Linda O. Johnston - Back to Life

“Good to see you looking so well, Officer Owens.” Theresa stood and smiled at him.

“I heard your injuries were life threatening,” Correy said as he approached and held out his hand.

“That’s what I was told,” Trevor agreed. “But I’ll be fine.”

They motioned him to sit at the head of the table, then asked questions about what had gone down in that warehouse, how the team had entered and whether everything had been done by the book.

He was glad they didn’t ask how he felt and what he saw when he was down.

How could he have possibly explained the agony he had suffered, the bright light he’d seen, the compulsion to open his eyes and look into the blue, concerned depths of Skye Rydell’s eyes, or the sensation that she had been calling to him, insisting that he live?

He couldn’t. It seemed so ridiculous.

Soon, the questions ended. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything more from you, Trevor,” the captain said. “Meantime, take the time you need to heal. We’re all pulling for you to get back, but not before you’re ready.”

“We’re all glad you’re okay,” Theresa Agnew said again. “Any questions for us before we adjourn?”

“One,” Trevor said grimly. “What’s the word on Marinaro’s location?”

“Unknown,” Captain Franks said, “but we’ll get him.”

“Yeah,” Trevor said. He hoped they’d get him fast. Before he could hurt anyone else—civilian or cop.

Best of all would be if Marinaro stayed at large just long enough for Trevor to apprehend him…his way.

He should have left well enough alone and gone home as he was supposed to. But Trevor poked his head into a few offices at the station, receiving the applause of coworkers who were glad to see he was alive.

He couldn’t resist going over to the K-9 officers’ domain, which was filled with closely spaced cubicles and hooks from which leather leashes hung. There was a slight doggy aroma and an atmosphere of readiness to run that must have been created by the dogs sitting at attention near some desks.

Trevor was glad to note that one of the dogs was the black one assigned to Skye Rydell. Seeing Trevor, she stood and wagged her tail eagerly. So did a few other dogs. The K-9 handlers did as other people in the station had done.

“Good to see you, man,” said Tritt, who was near retirement and as mangy-looking as his dog.

“Glad you’re okay,” said Igoa, a huge grin lighting his narrow face.

But even while receiving their kudos, Trevor let his gaze remain on someone else. Skye was on the phone. She looked up, nodded cordially, but seemed in no hurry to congratulate him again on surviving.

On impulse, Trevor approached her when she hung up. “Hey, Skye.” He patted Bella on her sleek head. “Wanna grab a cup of coffee with me? I’d still like your opinion on what happened at that warehouse. What you saw, and all.”

“I just told the FID committee everything,” she said. “I’d really rather not go over it again.” She let her gaze rise just a little, but wouldn’t allow herself to completely meet his eyes.

Skye had seemed a little uneasy when she’d visited him at the hospital, but now she appeared really uncomfortable.

Why? What was she hiding? Had she known the suspect? Somehow been involved?

Unlikely, but she was definitely concealing something.

Right now they had an audience of her coworkers, so he wouldn’t press the point.

But he was definitely going to find out what Officer Skye Rydell wasn’t telling him.

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