Justine Davis - Operation Midnight

“ We could die here. I need to know who you are, why you are—”

Quinn’s mouth came down on hers, cutting Hayley off. Then, as if every nerve in her body had been jolted into awareness, heat flooded her. For an instant it seemed as if he were as stunned as she at the sudden conflagration. But then he moved, encircling her with his arms, pressing her against him as he deepened the kiss.

Hayley’s every nerve was sizzling. She couldn’t feel her knees anymore, and her arms felt heavy, weak. But it didn’t matter, none of it mattered, not as long as Quinn was there, holding her, she wouldn’t fall, he wouldn’t let her. All that mattered was his mouth, coaxing, probing, tasting.

It was going through her in pulses now, that surging, delicious heat, like nothing she’d ever known. Some tiny part of her brain tried to insist it was because it had been so long, but Hayley knew it wasn’t that, knew it had never been like this in her life because she’d never kissed a man like Quinn before …

Dear Reader,

Ever have a dog that was too smart for its own good? One that could open doors, cupboards, or con that last treat—or bit of your own dinner—out of you? One that could make you laugh at the drop of a hat, or comfort you when no one and nothing else could? Wait, that pretty much describes all dogs in one way or another, doesn’t it?

But let me tell you about Cutter. He’s a composite, I suppose, not just of my own dogs over the years, but others I’ve met. From the one who could pick just my horse out of the herd, to the one helping his mom to weed by carrying the offending plants to the wheelbarrow, to the one who delighted in rides on an office chair, to the one who knew with her first glimpse of my ill husband who she was here to rescue (that is the real meaning of “rescue dog,” you know).

It’s not really that big a stretch from there to a dog who is not just very, very smart, perceptive, and brave, but—well, I’ll just have to let you see for yourself. I hope you enjoy this first story, about two people who didn’t know how much they needed each other. Who didn’t even know each other, yet. Humans are so slow sometimes, that a dog just has to take charge …

Happy reading!

Justine

JUSTINE DAVISlives on Puget Sound in Washington. Her interests outside of writing are sailing, doing needlework, horseback riding and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.

Justine says that, years ago, during her career in law enforcement, a young man she worked with encouraged her to try for a promotion to a position that was at the time occupied only by men. “I succeeded, became wrapped up in my new job, and that man moved away, never, I thought, to be heard from again. Ten years later, he appeared out of the woods of Washington State, saying he’d never forgotten me and would I please marry him. With that history, how could I write anything but romance?”

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For Nikki, the first, when I was too young to understand.

For Whisper, who taught me so much, and deserved better than I and life gave her at the end.

For Murphy, because without him there might not have been a Decoy (and now his sister Bailey, too).

And for Chase, who proves that boys can be sweet, too.

To all the sweet, funny, smart, wonderful dogs I’ve known. But most of all for The Decoy Dawg who, against all odds and predictions, at this moment has seen another summer. I love you my sweet girl. I won’t give up until you do. And when you do, I’ll try to let go with the grace you’ve taught me.

“Cutter!”

Hayley Cole shouted once more, then decided to save her breath for running. It wasn’t that the dog was ignoring her. Sometimes he just got so intent on something, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Serves you right, she told herself, for spoiling him. Treating him like a human just because half the time he acts like one.

That he’d shown up on her doorstep when she most needed him, that she now couldn’t imagine life without the uncannily clever Cutter didn’t help at the moment, as she was traipsing after him through midnight-dark trees. If she hadn’t known these woods from childhood she might be nervous, but it was the wrong time of year for bears, and she wasn’t afraid of much else. But a sassy dog could get into trouble; just last night she’d heard coyotes. And a cornered raccoon could be nasty. While she had faith in the clever dog’s ability to come out on top, she didn’t want him hurt in the process.

At least out here, if you heard a sound in the night, your worry wasn’t who, but what. Well, maybe except for that blessed helicopter that had buzzed the house a while ago, setting Cutter into the frenzy that started this whole chase. They weren’t uncommon in the Pacific Northwest, what with the navy and coast guard coming and going. Normally they didn’t ruffle the dog, but this smaller one had been frighteningly low and had set him off like a rocket.

She dodged around the big cedar tree on the north side of the trail that could barely be found in full daylight. She should have grabbed her heavy, hooded parka with the flashlight in the pocket, but while fall was in the air it was still merely cool at night, not cold. Besides, she hadn’t realized this was going to be a lengthy expedition.

She was on her neighbor’s property now, and she doubted the reclusive older man would welcome either her or her four-legged mischief maker, so she forged onward.

“Like some stupid character in a bad horror movie,” she muttered under her breath, rethinking sharing the last of the beef stew she’d made with the carrot-loving dog.

She rounded a large maple and nearly tripped over Cutter, who had stopped dead.

“Whoa,” she said, recovering. “What—?”

The dog’s tail gave an acknowledging wag, but his attention never wavered. He was staring through the trees at something. A little wary—it was too early for bears, wasn’t it?—she moved up beside the dog to look. For a moment it didn’t register, it seemed so unlikely.

In the darkness it was almost indistinguishable, in fact would be invisible if not for the faint light from the house. That light slipped over polished, gleaming black, so that the shape she saw was a series of faint reflections, curved and straight, rather than the object itself.

But she still knew what it was, instantly.

The helicopter that had rattled her windows fifteen minutes ago was sitting in her reclusive neighbor’s yard.

Something about the thing sitting there, glimmering faintly in the dark, unsettled her. The fact that it had no apparent markings unsettled her even more. Weren’t they like planes? Didn’t they have to have numbers on them?