K-9 Recovery Page 2

  He looked at her as he stood up, studying her. “I find that hard to believe. The handler is just as important as the dog in K-9 work.”

  She pushed the bait into his hands and moved to step out the side door before he could read anything on her face. “I’ll wait out here.”

  She felt something in her chest shift as she walked away from him. Was he hitting on her? Or was she just seeing something that wasn’t there because she had been without a man for too long?

  Yeah, there was nothing there. She had just witnessed a mirage in the desert of her love life. All she needed was to go on a date with a man, leave in the morning and forget about feelings. Relationships were for people who had the time and patience to deal with them; she had better things to do.

  She shifted her weight, like she was readjusting her nonexistent, feelings-proof vest.

  “Daisy, you are not a good influence,” she said, scratching behind the dog’s ears as Daisy looked up at her and gave her a doggie grin. “Like I said. You know what you did, didn’t you? You’re devious.”

  Daisy wiggled. “If you want a man in our lives, we can get you a cute dog to run with. Don’t you dare look at me and get any kind of silly ideas.”

  Chapter Two

  What a long damned day. He loved training with the special response team, or SRT, but going from 6:00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m. had drained him. When he’d agreed to take care of the K-9 handler, he’d had no idea it was going to be a woman. As soon as she had stepped out of that truck, he’d hated his decision to volunteer even more.

  She was way too good-looking, with her long brunette hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and her skintight tactical pants. Looking at her, and the way she moved, he instantly wondered if this woman was here to train or to flirt. He had a history with women who fell in the latter category. He’d met his ex when she had signed up for a ride-along. Things had seemed normal during the ride, but the next day the texting had started, and quicker than he realized, he was in it deep.

  Amber had been great—things had been easy between them—but that had led to most of their problems. She would bow to anything he wanted, with no counterpoints, no opinions of her own and always acquiescence. He had needed a woman who challenged him.

  Breaking up with her had been murder. She was nice enough and there was no concrete moment that had torn them apart after two years. It just was...time.

  She hadn’t taken it well and had begged him to stay. He had been tempted to give in—she wasn’t a bad girlfriend in any way—but if he was honest, he didn’t want to settle for happy enough. He wanted more than that in his life. He wanted a woman who made his heart race when she walked into the room. It sounded stupid, but he wanted a woman who could speak to his soul even in moments when he knew he was wrong and then she could make him right.

  But what he was looking for, what he needed, wasn’t something he would ever find.

  He’d damned well given up looking. And until he figured out what he really wanted, something that made some sense, he wasn’t about to jump into a relationship again. He didn’t want to hurt anyone because he didn’t know what he needed—he was a better man than that, or at least he would have liked to think he was.

  Grant walked around the facility, running scent for Elle and her dog before planting the T-shirt behind a cushion on the floral-patterned couch in the makeshift den. There was probably a better place to hide the smelly thing, but it would have to work. The quicker the dog found what it was looking for and the quicker the beautiful woman and her cute dog were gone, the better.

  As he walked back, he reminded himself not to look her in the eyes. If he did, if the little niggle of excitement he felt upon seeing her was truly going to be some kind of feeling, staring into her eyes wasn’t going to help. Better to avoid trouble than to walk headfirst into it.

  She looked up as he opened the door leading outside. Blue. Her eyes weren’t just plain old blue; rather, they were the color of the sky on a summer day—crystal clear and bright, full of spirit.

  Damn it. Error. Major error.

  “Did you plant the shirt somewhere?” she asked, the question sounding as awkward as he felt.

  He nodded. “What else you need me to do?” He squirmed as he stood there, holding the heavy metal door open for her.

  “If you want to watch, you can follow us through. But I’ve got it all from here, or rather...Daisy does,” she said, sending him a sexy smile.

  Daisy looked up at her, like she realized they were talking about her, and her entire body vibrated with joy. It was as if the dog knew what was going to come and was loving her job. If only everyone on his teams loved their jobs the same way this dog seemed to.

  He watched as the woman gave the dog a command in what sounded like Russian.

  Though he had worked with K-9 units during SWAT calls, this was one of the few times he had a chance to see what it took to teach the dogs he often saw in action.

  He walked behind them as she followed the dog. She wove back and forth, locating the scent. It struck him how different the dog looked from the bouncing, wiggling beast Daisy had been outside to this focused task-driven animal that was now working the room in front of him.

  It was impressive.

  “I thought most K-9s were German shepherds?”

  “Most are, or Belgian Malinois.” She didn’t look away from Daisy as they worked. “Rotties are somewhat rare in the SRT game, but more common in search and rescue. They are a breed with a peppered track record in the court of public opinion, but they are having a resurgence in popularity.”

  He heard the words she was saying, but all he could focus on was the sound of her voice and the way her words were flecked with an accent he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She sounded like she was from somewhere farther north, but it wasn’t quite Canadian. There was also the twang and hard A sounds of the Midwest. Where had she grown up?

