do what he can to keep susceptible youth from getting involved with drugs, and Madison is leading groundbreaking research to help injured animals heal. When two such deeply moral people come into conflict, finding common ground can be surprisingly elusive.
If you enjoyed the first book in the trilogy, When the Right One Comes Along, this book also provides an opportunity to revisit old friends San Diego Police Department search and rescue officer Cal Palmer and Dr. Jessica Hansen (now Palmer).
I hope you enjoy getting to know Rick, Madison and their dogs. If you do, watch for the third and final book of the trilogy, planned for release in early 2016. It’s the story of K-9 unit captain Logan O’Connor and San Diego International Airport chief of security Arianna Atkins. When these two come together, their interaction promises to be explosive!
I would love to hear from you. You can connect with me by email (readers@kate-james.com), through my website (kate-james.com (http://www.kate-james.com)), Facebook page (facebook.com/katejamesbooks (https://www.facebook.com/katejamesbooks)), Twitter (@katejamesbooks (https://twitter.com/katejamesbooks)), or mail me at PO Box 446, Schomberg, ON, L0G 1T0, Canada.
I’ve also provided some discussion questions on my website, in case you’d like to use this story in your book group.
Happy reading!
Kate
When Love Matters Most
Kate James
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KATE JAMES spent much of her childhood abroad before attending university in Canada. She built a successful business career, but her passion has always been literature. As a result, Kate turned her energy to her love of the written word. Kate’s goal is to entertain her readers with engaging stories featuring strong, likable characters. Kate has been honored with numerous awards for her writing. She and her husband, Ken, enjoy traveling and the outdoors with their beloved Labrador retrievers.
To Wil Cohn. With love.
And
To the men and women who dedicate their lives to law enforcement.
Acknowledgments (#ulink_7374856e-d2ed-560e-804b-45983a0c4ec3)
Thank you to my editor Paula Eykelhof for always making my books stronger and continuously challenging me to tell the very best stories in the very best way that I can. Also, thank you to Harlequin Heartwarming senior editor Victoria Curran for her unwavering vision, good humor and warmth.
Once again, much thanks to the York Regional Police (Ontario, Canada) and Constable Jim Hilton, in particular. Constable Hilton, a YRP canine unit officer and trainer, was generous with his time, resource materials and limitless knowledge as I conducted my research for this trilogy. I would also like to thank him for introducing me to his explosives detection dog, Max, and proudly showing off some of Max’s considerable skills for me!
Contents
Cover (#u8bfa847f-024d-5f8d-81a8-554fba6e17e2)
Back Cover Text (#u3a4bf540-ef3a-5113-9271-00d2807b42ed)
Introduction (#uad46bbae-53c8-591c-a86d-bdc30f3aded8)
Dear Reader (#ubf98f6c5-6365-5fe8-890d-ecf5d66396ea)
Title Page (#u09079094-5d9b-52bd-954e-2420090bfeba)
About the Author (#ue06cf2aa-59e8-5fba-90f6-a1294e15086b)
Dedication (#u5a989701-ab77-5911-8fab-ee4734a82d31)
Acknowledgments (#u07d2a84e-c31c-5651-bd12-a43be613d82e)
CHAPTER ONE (#u665bd13c-3ed1-5f90-b95e-3e12f3f2c6bf)
CHAPTER TWO (#u33fab368-0dd5-57b5-b216-cd942a300258)
CHAPTER THREE (#ucb6dffe1-b7fb-58fc-b55b-140ff97812ba)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u24bde7b5-8059-51b6-a81d-1dfc28e759d2)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_1bd7201d-405d-59dc-a32f-c0ae5d28104f)
ENRIQUE FLINCHED AT the burst of gunfire. That slight motion nearly made him lose his balance. He’d been hiding in the corner of his closet for a while, as high up as possible, bracing himself with his back against one wall and his feet against the facing wall. It wasn’t the first time he’d hidden there, trying to avoid discovery, but at twelve he was almost too big to fit. His muscles spasmed from the exertion. He rubbed his thigh, trying to get the blood circulating.
The next round of gunfire sounded as if it came from the hall. Despite the stifling heat in the dark, cramped space, he felt icy perspiration on his brow. The door to his room banged open, accompanied by a rapid exchange in Spanish and the clatter of booted feet rushing in. He bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying out. He heard a swooshing sound, which he guessed was the cover being torn off his bed; under it, he’d stuffed a couple of pillows to resemble a body. He’d prayed they’d take their shot and not bother to check if he was there.
He wasn’t that lucky.
A loud crash—likely a piece of furniture toppling—startled him. Movement halted as the cartel enforcer yelled again to someone outside the room.
Then he heard heavy footsteps approaching. His closet door was yanked open and light flooded in. Looking sideways, he saw the barrel of a machine gun slide in and ruffle the hanging clothes that were concealing him.
The barrel paused a mere six inches from his hip. He knew he was as good as dead if they found him. Petrified, the boy held his breath...
And waking from his nightmare, the man bolted up in bed, drenched in sweat and gasping for air.
Rick Vasquez raked back the damp hair from his forehead with both hands and glanced at the glowing red numerals of his bedside clock. Still shy of five in the morning. He’d barely had three hours’ sleep, but getting any more was out of the question. This was not how he’d hoped to start his day.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. With his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he gave himself a moment to let the vestiges of the nightmare fade and his heart rate level out.
Sniff, his narcotics-detection canine partner, scurried to his side and nuzzled him.
Rick straightened and stroked the yellow Labrador retriever’s head. He felt Sniff’s tension subside. He and Sniff had been working together since the day he’d joined the San Diego Police Department’s K-9 Unit six years ago. They were as connected as it was possible for any man and dog to be. The contact steadied him as much as the dog.
Sniff slid down and stretched out across Rick’s bare feet, head nestled between his paws.
Rick exhaled heavily. It had been a while since he’d had the nightmare. He recalled the fourteen-year-old kid he’d caught the night before, crossing the San Ysidro border from Tijuana into San Diego with a kilo of marijuana, and he should’ve expected that the nightmare would revisit him.
He gently nudged Sniff off his feet and stood. Placing his hands on the small of his back, he stretched and yawned. He wasn’t due at work until the evening shift, but he’d go in and have a strenuous workout to clear his mind. He had plenty of time before he and Sniff were scheduled to be at La Valencia High School for their drug-abuse awareness session. His yawn turned into a smile. He and Sniff loved the work they did counseling inner-city youth about the dangers of drug use. If, through their efforts, they managed to keep just one kid from using or selling drugs, that made it worthwhile. But he hoped their influence was much wider-reaching than one kid.
Rick tugged on a pair of gym shorts and a San Diego Police Department T-shirt that had seen better days before letting Sniff out in the backyard. He winced at the dog’s awkward little hop as he navigated the final step of the deck. He’d make a point of taking him to the veterinarian again, although there wasn’t much that could be done for the dog’s morning stiffness.
It was all part of the aging process, he acknowledged philosophically but with regret. He had to face it: Sniff was no longer a young dog. Police dogs tended to be retired early because they had a dangerous and demanding job. Sniff was exceptional at what he did and enjoyed doing it. That was the main reason Rick hadn’t already initiated the process to retire him, but well aware of Sniff’s physical limitations, Rick was careful not to overexert him.
Maybe it was time. Sniff had more than earned the right to retire, Rick thought as he stuffed street clothes into his duffel.
After Sniff had his breakfast, Rick helped him into the back of his police-issue Ford Explorer. On the way to the division, he pulled into a Starbucks to grab a breakfast sandwich and a coffee. Before he had a chance to indulge in his meal, his radio signaled.
“We have a situation,” the dispatcher announced.
Rick took a sip of his coffee and cursed as the hot liquid burned his tongue. In sharp contrast, apprehension chilled his skin.
“What kind of situation?”
“We have an officer down.”
The chill slithered up his spine. Rick knew it would be one of his team if they were contacting him. “Who?” he inquired.
The voice on the other end was barely audible. “It’s Jeff.”
“What happened?” Jeff Bradford was one of his best officers and specialized in narcotics, just as he did. Rick prayed the injury wasn’t serious.
“We received a tip at oh-four-hundred this morning about a drug shipment coming in. We got the route, the vehicle description and the estimated time of travel. Jeff and a couple of guys from the Narcotics Task Force took the call. Jeff was shot.”
A million questions crowded Rick’s mind, but he asked the one that mattered most. “What’s Jeff’s condition?”
“It doesn’t sound good, Rick,” the dispatcher responded. “Jeff took a bullet in the neck above his body armor. He was unconscious and was transported by ambulance to Ocean Crest Hospital.”
“How did it happen?”
“The captain is certain it was a setup.”
“Is Jagger in?” Rick asked about K-9 Unit captain Logan O’Connor by his alias. He needed the details.
“No. He’s at the hospital. Jeff’s family has been notified, and they’re being taken there by a couple of uniforms.”
Rick thought of Jeff’s young wife and their two-year-old son, and grief and anger warred within him. He placed the coffee cup in the center console holder, tossed the unopened sandwich on the passenger seat and switched on his lights. “I’m on my way to the hospital.”
“No. Wait! The captain and half the unit are already at the hospital or headed there. Jeff’ll be in surgery for a couple of hours at least. Logan asked me to contact you,” she said. “He wants you at the scene. He wants you to find Zeke.” Zeke was Jeff’s narcotics-detection dog.
“What do you mean, find him? He’s trained in handler protection. Even if he wasn’t, he would’ve stayed with Jeff until the ambulance took him away. Why didn’t someone from the division get Zeke? There must’ve been others on the scene by then.”
He heard a drawn-out sigh. “From what I understand, Zeke was injured trying to protect Jeff. Also a gunshot wound, we suspect. No one’s seen him since Jeff was loaded into the ambulance for transport. Logan figures that Zeke stayed with Jeff as long as he could, but his injury must be serious. In all the confusion, he must’ve gone off...”
