Lisa Phillips - Yuletide Suspect

A couple of dogs barked, but not in the house. The sound came from the barn. Liberty waded through snow and banged her fist on the barn door. It swung open and two dogs raced toward her, barking louder. Liberty took a step back.

Tate stepped out of the barn, but she couldn’t take her focus off the dogs, even as she backed up more across the stretch of snow over the driveway between the barn and the house. They barked and circled her, their attention imposing enough that Liberty didn’t move.

“Good boys. Sit.”

Both dogs sat, one on either side of her. Liberty wanted to slump onto the packed down snow between them. The sound of Tate’s voice cut through her and left a ragged wound in its wake. She glanced up, and her eyes locked with his. It was too dark to get a good look, but in the glow of the Christmas lights the line of his jaw was set. He wasn’t happy.

One of the dogs broke his sit and barked.

Tate’s eyes widened, fixed on some point beyond her, away from the house. “What...” He lunged and grabbed her arm, dragged her the ten feet or so back toward the barn and yelled, “Bubblegum!”

A gunshot went off. Liberty ducked, having no idea where the shot had come from. She skidded on the barn floor, reached the end of Tate’s grasp and snapped back toward him. She grimaced. Tate didn’t let go. Outside the dogs barked, and someone yelled.

“Intruder,” he said. “I thought it was you who set off the alarm, but there was a man out there with a gun.” A gunshot went off outside. “Do you have your weapon?”

Liberty pulled her gun from the holster at her back, under her jacket. He grabbed it from her. “Hey—”

Tate stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

The dogs continued to bark. Outside, Tate yelled, “Hey!”

A gunshot followed.

Liberty pulled the backup weapon from her ankle holster and moved to the door. She was the Secret Service agent. Sure, Tate had been one, too, over a year ago. But he’d quit, and Liberty didn’t have time to think through all of that—or the fact that it was basically her fault.

Liberty wanted to pray, but that part of her life was long gone, just like her love life. Neither had ever done her any favors or bettered her in any way. She’d given up on God and romance both in the last eighteen months. This was one last favor to Tate, and then she was done. Liberty was going to live her life her way, on her terms.

The door swung open before she reached it. Tate strode to her, and the dogs raced in around him. Liberty shook her head. “What on earth was that? And why did you shut me in here?”

“Man outside,” he said, without handing her weapon back to her. “An intruder, which I already mentioned.” He didn’t look happy. “He ran off. The dogs did their job.”

As though they knew he’d complimented them, the two dogs returned to his side and sat to be petted. One was a German shepherd, lean enough that Liberty wanted to feed the animal treats. The other was a stocky Airedale who came to her next. She didn’t pet him.

Tate raised his eyebrow. “You still have that ugly cat?”

She ignored the question. Loki was alive and well, not that it was any of his business. “Bubblegum?” They had to talk about something; otherwise she’d just stare at the blond hair sticking out the bottom of his knit beanie. His hair grew fast and had to be cut frequently, but it seemed Tate no longer cared. He wore the mountain man uniform of jeans and a checkered shirt under a padded denim jacket. No gloves. Wasn’t he cold?

“Bubblegum is a command. If the person attacking you doesn’t know what you just asked your dog to do, they’ll think twice.” Tate’s jaw was hard again. “He shot at them, saw me and then ran off.”

“Are you going to give me my gun back?”

* * *

Tate stood stunned for a second before he forced himself to snap out of it. He motioned for her to back up. “You have one, and mine are all in the house. I’ll be keeping this until I know for sure he’s gone.”

He had to focus on the intruder who’d just tried to kill him. Otherwise he’d stare at her blond hair. Those blue-green eyes. Focus.

“That is against policy and you know it.” She used her most snooty voice, and it almost made him smile. Almost. “I can’t lend out my duty weapon.”

“I’ll be sure to write that on the form I fill out explaining why you’re dead.” Tate swept past her and moved toward the door again. Liberty huffed behind him, but he figured she didn’t argue because she knew he wasn’t wrong.

Tate cracked open the door, peered out into the night and tried to tamp down the boiling rage. Shoot at him? Whatever. Shoot at his dogs? Unacceptable. Tate adjusted his grip on the gun, though using it would deny him the fight he was itching for. He’d always had a temper problem. He’d learned in the army how to channel it into discipline, and during his time with the Secret Service, Tate had rarely lost his cool. It never went well when he did.

He sucked in a breath of icy air and counted to ten in his head. One of the dog’s muzzles touched his leg, and he reached down to pet Joey. His Airedale boy loved life and thought everything was a game. The German shepherd, Gem, was more task oriented. Wake up. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat.

“Looks clear.”

He shoved the door wider and walked out. Snow was thick on the ground and falling fast. They’d have another two feet by tomorrow, but that wasn’t what had his attention. He pointed at the far end of his front yard where the dense trees began. They blocked his view of the land, but he much preferred being in a cocoon of privacy.

Tate pointed. “That’s where he ran off to.”

“And you shoved me in the barn so you could take care of it?”

She was still stuck on that? “Guess it was a reflex. All those years of protection duty for the Secret Service ingrained in me. I’m the one who faces the danger.”

“And the dogs.”

She really was intent on arguing, wasn’t she? Tate sighed. “They’re trained.”

“And I’m not? I’m still a Secret Service agent, Tate.”

He turned to her. “That’s not what I meant.” Not that he’d have heard from out here if she’d quit or not.

He didn’t know how to get himself out of this one, and why did he even feel like he needed to? He didn’t owe her anything, and he didn’t want her to owe him anything back. Whatever they’d had was done now. She’d killed it when she gave him his ring back and sent him packing.

Tate had lost it a couple of days later and gotten pushed into early retirement from the Secret Service over it, but this life was better. Simpler. He knew who he was out here, with the dogs.

Tate scanned the area but couldn’t see any sign of the gunman. The man might return. He could scout out the area and see if the guy was still here, but he’d have to do it after Liberty left.

The dogs trotted along. Gem scanned the area, but Joey ran in circles, ready to play. Tate motioned with his hand and gave them the command to head for the porch and wait for him there. He used it mostly when the UPS guy delivered packages, but it came in handy at other times as well.

Tate didn’t even want to contemplate what it meant that Liberty was here. He’d do so later, when he was alone again. The way he preferred it.

Liar.

Okay, so it wasn’t his choice, but life was life. She’d broken up with him. Called off the whole thing, and he didn’t even know why, so he’d simply concluded it was him. He’d always known there was something defective in him, and she’d tried to make it work. Until she realized it never would.

Tate stopped beside her car and opened the driver’s-side door. Waited. She didn’t move, just stood there looking like she had so much to say. He really didn’t want to hear any of it. What was the point? He took her in. All her blond hair, even softer than it looked, was secured back in a business ponytail. Dress slacks. Completely the wrong shoes to be traipsing around in snow. The bottom few inches of her pants were wet, but it wasn’t his problem, now was it? Not anymore.