  Maybe she was a corn-fed girl out of Iowa. Hard raised and strong as hell. It would definitely explain how she had gotten into such a male-dominated field. However, maybe he was wrong—there were more and more women getting into search and rescue, and they were all better for it. The next commander was likely even going to be a woman, Melody Warner. She was as badass as they came in SAR. She could pull together a swift-water rigging quicker and better than any man he knew.

  His phone buzzed, and he ignored it, though he knew it was likely something to do with work.

  “How did you get involved with rottweilers?” he asked, trying to ignore the pull to answer his work phone—it should have been priority number one, but all he could focus on was her and this place and how she smelled like floral perfumes and rubber dog toys.

  “My best friend runs Big Sky Rottweiler Rescue. They focus on rehoming rotts who have been surrendered or abandoned to shelters.” She rushed after Daisy, who was pulling hard on the leather lead as they made their way down the hall. “Daisy came to me after living in a cage for over a year.”

  He looked at the beautiful, healthy dog who was sniffing the ground like it held all the answers.

  His phone buzzed again, an angry bee just looking to lance his flesh. “Excuse me for a minute.” He lifted a finger, knowing she would go about her business though all he wanted her to do was stay by his side and continue his time with her. Being here, watching her work and just learning the steps was the break he needed from his day.

  And yet, life called.

  “Hello?” he asked, turning away for a moment and walking toward the main door.

  “You’re working with Elle Spade right now, correct?” He instinctively glanced in her direction as the sheriff spoke.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Tell her that there has been an incident...involving one Lily Clark and her family.” The sheriff paused, clearing his throat. “I have also approved your volunteer SAR team to act on this one.”
>
  “What are you talking about? What happened?” And why would he be asked to tell Elle about it? He was having a hard time pulling the real meaning together behind the sheriff’s cryptic instructions.

  “A three-year-old girl, Lily Clark, and her mother, Catherine, have gone missing. It looks as though there was some kind of altercation inside the residence, but the team is still sorting through everything. I have yet to get the full report from the crime scene.” Grant heard the clink of ice in a glass, but he wouldn’t dare ask the sheriff if he had been drinking—such questions only led to lies or trouble. “We aren’t sure what happened to the mother, but we have reason to believe the little girl slipped out of her house and may be lost in the national forest service land that abuts their property. Both are, as of yet, unaccounted for.”

  “I’ll pull together my team, and we will head out there as soon as possible.”

  “Sooner than that. I need you out there now. Go grab Elle and get in your truck. Head straight there and let your team take care of everything else. If you need me to call in one of the coordinators to help, I can.”

  That wasn’t procedure, and he couldn’t make sense of why the sheriff would be pushing him like this when he damned well knew that everything SAR did was done as quickly and safely as possible—not only for those they were sent to rescue or recover but also for all members of the unit.

  “Yeah, call in Commander Warner. She is the best team leader we’ve got. But can I ask why the push?”

  The sheriff sighed. “Lily Clark isn’t just an average kid. She is United States Senator Dean Clark’s daughter. If we don’t get that girl back...” The sheriff trailed off.

  He didn’t need to explain that the senator controlled much of their funding—or lack thereof. If a senator turned against them, they would be limited to nothing more than donations and fundraising events.

  Basically, if they failed...so did their program.

  As awful as that might be, though, it didn’t compare to the situation at hand—a missing girl, probably frightened beyond imagining.

  “I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Text me the address. You make the call to Warner. Get her up to speed. Out.” He hung up his phone, remembering that he hadn’t even asked the sheriff why he was supposed to tell Elle about the girl’s disappearance. Hell, it was probably so she could bring the dog.

  He ran down the hall. “Hey, Elle, SAR got a call!”

  She stepped out of the makeshift den, Daisy holding a rubber ball in her mouth and wiggling while Elle pushed the T-shirt he’d hidden back into the Ziploc bag. “Do whatever you need to. I can lock up here. Seriously, and thank you for letting us train with you.”

  His face puckered. “Actually, the sheriff just called personally. He knew you were here and asked that you go with me on this one.”

  “Really? Why?” She cocked her head, an oddly canine mannerism, but it fit the woman.

  “Do you know the Clarks?” he asked, his stomach clenching, though he wasn’t sure exactly why. “Lily and Catherine?”

  She stared at him, unmoving and unblinking, as though her world had just come crashing down. Daisy stopped moving and looked up at Elle like she could feel the change in the energy around the woman just as abruptly as he did. The dog sank to the floor, laying her head on Elle’s feet and letting the ball fall from her mouth and roll haphazardly over the concrete.

  “What happened to her?” Elle asked, her voice sounding breathless as all the color drained from her features.

  It was strange, but he could understand the dog’s sudden need to touch her, to comfort her in the only way possible. And yet he barely knew this woman or why this news would affect her so dramatically. “Something has happened up at their place, some kind of altercation.”

  “What kind of altercation?” She spat the word.

  “I can’t tell you.” He moved to touch her, but she jerked away. “Are you going to be okay?”