She couldn’t finish the thought. None of them wanted to think about losing an officer or one of their dogs. Rick assumed Logan was correct. Injured animals tended to find a quiet place to be on their own. If Zeke hadn’t been hurt, there was no way he would’ve left like that.
There wasn’t anything Rick could do for Jeff right now, except pray, but maybe he could help the dog. “I’m on it,” he said in a flat voice as he drove out of the parking lot.
If Rick hadn’t taken all that extra time to do what he had for that Mexican kid coming across the border the night before, detaining him well beyond the end of his shift, he was sure he would’ve been the one called in to respond to the tip instead of Jeff. Would that have made a difference? Would he have done anything different? Would he have seen something because of his intimate knowledge of the cartels that Jeff or the others had missed?
As Rick sped along I-5, he spoke to the detectives conducting the investigation so he could gather as much information about the incident as possible. From what he was told, Jeff had done everything right. They’d found the cube van parked at the side of the road, apparently abandoned. Jeff and Zeke had been doing the perimeter check for narcotics to establish probable cause to search the inside of the van. When they’d approached the back, the doors had swung open and the shooting started. One of the Narcotics cops had been at the side of the van, out of the line of fire. He’d taken down the shooter, but it had been too late for Jeff.
There’d been no drugs in the van. Just the shooter. It had to have been a setup, as Logan thought. Their unit had been making a huge dent in the activities of a number of the cartels. This must have been payback from one of them. The guilt burned through Rick and settled in his gut, a hard, uncompromising knot. It should’ve been him, if anyone. Not one of his men. Not a cop with a young family.
His assumption about his own absence was confirmed when he spoke to Logan. They’d decided not to call him for the reason he’d surmised. If he hadn’t helped that kid the night before, it would’ve been him at the back of that cube van when the scum with the rifle had taken his shot. If he’d been there instead, Jeff wouldn’t have taken the bullet and wouldn’t be in the hospital with critical injuries.
It was hard enough when one of their own got hit, but to make matters worse for Rick, the burden of guilt weighed heavily on him.
As for Jeff, they were hopeful he was going to make it through the operation. After that...the doctors couldn’t say. The guilt surged up again and Rick tasted bile in his throat.
Rick had to take comfort in the fact that Jeff was receiving the best possible care. Right now his concern was Zeke. He knew Zeke well. He’d helped train him when he’d come to the K-9 Unit from the Czech Republic as a cute, floppy-eared shepherd puppy. Rick wanted to stay positive, but if Zeke had gone off on his own, it wasn’t a good sign. Rick rubbed his eyes when the road blurred in front of him. He stopped by a cordoned-off area, a cube van at its center. Leaving the air-conditioning on in the back of his SUV for Sniff, he jumped out.
By the time he got to the crime scene, there were cops everywhere. He greeted the ones he knew and headed to where the detectives were gathered. It was obvious where Jeff had been shot from the pool of blood on the pavement, but Rick could see a second, smaller pool, too...and the trail of drops that led away from it.
He followed the trail at a fast jog to a residential yard, where it ended by a wooden step at the base of a deck.
Rick crouched down and peered into the dark, confined space. Relief flooded through him when he heard the panting. Even before he dropped to his belly and shone his light in, he started to murmur to Zeke in a calm, reassuring tone. He wanted to reduce the chances of the injured animal—out of pain or self-defense—lashing out at him.
He needn’t have worried. Large chocolate-brown eyes stared up at him and a warm, dry tongue brushed the back of his hand when he reached in. Zeke was lying on his left side. From what Rick could see, he must have taken a bullet on his right side. Judging by the dark crimson stain on the packed dirt, he’d lost a considerable amount of blood.
But Zeke was alive and conscious. Rick needed to get him to a vet. And fast.
Resting his flashlight on the grass, Rick elbowed into the tight space and maneuvered the big dog gently out from under the deck. He could tell from the whimpers that he was hurting Zeke, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. The dog remained stoic, seeming to trust him implicitly.
“I’ve got you, pal,” he murmured. “You’re going to be okay.”
Rick carried Zeke to his truck as fast as he dared. He didn’t want to jostle him too much, didn’t want to cause him more pain, or aggravate his injuries and blood loss. At his vehicle, he looked around quickly. Not wanting to set Zeke down only to have to lift him again, he needed help. He saw another cop from his division and called out, “Give me a hand, would you, Steve?”
The cop glanced at Zeke. His brows drew together and his mouth formed a hard, straight line. “It’s terrible what happened to Jeff. Is his dog going to be okay?”
“If I have anything to do with it, yeah. There’s a blanket on the floor just behind the passenger seat. Get it for me, and help me wrap it around Zeke. I want to stem the flow of blood, and keep him warm and still, if possible.”
“Sure.” The cop did as he was asked.
“Now recline that seat all the way.”
“Why don’t you put him in the back? Wouldn’t it be more comfortable for him?”
“My dog’s in there, and there isn’t room for both of them.” Almost as if on cue, a short bark and a whine came from the back compartment of the SUV. Sniff must have sensed Zeke’s presence and his distress.
“Besides, I want Zeke up front with me so I can keep an eye on him,” Rick added.
“All right,” Steve said, and complied with Rick’s directions.
They slid Zeke carefully onto the near-horizontal seat.
“Thanks, man. I owe you one,” Rick said, slapping the other cop on the back. Then he skirted his truck at a run.
He buckled himself in, put a reassuring hand briefly on Zeke’s head and turned on his lights. He needed to get Zeke to the Mission Bay Veterinary Clinic as swiftly and smoothly as possible. He called ahead to make sure they could see Zeke right away.
Despite the short interval, by the time Rick drove into the clinic’s parking lot, Zeke’s breathing had become shallow and labored. His eyes had drifted closed.
Rick carried the dog as fast as he could into the clinic.
“Oh, my gosh! What happened?” The receptionist—not Heather, the clinic’s regular one, but the college kid who filled in sometimes—sprang up from her desk and rushed around the counter.
“He’s been shot. As I told you on the phone, he needs attention right away.” Rick’s voice was hoarse with emotion. They couldn’t lose Zeke.
“Here! We’re ready for you.” She indicated an examination room and quickly opened the door for him. “You’re Sergeant Rick Vasquez, with the SDPD, correct?”
Rick laid Zeke down on the examination table. “Yeah. Good memory, but can you hurry, please? Zeke needs help urgently.”
“Okay, I’ll get Madison right now.”
Rick’s head whipped up. “What? Why not Jane? I need the best for Zeke.”
The girl took a stumbling step back. “I... I’m sorry, but Jane’s off this week.”
Rick fought to keep his temper in check, more for Zeke’s sake than the receptionist’s. He didn’t want the dog to be any more agitated than he already was. “What about Don, then?” He inquired about the other partner in the practice.
She shook her head. “He’s at a conference.”
“Fine,” Rick said tersely. “Get whoever you mentioned in here, then.” Recognizing the girl’s distress through his haze of anger and fear, he added in a more controlled voice, “As fast as possible, please.”
The girl nodded briskly and rushed out of the room.
Rick could see that Zeke’s condition had deteriorated considerably during transport. It made the wait seem interminable, although it couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes before the door finally swung open again.
Seeing the vet enter, he felt a jolt. His immediate reaction was elemental and hormone-driven. The woman standing in the doorway was of average height, with impressive curves obvious even in the boxy white lab coat, and she had long, curly red hair. When she introduced herself as Madison Long, he heard Texas in her sultry voice. He was unaccustomed to his shock at the sight of an attractive woman. He ignored the feeling, astonished that he’d even noticed her appearance when all he cared about was Zeke and his survival.
She narrowed her eyes and he realized he must have been scowling. “Are you qualified to deal with trauma?” he blurted out, to reestablish focus on Zeke and his care. Stupid question, he chastised himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but there was no taking them back.
The V that had formed between her brows deepened. Her curt “Of course” sounded haughty, and made him angry for some reason...probably at himself, if he was honest. During the drive to the clinic, his feelings of guilt had extended from Jeff to Zeke, and that hadn’t helped his disposition. He was desperate for them both to pull through.
Then the veterinarian was all business. She asked him to explain what had happened and began her examination.
When she manipulated Zeke’s leg and the dog yelped, Rick’s angst spewed forth. “You’re hurting him,” he accused.
She looked aggravated. “I’m trying to diagnose him.”
“Well, can’t you give him an anesthetic or something to ease the pain?” He couldn’t stand to see the dog suffer. “You...”
The door opening interrupted Rick, and one of the techs rushed in.
Ignoring Rick, the veterinarian spoke to the tech. “Oh, good, Sean. Can you please hold Zeke still and try to keep him calm while I finish my examination?”
“Sure,” Sean replied, and moved into position beside the examination table.
When Zeke whimpered again, Rick threw his hands up. “You can’t let him suffer like this! Can’t you just...”
“I have to determine the extent of his injuries before I can sedate him,” she cut in. “I need you to stay quiet and let me do my job.”
“But...”
“Sean,” Madison interrupted and addressed the tech with a voice that brooked no argument. Her gaze, steady and angry, rose to meet Rick’s. “Since the officer is being a distraction, please escort him out so he can wait in the reception area and we can do our best for his dog.” As she lowered her eyes to Zeke, her expression softened and her whole demeanor changed. “We don’t have time to waste quarreling.”
Rick was about to object, insist that he had to stay. He needed to know what was happening with Zeke. When he felt Sean’s hand on his arm, he wanted to argue or resist, but realized it wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Zeke. It would only take valuable time and energy away from his care. Whether Rick liked it or not, this doctor was Zeke’s only chance, and antagonizing her would do no good. He didn’t bother to correct her that he was a sergeant or that Zeke wasn’t his dog. Both facts were irrelevant.
He shrugged off Sean’s grasp. “I can manage on my own,” he grumbled, and left the room, with Sean closing the door none too gently behind him.
Rick moved restlessly about the waiting area, occasionally stopping to stare out the window. He worried about Jeff. He worried about Zeke. He fumed at the way the bust had fallen apart, and berated himself for not having been there to begin with. The guilt, anger and worry were an ugly maelstrom in his gut.
He called his parents to tell them he was okay. He knew they’d be worried because they would’ve heard the news by now. He called his sister, Sophie, as well, since she’d left him a couple of frantic messages. He assured her, too, and asked that she call their brother, Daniel. Rick phoned Logan next to get another update on Jeff’s condition and the state of the investigation.
Jeff was out of surgery, but the doctors still couldn’t give any guarantees that he’d make it. They’d done all they could for him, Logan reported, but Jeff had lost too much blood, and the internal damage had been extensive. There were no developments with respect to the investigation. All they knew of the shooter at this point was that he was probably Mexican.
Rick couldn’t believe how what should’ve been a straightforward bust had gone so wrong. They’d received a tip, as they often did. It wasn’t from one of their usual confidential informants, although they’d dealt with this CI in the past. Nothing major, but enough to establish a degree of credibility. With the time frame so short, they’d never properly validated the tip.
Would he have taken any additional precautionary measures if he’d been called in? In retrospect, he felt that an abandoned vehicle would have been a yellow if not a red flag for him, but would he have thought so in the moment? Or would he have been so anxious to get the bust that he would’ve done exactly the same thing they had? He let out a string of expletives as he spun away from the window.
And nearly bumped into Andrea or Angela or whatever the part-time receptionist’s name was. He hadn’t realized she’d approached him.
“Um, would you like some coffee or water...while you wait?” she asked.
Her eyes were round, and she linked and relinked her fingers in front of her. Rick exhaled heavily. It wasn’t like him to take his feelings out on other people. It was also rare that his temper got the best of him. He sighed and smoothed the harsh edge to his voice. “I’m sorry. Yeah, a coffee would be good. Thanks.”
When she left to get it for him, he stared at the closed door to the exam room. Why was it taking so long?
His cell phone rang, and he answered it.
Jeff had gone into cardiac arrest.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_714fa0a4-a058-5492-ae53-b8e4381619eb)
MADISON HELPED SEAN wheel the gurney on which the sedated dog was lying to the clinic’s recovery area. Once Zeke was settled and she’d given Sean strict instructions for his care, she washed up the best she could. She was a mess; it had taken nearly two hours, but she was optimistic that Zeke would be fine. That was worth anything to her. Fortunately, the injury wasn’t as bad as she’d first suspected. The bullet must have just grazed him, and the damage was limited to the muscle and nerves in his right rear leg. An artery had been nicked, accounting for the significant blood loss, but his handler had been smart and acted quickly to stanch the flow. He’d likely saved the dog’s life.
With some rehab therapy, Zeke would recover, as long as he didn’t develop an infection. That was always a risk in cases like this, and she’d watch for it. She’d have to talk to the dog’s handler, though—Rick, Angela had told her—and strongly urge him to consider retiring Zeke. The dog might only be six years old, but he shouldn’t work again. With any luck, he’d enjoy eight or nine more years of just being a dog. However unpleasant the handler had been, it was clear he cared about his dog, so she figured it would be an easy sell.
Madison stripped off her soiled lab coat and stuffed it in a hamper. She thought about the groundbreaking platelet-rich plasma research she was part of at the San Diego Animal Rehabilitation Center. Zeke could be a candidate for a trial because of his muscle and possible nerve injury. But she was getting ahead of herself in her enthusiasm for the early success of her research. Whether platelet-rich plasma therapy was right for Zeke or not, she’d see to his rehab. If not through PRP, then definitely through aqua therapy.
She washed and dried her hands, then took a deep breath. She didn’t relish facing the truculent cop, but at least she had encouraging news for him. She didn’t want to consider what his reaction might have been otherwise. Was it just her personal experience, or did great-looking guys always have attitudes or tempers that were off the charts? This cop certainly proved her theory.
The cop in question was standing by the window when she entered the reception area. He had one hand jammed in the pocket of his pants and was holding a Styrofoam cup in the other. There were no other clients waiting. Fortunate, she mused, because if the strained look on Angela’s face was any indication, the cop’s disposition hadn’t improved.
Madison had a definite aversion to ill-tempered people, but she accepted that in this case he had a legitimate reason. She would’ve been surly, too, if it was her Alaskan malamute, Owen, who’d been injured. Yes, police dogs had a job to do, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t a very real attachment between a handler and his dog. Perhaps it was even greater, since their very lives could depend on each other.
He was looking outside, and yet with the tension almost visibly rippling off him, she doubted his mind was on the tranquil green space the practice maintained for its patients next to the building. The slope of his shoulders and the fatigue evident on his face told their own story. He was hurting and vulnerable.
He must have been deep in thought, too, since he seemed oblivious to her presence when she approached him. Of course, the comfortable, soft-soled clogs she wore might have had something to do with it.
She took another minute to study him. Tall, with wide shoulders that narrowed to a lean waist, he was obviously fit. She knew K-9 cops had to be. He had thick, jet-black hair, not closely cropped as many cops favored, but more stylish with loose waves. She guessed that, working narcotics, he’d go undercover at times, and a brush cut on a physique like his all but screamed cop.
She took a couple more steps forward. “Excuse me, Officer...”
His head snapped toward her. She must have observed him in a weak moment. Now his shoulders were squared and there was no sign of vulnerability.
“How’s Zeke?” he demanded.
Madison raised an eyebrow at his brusque tone. She tried to rationalize again that it was out of concern for his dog and rushed to give him the good news. “Zeke’s prognosis is positive. I was able to repair most of the internal damage. There might be some sustained muscle and nerve injury, but we’ll have to assess that once he’s recovered from the immediate trauma and the surgery. I’ll watch for infection. Barring that, Zeke should recover well.” She could see the relief on his face, softening the harsh lines, and his whole body appeared to sag. She glimpsed the vulnerability again and warmed to him a little. He must care deeply about his dog, she concluded.
“My expectation is that he’ll require rehab,” she said. “At the appropriate time, once we’ve assessed his needs, I’d like to discuss some experimental work that I’m involved in that might be beneficial for Zeke.”
“Experimental? What are the risks? I don’t want Zeke to be a guinea pig if there are any risks.”
So much for warming to him. Did he really think she’d do anything that wasn’t in the absolute best interest of an animal? “As I said,” she continued in clipped tones, “we can discuss the options at the appropriate time. In the meanwhile, I want to talk to you about his future.”
He frowned. “What about his future?”
She might not intimidate easily, but this cop set her nerves on edge. She thought she heard her own gulp and hoped it wasn’t audible to him. Thinking of Zeke and what he’d been through firmed her resolve. Whether he’d like what she had to say or not, she had a responsibility to her patient. “You should retire Zeke,” she said emphatically.
He paused, and seemed to reflect on it. “Is that a medical opinion?” he asked curtly.
“No. It’s a humane one,” she retorted.
“Well, it’s not up to me. How long will you need to keep Zeke here?”
“Probably a week but, as I said, he’ll likely need rehab. And he should be retired from active duty.”
“Yeah. I heard you the first time.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Unless you need anything else from me, I should get going.”
Need anything from him? How about a personality? Or a little courtesy? A simple thank-you would’ve been nice. He couldn’t fathom how much it took out of her when she feared she might not be able to save a life. With Zeke, it had been touch and go because of the amount of blood he’d lost. “No. We’ve got everything we need.”
He crushed the coffee cup, tossed it in a waste receptacle and started to walk away. Unexpectedly, he paused. “Look, thank you for what you did for Zeke. For saving his life.”
It was almost as if he’d been reading her mind. Without the harsh undertones, she liked the deep timbre of his voice. How strange that goose bumps formed on her arms.
“Just doing my job,” she said, wanting him gone because of the sudden discomfort she felt in his presence. When the front door chime sounded, she glanced toward it, and the tightness in her chest eased. She smiled broadly when she saw her next clients, twelve-year-old Tammy Montpelier, her mother and their miniature Doberman, Gustav. “I’ll be right with you,” she said before shifting her attention back to the cop. In that brief moment, his frown had returned. What was it that made him so moody? It had to be more than concern for his dog, since she’d told him the dog would be fine.
“I’ll be in touch tomorrow to check on Zeke,” he said.
“No problem.” What an odd man, she thought as she watched him walk out the door. Leading Gustav, Tammy and Mrs. Montpelier to an examination room, she tried to block Rick—and the disconcerting sensation he stirred in her—out of her mind.
* * *
RICK’S EMOTIONS WERE a muddle. He felt light-headed with relief over Zeke. At least the dog was going to be fine. He wished the same could be said for Jeff. The last he’d heard, the doctors had restored Jeff’s heart function with a defibrillator, but he was back in the OR. The doctors were concerned, although they said he had a fighting chance. And Jeff was a fighter.
Rick tried to ignore the worry, but that just left the anger and guilt to consume him.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that what had happened to Jeff and Zeke was his fault. Intellectually he rationalized that it was nonsense, but it didn’t negate the feeling. Jeff was a good cop but relatively young. With his own experience and more personal insights into how the cartels operated, Rick wondered again if he would’ve been able to detect that it was a trap. The simple fact that they’d had a tip—from a questionable informant—and that the van was found apparently abandoned should’ve been reason enough to exercise extreme caution. Who’d abandon a vehicle voluntarily if it contained drugs? Why hadn’t the Narcotics Task Force guys see that, if Jeff hadn’t?
Rick had no answers. Second-guessing was futile, but Jeff was part of his team, so Jeff was his responsibility. Rick had decided to go to the San Ysidro border area the night before because the Sinaloa Cartel was rumored to be active there. Then he’d caught that boy trying to smuggle the kilo of marijuana across the border. Although Rick had never run drugs as a kid, it had struck too close to home, and he’d taken pity on the boy. He’d made arrangements to get him to Child Services instead of booking him. And that skirting of the law, even with the best of intentions, had taken considerably more time than arresting him would have. The result was Jeff and the Narcotics cops handling the incident without him.