  She rushed past him, bumping hard against him like she had somehow forgotten he was there even though he had been speaking to her.

  Daisy ran behind her as they sprinted outside.

  As he stood there, he could make out the sound of her truck revving to life and her tires squealing on the asphalt. As quickly as the woman nosed her way into his life, she had sprinted out of it—and he was far more confused than ever. In a matter of minutes, he’d gone from safely contained and tired from a long day, to geared up and having his and his team’s asses on the chopping block...and it seemed highly likely it was all because of her and secrets he was yet to discover.

  Chapter Three

  The entire ride back to the Clarks’, Elle couldn’t think of anything except Lily. She’d only been missing a matter of hours, and already things had gone haywire. She should never have left the little girl.

  Hopefully the altercation Grant had alluded to was nothing more than a fistfight, nothing involving weapons. She should have asked Grant more questions. If only she had been thinking. That was always one of her biggest and most profound faults—emotions and actions first, questions later. It wasn’t a recipe for success in her personal or professional life.

  She grabbed her phone. She could call him. But as she looked at the screen, she realized she didn’t have his number. Damn it.

  No doubt, if she had been able to talk to him, he would be unlikely to give her much. He’d been pretty vague with providing any sort of details, and when it came to law enforcement and anyone in special operations, she had learned long ago that when they kept silent, it was for a reason.

  That silence was always chilling.

  Her mind went to all the dark places as she sped down the road. Lily had to be okay. Catherine could fend for herself—well, so long as the altercation was as minor as she hoped. Yet why would the sheriff ask for her to come if it was something inconsequential?

  Perhaps it was so she could act as a witness. Or maybe they needed her there to help Lily calm down. Maybe the little girl was asking for her.

  She smiled faintly at the thought. Of course, that was probably it. Otherwise the sheriff would probably not even know Elle existed.

  Then again, Grant had first told her that SAR had a call. That meant search and rescue teams were involved. Which meant that one or both of the Clark ladies were missing. It was probably Lily. Maybe Lily was just playing, hiding away in some closet in the house and Catherine couldn’t find her.

  Yes, this was probably all blown out of proportion and Elle was just jumping to the darkness out of habit—she and her military contracting teams had spent far too many nights planted in the tumultuous and dangerous world of war-ravaged countries.

  Her mind drifted to Afghanistan. They had been running an operation for the military-contracted agency, or MCA, she’d been working for at the time, taking her dog into the mud houses and working to clear them of explosives. In the Pashtun region, none of the dwellings were for single families. Rather, extended family groups crowded into them, and they normally held between twelve and twenty people. Most of the residents hated dogs and Americans and, with her having both strikes against her, she was never a welcome sight—not to mention she was a woman working in an area heavy with Taliban forces.

  On her last trip, she had been operating in a building that had already had one IED detonation in the courtyard. When she’d arrived on scene, the team before her had pulled out all the remaining living members of the family. The complex had taken on an eerie, disquieting feel that spoke of the horror that had filled it only hours before her arrival.

  It wasn’t the first time she had been to a place like that, where the acrid scent of spent explosives still mixed with the tang of freshly spilled blood and lingered in the air like a eulogy, yet when she got to the courtyard, she hadn’t been prepared for the scene that had unfolded.

  She had to work through a number of bodies, most so thoroughly peppered
with shrapnel that if it weren’t for their clothes, it would have been hard to tell if they were women or men. There was a small crater where the initial blast had happened. There, at the edge, was a well-worn pair of children’s Adidas sneakers. One was tipped on its side, as if the kid who had been wearing them had been blown out of them.

  She later learned that, according to eyewitnesses, the child had picked up the bomb and had been playing with it when it detonated.

  She’d been shipped out later that week and had never been happier to get out of a country.

  It had taken her a long time after her feet had arrived on American soil for her soul to come home, as well. No matter how many debriefings or offers to speak to chaplains happened, she would never again go to sleep without the image of those shoes popping into the front of her mind.

  Ever since that day, she’d been on a mission to be on the front line when it came to children and her job. Most would have backed away, put distance between themselves and the possible horrors that would hurt them the most, but not her. It was odd, but seeing those horrors made her want to do everything in her power to never have those tragedies or hellscapes happen again—and therefore witnessed by anyone else.

  She could be the whipping girl so others wouldn’t have to endure the same traumas.

  Trauma. Her past. All of it was swirling into her mind and masking the reality of her present. She couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not when Lily was likely in trouble.

  Maybe it was the trauma that scared her the most, nothing more than the ghosts of the past haunting the present. More than likely, Lily was probably just being Lily and hiding in the house somewhere, she reminded herself. Maybe her father had called in the cavalry when really only patience and steadiness were all that were needed.

  Maybe this was nothing more than the senator pulling strings in order to bring the media to their knees at his beck and call—attention to him and his family, especially in their time of need, would likely be helpful in any sort of political campaign. Hell, he was known for pandering to the media.