Was his fixation on the Sinaloa Cartel all these years later—although they were no longer the SDPD’s biggest concern since the Los Zetas Cartel had risen to prominence—a contributing factor? Rick had to admit that, right or wrong, he couldn’t forgive or forget. Had his personal grudge caused him to make the wrong decision, and consequently a good cop, a young father, was fighting for his life?
And if it was an ambush, why? To send a message to the SDPD K-9 Unit because of the significant headway they’d made in shutting down the cartel’s usual smuggling routes? It was plausible.
When he reached his SUV, he let Sniff out to relieve himself and stretch his legs before they headed back to the police division. He watched Sniff favor his left rear leg as he ambled about. Lying down for long stretches wasn’t good for his partner. Watching Sniff, he considered next steps.
The unit needed to debrief, and he planned to have a one-on-one with Logan. He was almost certain that the Los Zetas Cartel was behind the trap. That made sense, since they were the ones who’d been impacted the most. Yet they were still the dominant force. The SDPD needed to take down their operations in San Diego.
Rick checked his watch. Logan should be back from the hospital by the time he got to the division.
Helping Sniff into the vehicle because he couldn’t make the jump on his own reminded him that he wanted to take him to the clinic for a checkup. And that got him thinking of the new veterinarian, Madison Long.
He’d treated her terribly. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it. It was just that he was angry, worried and—if he was rationalizing—he might as well add sleep deprived. He felt rotten about having questioned her competence. She had to be good at what she did. Jane and Don wouldn’t have brought her into the practice and entrusted her with the care of the SDPD canines if she wasn’t.
Rick wasn’t rude or ungrateful. His parents had raised him better than that. All the more reason for him to feel ashamed of the way he’d behaved. He knew he’d made a horrible impression, and couldn’t really blame her for being abrupt with him. He could come up with all the excuses he wanted, but the bottom line was that he’d been a jerk. The vet had saved Zeke, and he should’ve shown her all the gratitude in the world for that alone.
Then she’d voiced his own thoughts about Zeke’s having earned an early retirement. She was clearly a caring person. He wished he could have said yes, but Zeke wasn’t his dog. With Jeff in the hospital, he’d make the recommendation. The decision, however, was Logan’s. Something else he’d have to discuss with the captain. Had it been just that morning that he’d contemplated approaching him about retiring Sniff?
He and Logan had been talking about a renewal of the canines, planning for the future by bringing in some younger dogs. If they were going to be training, they might as well train a few young dogs at the same time. Those dogs would have to be checked over by the vet to ensure that they were physically sound...and that brought his thoughts full circle to the beautiful redhead.
It had been an emotional day, and he needed some sleep. That was all. Nothing more. He had to cancel his drug-awareness counseling session at the school, which he hated to do, but he just couldn’t take the time. That didn’t help his mood. It had turned out to be one of his worst days in recent memory.
He’d stop by the division, talk with Logan, find someone to cover his shift that night, set the wheels in motion for a debrief at oh-seven-hundred hours the next day, then go home, have a beer, get some sleep.
If he could shut his brain down long enough...
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_71cb4dc2-cab2-51b0-8a8e-ef71e72630ab)
AS IT TURNED OUT, Logan wasn’t back at the division when Rick got there. He’d apparently gone from the hospital straight to the scene of the shooting. Couldn’t blame him. Rick would’ve done that, too, if he hadn’t been with Zeke. In fact, he might just go there now, catch up with Logan at the scene.
“Where’re you going, Pitbull?” Shannon Clemens, the sole female officer in their unit and one of the most recent additions to their team, called out to him as he started to pack up his gear. “You just got here.” She made a sweeping motion around the mostly empty squad room. The few cops who were present had their eyes on him. “Everyone’s asking what we’re going to do about Jeff. About what happened to him.”
Rick ran his fingers through his hair for what must have been the thousandth time that day, something he did when he was frustrated or overtired. “If I knew anything, I’d tell you. But I don’t. Not any more than you already know.” There’d been no updates since Jeff had gone back into the OR. He looked around, scanned the furious faces. They were all aware of what had gone down and praying for Jeff to pull through.
“The good news is Zeke’s going to be okay.” He could at least give them that much. “I’m going to try to catch Logan in the field.”
“You won’t get him there,” Shannon said. “I was just speaking with Dispatch. Jagger’s coming in,” she said. “But he plans to make a couple of stops first.”
She took a long look at Rick, so intense and appraising it made his skin itch. He was just about to ask, “What?” when she continued.
“You might not have been involved in the incident, but you look as though you could use some downtime. Why don’t you go home? Get some rest. We’ve got the debrief tomorrow morning anyway. I’d bet that both you and Logan will be in before it starts. You can see him then.”
Rick felt the need to act. To do something. But what Shannon said was true. He probably looked like hell—and she was just showing her concern. He finished stuffing everything in his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“You’re right, and thanks,” he said to Shannon, giving her shoulder a light pat as he walked by. “See you all tomorrow,” he said.
* * *
DESPITE A RESTLESS NIGHT, Rick couldn’t remember a single dream or nightmare, for which he was thankful. He’d believed the events of the day before would bring the nightmares back to haunt him, but he’d gotten a solid five hours of uninterrupted sleep. That wasn’t bad under the circumstances. He’d woken twenty minutes before his alarm was set to go off. Since then, he’d been lying wide-awake, listening to Sniff snoring softly on his own bed.
Rick folded his arms under his head and stared up at the ceiling. Why his thoughts kept veering back to the new vet he couldn’t say, especially when he had so much else to occupy him. Well, he supposed he did have an idea why. He was intrigued, and it was more than her looks. She’d gone toe-to-toe with him and in a manner of speaking had won. She’d gotten him out of the way, not backing down when he was at his belligerent worst. And she’d done her job. He thought of himself as a nice guy, a gentleman—thanks to the Stewarts and how they’d raised him—but he certainly hadn’t left Madison with that impression.
He knew exactly what his mother, Hillary, would have to say about his behavior. He smiled ruefully. He was twenty-nine years old and just short of six-three, and it was his mother, maybe five-four and a hundred and fifteen pounds, who could put the fear of God into him.
As he climbed out of bed and turned off his alarm, he resolved two things. He’d apologize to the veterinarian. Maybe even surprise her, stopping by the clinic to bring her a bunch of flowers or make some other conciliatory gesture. Second, he was well overdue for a visit with his family. He wasn’t shy about admitting that he missed his parents. He’d set that up today, too. Plan a get-together for the weekend, if Sophie and Daniel were available.
He didn’t accomplish either of those goals over the course of the day. Jeff hadn’t survived the night, and that had cast a pall over the debrief they had that morning.
Everyone was both grieving and fueled up to bring justice to those responsible. Rick had barely had time to take restroom breaks; it was insanely busy at the division. When he’d found a rare moment to check on Zeke’s condition, Heather, the clinic’s regular receptionist, advised him that Madison was unavailable but Zeke was doing well. She also informed him that Logan had already arranged for the unit’s admin, Beth, to stay in touch with her for regular progress reports. Rick’s opportunity to make casual contact with the veterinarian and attempt to redeem himself was lost.
The important thing was that Zeke was recovering, and the risk of infection was diminishing with the passage of time.
The division had set a plan in motion to track down the men responsible for killing Jeff, bring them to justice and, if everything worked out, take down the Los Zetas Cartel’s operations in California. It was a bold plan, not without risk, and would require cooperation from a number of policing entities on both sides of the border. Rick had volunteered to co-lead it with the captain of the SDPD’s Narcotics Task Force. That was the least he could do.
* * *
IT HAD BEEN one emergency after another at the clinic over the past three days since Zeke had arrived. Even her regular appointments had created challenges. Daisy was a perfect example, Madison thought, while she cleaned up after seeing the skittish little bull terrier. Daisy had been in for a routine checkup and her shots, but she’d been so nervous, she’d emptied her stomach and her bladder during the examination. Madison shook her head. She hadn’t managed to get out of the way quickly enough. As a result, she’d had to change, and one of the techs had to do a cleanup in examination room three.
Despite days like this, Madison loved her job, and she loved the groundbreaking research she was doing at the San Diego Animal Rehabilitation Center.
She was very excited and confident about the progress she and the center’s team were making in the area of platelet-rich plasma therapy. The opportunity to participate in the PRP research and what it would mean for tens of thousands of injured animals had been the key reason for her move to San Diego from El Paso, Texas, where she was raised and where her father still lived.
She’d done her homework before making the move, of course. The San Diego rehab center was the best and most advanced in the country in her area of interest. They also had the necessary funding, an essential consideration since the research was costly. In addition, they gave her free rein with her secondary interest—advanced aqua therapy. The opportunity had been compelling enough for her to leave her father, the only family she had.
She took a moment to think of Patrick Long, Supreme Court judge and the best father anyone could hope for. He’d started his career as a crown prosecutor, had gone into private practice and had been ultimately called to the bench. Since her mother had died of ovarian cancer when Madison was a toddler, it was just the two of them. As a kid, she’d shadowed her father and spent many hours with him at his office and even in the courtroom.
She missed him. Much more than she’d expected.
But her career meant a lot to her. A professional drive and a desire to make a difference were values her father had instilled in her from an early age. And those factors had resulted in her move to San Diego and the Mission Bay Veterinary Clinic.
Through her father, she’d gained a tremendous respect for police officers, and the dangerous and often thankless work they did. She’d also had enough exposure to police dogs to know their jobs weren’t any easier and often more dangerous than that of their handlers.
When she’d joined Mission Bay, Madison had learned that they provided care for the SDPD’s canines, and she’d expressed keen interest in working with them. It hadn’t taken long to prove herself to Jane and Don, the clinic’s owners. She’d been thrilled when in addition to her other duties she’d been entrusted with the care of the SDPD’s dogs.
Zeke was the first police dog she’d treated for an injury sustained in the line of duty. It had hit her hard emotionally, and she was gratified that she’d been able to help him.
She’d checked on Zeke first thing in the morning. He was still groggy from his medication, but she was pleased with his progress and had reduced his dosage. There was no sign of infection, which was a huge relief. If all went well, she thought he’d be an excellent candidate for a trial of the PRP therapy.
She put on a clean lab coat, brushed her hair and braided it. She wanted to have another quick look at Zeke before her next appointment to ensure that he was doing okay with the lower dosage. As she did, she thought of the cop—Rick—who’d brought Zeke in. Too bad he didn’t have a personality. A guy like him probably got by on looks alone, and didn’t care how rude and unfriendly he was. Well, that wasn’t her type. She appreciated appearance as much as anyone, but what really mattered to her was a man’s inner qualities—what was inside. Rick seemed to have more than his fair share on the outside, but a major deficit in the personality department.
In the months she’d been at Mission Bay, she’d met most of the K-9 Unit officers and their dogs. Being single, Madison accepted the amiable flirting from the officers. And being human, she wasn’t immune to the attention from the mostly good-looking cops. She didn’t take any of it seriously. If she allowed herself to be shallow for just a moment, she had to admit that Rick was the most attractive of the group. But based on what she’d seen of him, there wasn’t going to be any flirting.
Which was probably for the best. He made her feel uneasy.
Then, why was she even thinking about him? And why Rick rather than one of the supernice cops who were gracious and pleasant? She knew a lot of women were attracted to a rogue. She’d always scoffed at that, but maybe she wasn’t immune to it, either. She laughed at herself. She really needed to get more of a social life if her thoughts were turning in that direction.
Satisfied that Zeke was fine, she left the recovery area. Her next appointment was with one of the few SDPD K-9 cops she hadn’t met yet, K-9 Unit sergeant Enrique Vasquez or Pitbull. She rolled her eyes at his alias. His canine partner’s name was Sniff. She smiled at the cute name for a narcotics dog. The cop evidently had a sense of humor. Sniff hadn’t come to the clinic for nearly seven months, certainly not during the time she’d been there.
Madison checked her watch. Of course she had to meet a new client on a day she was behind schedule. She happened to be a stickler for organization and effective time management. She didn’t like to keep clients waiting, nor did she want to make a poor first impression, but she needed to review Sniff’s patient file first.
Sniff was the only Labrador in the SDPD’s K-9 Unit. If she wasn’t mistaken, Sniff’s handler, Enrique, was the cop Heather gushed about—classically tall, dark and handsome.
Madison remembered what Heather had told her about this particular cop. He and Sniff patrolled the most hazardous part of the border between San Diego and Tijuana to thwart the cartel-related drug trafficking that occurred there. Heather had gone on at some length about Enrique’s looks and charm when she’d handed her the file, until finally Madison had laughingly told her to stop. Heather had claimed he was the best looking in the unit, which she considered unlikely after having met Zeke’s handler, Rick. In any case, Enrique would have to be more pleasant and better mannered than Rick had been, she thought as she rounded the corner to the reception area.
And she came to an abrupt halt.
Enrique Vasquez might have had his back to her, talking to one of the techs, but from what she could see, Heather had not been exaggerating about his looks. He was tall, with broad shoulders that narrowed to a lean waist and a trim backside. Realizing where her gaze—and her thoughts—had drifted, she pulled both away. He wore a baseball cap and must’ve been off duty, as he was wearing street clothes. He rested one hand comfortably on his dog’s head, which showed a caring that appealed to her soft heart. When the cop raised his other hand to push back his ball cap, impressive biceps bunched under his short-sleeved shirt. “Wow,” she breathed before she could catch herself. When he did it again, she focused on the way he moved rather than his physique. There was something familiar about him.
She felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder and heard a soft voice next to her ear. “I told you!”
It was just Madison’s luck that she’d let her guard down when Heather was coming out of the back storage area.
“Yeah, well, I’m late and I’d better get going.”
Heather placed a hand on her arm. “I’ll let him know you’ll be with him in a minute. Come join us when you’re ready.”
Madison was about to protest, but recognized that a minute or two to get herself in a more professional frame of mind wouldn’t make much of a difference, time-wise. She was already worried about her first impression on a new client because of being late. A little later wouldn’t matter, but if she was tongue-tied and scatterbrained when she met him, she’d embarrass herself. So she let Heather precede her.
* * *
“HEY, ENRIQUE,” HEATHER greeted Rick in a pleasant singsong voice.
He waved goodbye to the tech, who’d been grilling him about his chances of becoming a police officer, and turned his attention to the receptionist. He generally didn’t like to be called by his full given name—it reminded him too much of his childhood in Mexico—but Heather preferred it, and he’d stopped trying to dissuade her.
“I’m sorry we’ve kept you waiting. Madison had a bit of a...an incident with a patient and had to clean up. She’ll see you and Sniff any minute now.” Her face sobered. “I’m so very sorry to hear about Jeff. Please give his family our condolences.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” It hadn’t gotten easier to deal with Jeff’s death, despite the passage of several days.
“What have you got there?” She gestured to the duffel he’d rested on the floor beside his feet.
Rick felt the heat rise to his face. “Just stuff,” he mumbled. “So I understand Madison’s taking over from Jane for our dogs.”
“Uh-huh,” Heather responded. She walked around the reception desk to return to her station.
Rick leaned on the counter. He wasn’t at all perturbed about Madison’s being late. It gave him a chance to question Heather about the new vet. Heather obviously didn’t realize he and Madison had already met. There was no reason she would have, he reminded himself. Unless the part-time receptionist had told Heather he’d been in, she’d have no way of knowing that he was the one who’d brought Zeke. Even though he’d called about Zeke a few times, Heather must have assumed he was checking up on one of the unit’s dogs. Her not knowing gave him the advantage. “Has Madison worked with police dogs before?” he began.
Heather sat down behind her desk. “You know, I’m not sure. She moved here a few months ago from Texas. She must have some experience. They wouldn’t have assigned her to care for the SDPD’s canines if she wasn’t qualified. Logan wouldn’t have approved, either,” she added. “You’d have to ask Madison about her experience.”
“Is she good?” He’d concluded that she was, based on what she’d done for Zeke, but he was curious about what Heather had to say. Working with Madison would give her a different point of view. The more he’d thought about it, the more he recognized the skill and calm resolve it must have taken to save Zeke. He was anxious to see him, after Sniff’s examination.
Before Heather had a chance to answer, he heard soft footsteps behind him.
“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” Heather motioned toward the hallway. “Here’s Madison now.”
“Great. Thank...” Rick looked over his shoulder, and whatever else he was going to say escaped him. He felt his mouth go dry. Sure, he’d met her before, but he must not have been seeing clearly at the time. He certainly hadn’t been thinking clearly. He’d remembered her as attractive but not drop-dead gorgeous. She was wearing a lab coat again, a blue one this time, yet her curves were evident. Today, she had her hair in a thick braid, hanging over one shoulder. Even braided, the mass of it hung well down toward her waist. Instead of greeting him, she stood still, her lips slightly parted, shock on her face. It was almost as if she hadn’t been expecting him—or had forgotten that she’d met him.
He took a step forward, Sniff trailing him, and smiled. “Are you ready for us?”
She gave a slight shake of her head, not so much to indicate no, but almost as if clearing her mind of whatever had preoccupied her. Before she could say anything, Heather filled the silence.
“Madison, this is Sergeant Enrique Vasquez, aka Pitbull, and his canine partner, Sniff.”
“Officer Rick,” Madison said with frost in her voice, and Rick’s smile faded. Apparently, she wasn’t inclined to let bygones be bygones.
“You’ve met?” Heather asked, obviously confused.
“Yes,” they responded in unison.
Heather glanced from one stern face to the other and backed up. “Okay, then. I’ll just get back to work.”
Madison gave Rick one more long, hard look before stepping forward and bending down to greet Sniff. Her features softened; the dog’s good nature must have won her over. By the time she straightened and extended a hand to Rick, the reserve had returned.
“As you know, I’m Madison Long,” she said in a perfunctory manner, putting the emphasis on know, and flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Follow me, please.”
Rick tapped his thigh, and had Sniff heeling next to him as he followed her. Madison’s braid swung across her back with each step she took. Glancing at Heather, he saw her bemused expression and wondered what had caused it. Then he noticed the duffel he’d forgotten and rushed back to grab it before joining Madison.
“How’s Zeke?” was the first thing he asked when they were in the examination room.
“He’s coming along nicely.”
“That’s terrific. Can I see him when we’re done here?”
“Of course,” she said, gathering everything she needed for Sniff’s exam.
She was being professional and courteous, but there was a distinct remoteness in her voice and demeanor. Conscious of the duffel in his right hand, he wondered how smart an idea that was. “The unit’s retiring Zeke,” he offered as an olive branch.
Her hands stilled and she gave him a contemplative look before nodding, but her cool formality remained as she opened a cabinet to get additional supplies. There was something...out of character about her expression. The lines bracketing her mouth were a dead giveaway that she laughed more than she frowned. He shifted the duffel from one hand to the other, then placed it on a chair in the corner of the room. “Look, I’m sorry for the way I acted when we first met.”
She turned back to him, and he saw the surprise on her face.
“It was a hell of a day. Zeke being hurt wasn’t all of it.”
“I heard on the news that an officer was shot...and that he passed away... I’m sorry...” Her voice rang with sincerity and compassion.
“Yeah. Jeff didn’t make it.” Rick broke eye contact, reached down and stroked Sniff’s back. The grief was still too raw. The dog raised his head, tongue lolling, adoration in his eyes that never failed to melt Rick’s heart.
“What will happen to Zeke?” Madison interrupted his thoughts.
Rick’s eyes lifted to hers and he could see she was moved, too. The fact that she seemed to care about Jeff and about Zeke said a lot about her. “Jeff’s family—his wife and son—want to keep Zeke. Zeke mattered to Jeff and is therefore important to his family.” He cleared his throat with a small cough and changed the subject to a more practical matter. “SDPD will pick up the cost of Zeke’s treatment and rehabilitation. Whatever it takes, just do what’s best for him. We’ll help the family with some retraining so Zeke can adapt to being a pet. Jeff was a good cop...a good man. He’ll be missed and not just by his family.”
“I’m so sorry,” Madison repeated in a whisper, and briefly rested a hand on his forearm.
“Thanks.” The sense of loss and futility, the sudden rush of emotion, was threatening to strangle Rick. He coughed again to try to cover up his feelings, but the sorrow was backing up in his throat. He grabbed his duffel and held it out to her. “We got off on the wrong foot the other day. I brought you something. Sort of a peace offering.”
Her gaze slid from his eyes to the black, well-worn bag and back. “You’re giving me a used gym bag?”
His nervous, amused laughter burst forth. He wasn’t usually this awkward around women. But then he generally didn’t start out from such a deficit. “No. Of course not!” He chuckled and fumbled with the zipper before placing the bag on the chair and unzipping it. He reached in and handed her a brightly wrapped bunch of flowers. “These are for you.”
Her eyebrows seemed to be stuck under her bangs, but at least the corners of her mouth had turned up. She took the bouquet from him. “You brought me flowers?”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants. “Yeah. It’s a small token of apology. I was a jerk and I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” She raised the bouquet to her nose and took a deep breath. “I love freesia. They smell heavenly.”
He had no idea which of the colorful flowers was freesia, but he’d have to remember the name. It had evidently done the trick. He was surprised by and appreciative of the ease with which she’d put their awkward beginning behind her. No stalling. No making him grovel.
She retrieved a jug from the cabinets and filled it with water. When she’d placed the flowers in it, she lifted them to her nose again, closing her eyes as she inhaled. She opened her eyes again, and her gaze locked with his. He could have sworn he heard the clock on the wall ticking the seconds away as they stared at each other. There was something unfathomable in the depths of her eyes. “Sniff...” he finally said.
Madison smiled, took a treat out of her lab coat pocket and offered it to the dog.
Sniff accepted it politely. She lowered to one knee beside the dog. “What brings you here today, my friend?” she asked while she checked Sniff’s eyes and heart rate.
Rick noted the tender, caring way Madison touched and manipulated Sniff’s joints. She immediately eased up when he flinched as she moved his hind left leg. She raised her eyes, a hand on Sniff’s back. “Cruciate ligament acting up?”
Rick nodded. She’d obviously checked the file. “I know he’s not that old, but I want his policing days behind him soon.”
Madison had a thoughtful expression on her face. “He’s more than a tool to you, isn’t he?”
Through her work, she must have discovered that very few handlers were able to maintain the detachment from their dogs to consider them “tools.” Rick and Sniff were a team. He cared about Sniff as much as he cared about his two-legged colleagues. He nodded again, slowly.
As he watched Madison continue her exam, he felt a peculiar churning in his gut. Yeah, he’d had breakfast at six, grabbed a quick sandwich for lunch and it was almost five now, but he didn’t think the sensation had anything to do with being hungry.
Rick shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He thrust his hands back into his pants pockets. He didn’t want to dwell on the reason he’d done it—the fact that all of a sudden he was tempted to reach out and discover the texture of Madison’s springy red hair or how smooth her complexion really was. He liked women. Sure. Too much sometimes. But this felt different somehow, and he’d just met her. He considered how gentle she was with his dog.
That’s it! It was Sniff, he rationalized. Anyone who loved his dog was okay by him. That was all. He cleared his throat, wondering if he was coming down with a bug, and tried to ignore the strange sensation in his stomach.
Madison cocked her head slightly and shone a light into Sniff’s right ear. “You would’ve initiated the process to retire Zeke, even if I hadn’t bullied you into it,” she said, switching the light to the dog’s other ear.
Rick laughed. The thought that she’d be able to bully him into anything struck him as ludicrous—but judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t amused. “Yeah,” he said, sobering. “Of course. Zeke’s earned retirement.” Seeing that she was about to give Sniff a cortisone injection for the pain in his leg, he bent down to soothe and distract his dog.
Rick’s head was only a foot or so from hers, and her scent swirled around him. It was something subtle and musky. It caused an uncomfortable itch at the back of his neck. He reached behind him to scratch at it. “So has Sniff,” he went on. “And I don’t want him getting injured to earn it.”
Madison looked up at him again, and he noticed that her green eyes were specked with gold, the irises rimmed with it. “Sorry,” he murmured, “what was that?” He’d entirely missed what she’d said.
She smiled again. “I asked what the SDPD usually does with service dogs when they retire. You told me what’s going to happen with Zeke. Is that typical? And what’ll happen to Sniff once he retires?” she asked while uncapping the hypodermic needle.
He shrugged. “In most cases, if a dog’s handler is able to, he or she will generally keep the dog. Sniff will live out his life with me.”
Madison gave Sniff his shot, the dog barely noticing the pinprick sensation. Seeing the look of understanding and concern in her eyes, Rick felt even more drawn to her.
“Jagger—our captain—he’s having a barbecue for the unit this weekend. On Sunday.” The words tumbled out before he realized he’d said them. Her eyes were questioning. She was no doubt trying to figure out what his declaration had to do with her. Before he could question his own sanity, he barreled on. “You’ve met Jagger and most of the unit already?”
She nodded, uncertainty still evident on her face.
“Why don’t you come with me?” he suggested. They both rose, and Sniff danced between them, knowing the routine well enough that he expected a dog treat after an exam. Madison didn’t disappoint him and offered him a biscuit she extracted from a glass jar on the counter, slipping some extras in her pocket.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?” He must have missed part of the conversation again. He didn’t understand the question.
“Why are you asking me to go with you?”
What was she expecting? It was just a spontaneous thing. Did she have to analyze it?
She must have sensed his confusion and clarified. “Are you inviting me so you can introduce me to the whole unit? To help me fit in?”
He laughed. “No. I’m asking you as...as my date.” He grinned, hoping it would seal the deal. He really wanted to get to know her better. The more he saw of her, the more he liked her.
Madison bent down to scratch Sniff behind the ears, pulling out another treat from her pocket and presenting it to him.
The fact that she seemed to be thinking about his invitation wasn’t a good sign. At least she hadn’t given him an outright no. But the “no” was coming. Rick could feel it. He was seldom wrong about women’s reactions to him. He supposed it would be understandable if she declined. They hadn’t had the smoothest of introductions, and he had to accept responsibility for that. He assumed his customary stance of hands in pockets, anticipating rejection.
Madison held his gaze for a long moment, until a smile spread across her face. “Sure. Why not?”
“Great. That’s great. Are we done here with Sniff?” It seemed he’d been wrong this time, and he was glad of it.
“Yes. Other than the cruciate, he’s in good health and obviously happy, but I agree that you should think about retiring him. His hind legs will only get worse with age and strenuous use. You want him home as a pet, enjoying a well-deserved retirement, before he injures himself and perhaps does permanent damage.”
“That’s the plan. Can I see Zeke now?”
Madison nodded and took him to the recovery area.
Zeke looked good, considering everything he’d been through. Madison explained that he was coming along nicely and could go to Jeff’s family in a few days.
When they’d finished with Zeke, Rick paused by the door. “I’ll pick you up at five on Sunday. Does that work for you?”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s fine.”
“All right.” He was about to exit when he saw her grin. “I guess I’d better get your home address, right?”
“I guess.” She took a pen out of her pocket, scribbled an address and phone number on a sheet of paper and handed it to him. “See you Sunday.”
He folded the paper and tucked it in his shirt pocket, then gave her a jaunty little salute. “Yeah. I’m looking forward to it. Grab your leash,” he instructed Sniff. Tapping the side of his thigh, he had Sniff heeling again as he walked through the reception area.
“Everything okay?” Heather asked when he passed the reception counter.
Rick raised his eyes to the ceiling, and his expression made Heather giggle.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first man and you certainly won’t be the last to come in here and react to Madison like that.”
* * *
MADISON CLEANED UP the exam room. Since there were no patients waiting for her, she walked over to Heather and leaned on the reception counter.
“How’d it go with Enrique?” Heather asked with a smirk.
“Fine. Why do you call him that?”
“What? Enrique?”
“Uh-huh.”
Heather shrugged. “I think Enrique suits him better than Rick—too common. So does Pitbull.”
“What kind of alias is Pitbull anyway? Why do they call him that?”
“Logan told me it’s because he’s tenacious. About his work. About what matters to him.”
Oh, yes, Madison could see that. She could see him being very determined and stubborn, depending on the circumstances.
“You two met before?” Heather interrupted her thoughts. “And you didn’t remember him?”
“Oh, I remembered, all right,” Madison said.
“But you let me go on about him...”
“First, I didn’t know he was the sergeant. I thought his dog was Zeke, not Sniff. Also, you called him Enrique. I was introduced to him by Angela as Rick. No last name.”
Heather grinned. “Well, I really do think Enrique suits him better. He’s not keen on it... I like it, though. I think it actually amuses him when I call him that. The aka suits him, too, but in a different way. Pitbull fits his personality. Enrique... Well, he’s got that whole sexy Latino thing going for him, and that appeals to me!”
Madison chuckled.
“What can I say? I’m attracted to tall, dark, good-looking men.”
Madison felt her eyes widen. It occurred to her that she might be treading on Heather’s territory by having accepted a date with Rick. “Are you...together?”
Heather laughed, as well. “No! We’re not.” She got up and walked to the printer. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she retorted, “But a girl can dream, can’t she?” She grabbed a printout and left the reception area, her laughter drifting over to Madison.
Madison watched Heather walk away, but her thoughts were on a tall, dark and decidedly handsome cop. Yeah, a girl could dream.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_8a847bac-6544-5518-9ae0-0c45c54ecb17)
RICK RODE HIS Harley-Davidson Electra Glide onto the narrow driveway at Madison’s house. He shut off the engine and removed his helmet. The small cottage-like house wasn’t what he’d expected. As structured, organized, practical as Madison seemed to be, he’d expected something a little more...well, a little less fanciful. Whimsical was a word he couldn’t remember ever using, but that was what popped into his mind. It made him think of the houses the hobbits occupied in the Lord of the Rings movies.
He remembered his parents taking him to all three films in the series when he’d first lived with them. He smiled at the memory of how they’d tried to translate, in their broken Spanish, some of the finer points related to Middle Earth that he hadn’t understood, despite the fact that he’d spoken English reasonably well as a kid.
Just thinking about it gave him a warm feeling he’d never experienced prior to being part of the Stewart clan. Madison’s place made a similar impression on him.
Her house was well maintained, neat and orderly, if on a small scale. From what he’d seen, neat and orderly defined Madison. He dismounted and grabbed the spare helmet that had been strapped to the back carrier of his bike, then made his way to the front door.
He knocked and glanced at the planter next to him. It didn’t surprise him that he couldn’t see a single dead petal or leaf on the colorful, sweet-smelling plants or in the container. The flowers were so perfect he was tempted to touch them, to make sure they were real. He was a stickler for cleanliness, but he couldn’t consider himself particularly neat. It was almost impossible, living with a police dog.
When the door opened, he felt like a teenager experiencing his first high-school crush.
Madison was wearing a flowing, frilly, multihued summer dress that might have looked fussy on someone else. On her it looked... He couldn’t find the word for it, other than right. Her hair was in some fancy updo, little ringlets teasing the sides of her face. She wore dangly earrings. And her lips, with that beguiling smile, glistened with some sort of shiny stuff as if...well, as if she’d just been kissed and her lips were still moist from it.
He rubbed a hand over his stomach where a knot was forming because the thought of kissing her was all too tempting. Watching those lips, he saw her smile fade. He shifted his gaze to her eyes and noticed her staring at his motorcycle. He glanced over his shoulder at his bright blue bike—his pride and joy—wondering what had put the look of consternation on her face. There wasn’t anything wrong with his bike. He’d polished it to a gleam that morning. He glanced back at her. “Is something wrong?”
She motioned toward the Harley. “You brought a motorcycle.”
“Yes.”
“Look at me.” She gestured with a hand from her torso to her feet. “How am I supposed to ride on that thing in this?”
Rick did look at her. The light material fluttered in the gentle breeze, accentuating the curves he admired so much, the hem ending just above slim, shapely ankles. And he looked down at her feet, virtually naked in the high-heeled, delicate, almost nonexistent sandals she wore. He understood her dilemma, and felt a little foolish. “It’s a barbecue we’re going to,” he said in self-defense. He indicated his own faded jeans and white T-shirt. “You know, burgers, fries, apple pie and beer.”
Madison’s eyebrows furrowed. Obviously, he’d said the wrong thing.
Rick tucked the spare helmet under his arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I’d be bringing my bike. It didn’t occur to me that it would be a problem.” He dropped his gaze to her feet again, those darn sexy feet with the orangey polish on the toenails. “You can’t ride in those shoes. Do you have some sneakers or something?” He almost groaned at the look she gave him. He’d managed to put his foot in his mouth again.
“Do you really expect me to get on that thing with you? As far as my outfit goes, you’re taking me to meet your boss and your colleagues. My clients. I know I’ve already met most of them at the clinic. But that was work and I was in work clothes. Did you expect me to wear jeans?”
Rick felt frazzled and was starting to think this was a big mistake. He wasn’t usually an impulsive person, and this seemed to be a perfect example of why he shouldn’t be. “Well, yeah. That’s what they’ll all be wearing.”
“And their wives or girlfriends?”
“Much the same. But you look great!” he added hastily, forcing a too-wide smile and trying to appease her or at least recover some of the ground he seemed to be losing fast. “Really beautiful.”
Her frown was more pronounced as she eyed his bike again. “I’ll get my keys and we can take my Cayenne instead,” she decided.
He waited until she’d turned her back, then rolled his eyes. She disappeared inside her house but left the door ajar. Before Rick had a chance to wonder why she hadn’t invited him in, a big silver-gray dog, a beautiful Alaskan malamute, sauntered into the doorway. Rick wasn’t afraid of dogs—obviously not with his profession—but he knew all dogs could be protective of their handlers, uh, owners. And their territories. In this case, the dog seemed relaxed, even friendly, although he had to weigh at least a hundred and twenty pounds. There’d be a lot of power in the dog’s broad jaw. Madison hadn’t mentioned anything about having a dog, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. He wouldn’t have expected one quite so large, though. Rick tucked his hands in his pockets and smiled. “How’s it going?”
The dog plopped down right in the middle of the doorway, raised his snout and let out a woo-hoo sound.
He didn’t look menacing. Rick held out a hand for the dog to sniff. When that went well, he crouched down and scratched him behind the ears, all the while wondering what was taking Madison so long to find her keys. He might not have known her well, but one thing he’d gathered from her office and her house—she was organized and neat, meticulously so. He would’ve thought she’d know exactly where her keys were. She should have been back already.
To pass the time, Rick ran a hand along the dog’s silky coat.
He caught a whiff of that alluring musky scent of Madison’s before he saw her enter the vestibule from a hallway to the left.
“Oh, I’m glad you met Owen. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Seeing her, he nearly toppled over. He steadied himself with a hand on the railing.
He’d been disappointed that she was averse to riding a motorcycle, something he had a zeal for. He’d also been a bit baffled by her apparent lack of spontaneity. But now, seeing her... Wow!
She didn’t seem to be holding keys. Instead, she’d reappeared wearing dark skinny jeans, a snug long-sleeved T-shirt and—biggest surprise of all—low-heeled biker boots. She’d undone the arrangement of her hair, and all that springy red now rioted around her face and shoulders, nearly down to her waist.
“You changed?” Rick immediately felt ridiculous about stating the obvious, but his brain cells must have gone into a coma. He couldn’t think straight, staring at her looking so undeniably hot.
He rose, and she gave him a flirty smile. If she’d appealed to him before, what he saw now could drive him crazy. It wasn’t about the clothes or how sexy she looked. Okay, that didn’t hurt, he corrected himself. But it was about her spontaneity and her willingness to change her plans—and her clothes. This woman was someone he could really fall for.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “You’d made your point.”
“Sorry? What?” He’d been so distracted again he’d lost the train of their conversation.
She smiled, showing even, white teeth between sexy, full lips. “I had to change to be able to ride on your motorcycle.” She slid an elastic off her wrist and reached up to tie her hair in a ponytail. “I’m glad Owen kept you company while I was gone,” she said, and gave the dog an affectionate hug before sending him out into the yard.
“Great dog. Big dog!” Rick said as they watched him find the perfect spot on the grass. When Owen sauntered back, Madison placed a kiss on his snout, signaled him to go inside and closed the door behind her.
“Ready?” he asked, holding out the helmet he brought for her.
“Ready,” she said, accepting the helmet and putting it on as she preceded him down the steps.
Rick theatrically patted a hand over his heart.
* * *
SINCE IT WAS SUNDAY, they made good time to the captain’s house in Poway just off I-15, where the barbecue was being held. Logan O’Connor’s place was a sprawling bungalow with an ample backyard. That was handy, since there were a lot of people there.
Taking in the throng, Madison was glad she’d changed. As Rick had predicted, all the men wore jeans or shorts, and there wasn’t a single woman wearing a dress.
Shortly after their arrival, Logan asked for everyone’s attention and made a toast to Jeff Bradford, their fallen colleague. Logan said that Jeff’s widow had declined to attend; her loss was too recent, her pain too raw. One by one, all the cops present shared their most memorable story about Jeff. Then they all agreed to put aside the sadness and use the occasion to celebrate Jeff’s life.
Rick introduced Madison to everyone she didn’t know. It was nice to see the cops she’d already met through work outside the clinic environment. See them relaxed. Having fun. They were welcoming and friendly, even if a few reacted with raised eyebrows or meaningful looks cast toward Rick. A couple of the single cops—the ones who’d flirted with her the most outrageously at the clinic—jokingly pretended to be heartbroken that she’d chosen Rick over them. Mostly they did it out of earshot of their dates, but the few women who heard didn’t seem to take offense.
It felt like a big, boisterous extended family, and everyone appeared to get along. Madison noticed only one person who appeared not to fit in. He sat by himself in a corner of the yard, a bottle of beer clasped in his hand. At first, she didn’t think he was a cop. He didn’t look like one. He was heavy and out of shape. She hid her surprise when Rick introduced him as Tom Brody, a K-9 Unit officer. She hadn’t met him at the clinic yet, which was fine with her. There was something about him that made her uncomfortable. In a group where everyone was having a great time, he seemed sullen.
Madison was glad when Rick moved her along toward the two police dogs that were present. He introduced her to Boomer, Logan’s explosives-detection dog. The other dog, Sawyer, was one of the newest dogs in the unit. He was still in training to be a cadaver dog.
Once she’d met everyone, they circled back to join Logan, who was standing by his barbecue.
“Can I get you a drink?” Rick asked her.
“That would be nice.”
He excused himself to move to where the coolers were, returning a short while later. He held a well-chilled bottle of beer and a can of Coke. He offered her the beer.
Madison wasn’t a big fan of beer. In fact, she’d never had a full bottle in her life. She didn’t want to be rude to their host or offend Rick, but she couldn’t stomach the stuff. “Why don’t you have the beer, and I’ll take the Coke?” she suggested, reaching for the soda instead.
“Sorry, but that’s mine. When I ride the bike, I don’t drink.”
Logan snatched the opened beer bottle from Rick. “Thanks,” he said to Rick, and tapped the bottle against the can of Coke Rick held in his hand. “Since this is my place, I’m not driving anywhere. How’d you know I wanted a cold one?” Before Rick could reply, Logan turned to Madison. “Presumptuous of him. Thinking you’d want a beer without asking you. And not even bringing you a glass!” He made a tsking sound. “Personally, I picture you more of a wine drinker.” He took a sip of the beer. “I’m thinking white wine. A well-oaked chardonnay?”
She laughed and he smiled in return. “I take it that means I’m correct?”
“It sure does. And I’d love a glass of chardonnay.”
Logan grinned at Rick, handed him his bottle and smacked him on the back. “Hold this for me, will you, while I get Madison a drink?”
Madison watched Rick for some adverse reaction, but he didn’t seem to mind. She liked a confident man who wasn’t easily offended and wasn’t unreasonably jealous.
They watched Logan’s retreating back, saw him stop occasionally to chat with a guest or two, then disappear into his kitchen through a set of sliding doors.
Rick motioned with his Coke bottle toward the doors. “You just experienced firsthand why he’s called Jagger.”
“Jagger?”
“You know the Rolling Stones?”
“Of course.” She was perplexed and amused. “What are you getting at?”
“Well, let’s just say that the captain has moves like Jagger.”
Madison laughed. “I assume you don’t mean on the dance floor, like in the song by Maroon 5? ‘Moves Like Jagger’?”
Rick raised his soda bottle to her in salute and took a sip. “I’ll let you be the judge of that. And speaking of...” His words trailed off when Logan rejoined them and handed Madison a glass of wine.
“So, Madison,” Logan began. “You’re from El Paso.”
She wondered how he’d known that. She hadn’t shared much about herself with the cops who came to the clinic. But people talked. Including Heather, the clinic’s receptionist. It occurred to her that being the captain of the unit, he might have done a background check on her when she’d been assigned to take care of the SDPD dogs. She wasn’t sure that was acceptable procedure, but realized it happened.
“And your father is Patrick Long, Supreme Court judge, correct?” he continued.
“That’s right.”
“My father used to be a police chief. He had some dealings with your father concerning matters that had fallen under your father’s jurisdiction. He held him in high regard,” Logan added.
That answered her question about how he’d known where she was from.
Rick let out a low whistle. “Your father’s a judge?”
Madison nodded. A lot of men were intimidated by what her father did for a living. She expected a cop wouldn’t be, but you never knew.
“Impressive,” was Rick’s reply.
He didn’t seem daunted. That was positive—and refreshing.
“With your family in El Paso, what brought you to our fair city?” Logan asked.
She was a private person, but one thing she didn’t mind talking about was the reason she’d moved to San Diego—her research. Still, it was a hefty subject to get into, and she had a tendency to bore people with it. Rick must have picked up on her hesitation, because he interjected smoothly. “C’mon, Jagger. Save the interrogation for business hours.”
Logan didn’t seem disturbed in the least. Madison sensed there was more than a professional relationship between these two cops based on the way they bantered back and forth; they were friends, too.
“You’ve got a point.” He smiled at Madison. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m glad Rick brought you, and I hope you enjoy yourself.”
Logan excused himself to play host to his guests, and soon he started preparing dinner. Madison knew he wasn’t married and she surmised he didn’t have a date. She did, however, see exactly how attentive and smooth he was with his female guests.
She watched him with amusement. He manned the barbecue expertly while carrying on a conversation with one of the women. Suddenly Madison was distracted by a disturbance she caught in her peripheral vision. “No. Oh, no!” she whispered.
Rick, who’d been chatting with one of his colleagues, turned to her with a questioning look. She shifted her gaze back to Logan and the barbecue just as one of the dogs, Sawyer, with a near-effortless leap, snagged a steak right off the grill. Boomer, not far behind, started to bark furiously, getting everyone’s attention. Logan, closest to Sawyer, gave him an “Out!” command, to no effect. He tried again, but Sawyer ignored him, and cavorted with the piece of meat dangling from his mouth.
“Jackson!” Logan bellowed for the officer who must have been Sawyer’s handler. “Get your dog under control and get that piece of rib eye away from him.”
Jackson rushed over, but it was obvious he was having a hard time containing his hilarity, which only incited Sawyer, who proceeded to engage in a spirited game of chase with his handler. Boomer joined in, until Logan ordered him down, and he dropped where he was.
Madison tried not to laugh, watching Sawyer frolic around the yard. When the dog pranced in front of Brody, still sitting in the corner by himself, her eyes connected with his. Even from a distance, she could see something disconcerting in their depths. Her smile dimmed and she quickly looked away.
“Should we worry about your cooking, Jagger?” someone called out, drawing her attention back to the dog’s antics. “Sawyer’s a cadaver dog. He usually goes after rotting things!” There was another ripple of good-natured laughter as Sawyer continued to elude his handler, the steak hanging from his mouth. Another cop made a grab for the meat but ended up sprawled on the grass with only a piece of gristle that had torn loose in his hand to show for his effort.
By the time Jackson finally got hold of Sawyer, he was red-faced both from exertion and embarrassment. Everyone laughed uproariously at his expense. Jackson did his best, without success, to get the dog to release his prize.
“Might as well let him have it now,” Logan suggested. “No one’s going to want to eat that steak.”
“Sorry, Jagger,” Jackson said self-consciously. “Can I put Sawyer in Boomer’s kennel for a time-out?”
“Sure.” Logan pointed to the side yard. “But since I only had enough steak for my two-legged guests, you, my friend, are going to be eating a hot dog.”
That made all the cops laugh even harder. A few catcalls could also be heard. Madison couldn’t help laughing along with everyone else.
Rick excused himself, explaining that he’d been involved in Sawyer’s training and wanted to check on the dog and his handler, and loped after Jackson and his dog.
“Enjoying yourself?” Madison heard a slurred voice by her ear and was assailed by the scent of sour breath. She stepped back. It was Brody. He must have left his perch after they’d made eye contact. She took another step back.
“Yes, I am. Thank you.”
She was about to walk away, but Brody grasped her upper arm with a clammy hand. “Where you going?” he asked.
There was no doubt in Madison’s mind that he’d had too much to drink. She wondered how he could get away with it at a party with a bunch of cops, including his boss. Then she realized that the whole time she’d been there, she hadn’t seen him talk to a single person other than her when Rick had introduced them. Whenever she’d noticed him, he’d been sitting by himself in the same spot at the far end of the yard, drinking beer. She looked down to where he held her arm, hoping he’d get the hint and back off. When that didn’t work, she tried to pull free, only to feel his grip tighten on her biceps. He had more strength than she would’ve given him credit for. She wasn’t worried, though, not with a yard full of cops, but she was annoyed and uncomfortable. She didn’t want to cause a scene.
“Look,” she began. Before she could say more, the hand was off her arm, and a flailing Brody landed on his backside on the grass, the bottle of beer spilling on the soft ground.
Madison rubbed her upper arm where Brody’s fingers had been digging, trying to ease the dull ache. For a second time, everyone stopped to look at the commotion. This time she wasn’t on the periphery but central to the incident.
Rick towered over Brody, a menacing look on his face. He extended a hand. “Gotta be more careful there, Brody. Uneven ground here,” he said, speaking loudly enough that anyone who was paying attention could hear. She was grateful that Rick was trying to defuse the situation to avoid causing a scene. But Madison was closest and heard him continue in an undertone as he helped the other man up, “Touch her like that again, and you and I are going to have a problem.”
Madison glanced around quickly to see if anyone else had heard, but it seemed that they’d all gone back to what they’d been doing. Except Logan. The charm was gone as he watched the interplay with narrowed eyes. He obviously knew there was more to the incident than Rick had let on.
Brody grumbled something under his breath, then dusted off his jeans and moved away. She assumed he’d gone home, because she didn’t see him again the rest of the evening. A couple of people mentioned that they’d seen him get into a cab. A smart move, in her opinion.
She saw Rick and Logan huddled together shortly after the incident, with long faces and intent eyes. She was certain it had to do with what had happened with Brody, but when Rick returned, he was all smiles and easy manner.
He hardly left her side for the rest of the evening. The altercation with Brody aside, Madison had enjoyed herself. She was sad to see the evening end, but she had an early start at the clinic Monday morning.
At Madison’s house, Rick placed both helmets on his seat and walked her to her front door. She hadn’t thought to turn on the outside light, so they stood in the silvery glow of the moon.
“Thank you for coming with me today,” Rick said.
“I had a nice time. You work with great people.”
“I hope those great people will stop flirting with you now when they bring their dogs to the clinic!” he joked.
“And take all the fun out of my job?” she retorted.
He laughed and reached out to tuck a strand of her hair that had come loose behind her ear. His fingers lingered on it, and when he took a step closer and lowered his head, she let her eyes flutter closed. She didn’t have to see him to know he was only inches away. She could feel his warmth, the caress of his breath. She didn’t exhale, anticipating the brush of his lips across hers.
At the loud woo-hoo from behind the door, they both stepped back. Madison gave a nervous laugh.
“Your chaperone?” Rick asked, his voice a little hoarse.
“So it would seem.” Madison might not have been accustomed to good-night kisses on a first date, but she was disappointed that the opportunity with Rick had slipped away. There was something she really liked about him. A number of things, actually. “I had a nice time,” she repeated to fill the silence. “Thanks for inviting me.”
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Kate James
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: Keeping her safe at all costsCould their backgrounds be any more different?Rick Vasquez, a K-9 unit sergeant with the San Diego Police Department, fled drug-related violence in Mexico as a boy. Madison Long, who recently became primary veterinarian to the SDPD’s canines, is the privileged daughter of a judge.Rick has dedicated his life to curtailing cross-border drug trafficking and preventing other young boys from being drawn into the dark world of the cartels.But everything Rick and Madison value, and the growing love between them, is threatened by the dangers of Rick’s job, and the risks he’s determined to take…