Shirlee McCoy - Tracking Justice

LITTLE BOY LOST

In the night, a young boy goes missing from his bedroom. Police detective Austin Black assures desperate single mother Eva Billows that he’ll find her son. He has to, so he can put to rest his own harrowing memories. With his search-and-rescue bloodhound, Justice, Austin searches every inch of Sagebrush, Texas. And when Eva insists on helping, Austin can’t turn her away. Eva trusts no one, especially police, but this time, Austin—and Justice—won’t let her down.

“Eva, I’m going to do everything in my power to find Brady,” Austin said.

He held her gaze. “I promise you that. I know your son was in these woods. I know exactly where Justice lost the scent trail, and I feel confident that he can find it again, but not if we don’t go look for it.”

“Okay,” Eva said. He was right. Talking only wasted energy that could be spent finding Brady.

“Great. You can wait in your car or go back to your place. As soon as we have new information—”

“No.”

“What?” He stopped short, his eyes flashing with irritation, Justice tugging hard on the lead.

“I’m coming with you, Detective.”

SHIRLEE McCOY

has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and she began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later, she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of five, Shirlee is a homeschool mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in the Pacific Northwest and share their house with a dog, two cats and a bird. You can visit her website, www.shirleemccoy.com, or email her at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.

Tracking Justice

Shirlee McCoy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Restore to me the joy of your salvation

and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

—Psalm 51:12

Much thanks to extraordinary editor,

Emily Rodmell. Without your guidance and expertise (and patience), this book would not be what it is.

And to the K-9 Justice continuity authors—

Sharon Dunn, Lenora Worth, Terri Reed,

Valerie Hansen and Margaret Daley—

I loved working with every one of you!

Thank you for your kindness and encouragement after my accident. It meant the world to me.

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Shirlee McCoy for her contribution to the Texas K-9 Unit miniseries.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

ONE

Police detective Austin Black glanced at the illuminated numbers on the dashboard clock as he raced up Oak Drive. Two in the morning. Not a good time to get a call about a missing child.

Then again, there was never a good time for that; never a good time to look in the eyes of a mother or father and see terror and worry or to follow a scent trail and know that it might lead to a joyful reunion or a sorrowful goodbye.

If it led anywhere.

Sometimes trails went cold, scents were lost and the missing were never found.

Knowing that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

Austin wanted to find them all. Bring them all home safe.

Hopefully, this time, he would.

He pulled into the driveway of a small, bungalow-style house, its white porch gleaming in exterior lights that glowed on either side of the door. Just four houses down from the scene of a violent crime and the theft of a trained police dog the previous afternoon. An odd coincidence.

Or maybe not.

Two calls to the same street within nine hours? Not something that happened often in a place like Sagebrush, Texas.

Justice whined, his dark nose pressed against the grate that separated him from the SUV’s backseat. A three-year-old bloodhound, he was trained in search and rescue and knew when it was time to work. Knew and was ready, even after the eight-hour search they’d been on earlier.

Austin jumped out of the vehicle and started up the driveway, filing away information as he went. Lights on in the front of the house. An old station wagon parked on the curb. Windows closed. Locked?

A woman darted out the front door, pale hair flowing behind her, a loose robe flapping in the cold night air as she ran toward him. “Thank God you got here so quickly. I don’t know where he could have gone.”

“You called about a missing child?”

“Yes. My son.”

“The dispatcher said that you don’t know how long he’s been gone?” Austin had heard the call go out shortly after he’d left his captain’s place. Hours of searching for Slade’s stolen police dog, Rio, had turned up nothing but a dead-end scent trail and mounting frustration. Austin had been exhausted and ready to go home. Now he felt wired and ready to hit the trail again.

“I thought that I heard Brady call for me, and when I walked into his room, he was gone. That was about ten minutes ago.”

“Has he ever run away?”

“No.”

“Ever talked about it?”

“No! Now, please, can you help me find him?” She ran back up the porch stairs, her bare feet padding on the whitewashed wood.

Austin jogged after her, stepping into a small living room. Neat as a pin except for a small pile of Legos on a light oak coffee table and a college textbook abandoned on a threadbare sofa. No sign of the woman.

“Ma’am?” he called, moving toward a narrow hallway that led toward the back of the house.

“Here.” She waved from a doorway at the end of the hall. “This is my son’s room.”

Austin followed her into the tiny room. Blue walls. Blue bedding tangled and dripping over the side of the twin mattress. Crisp white curtains. A blanket lay on the floor near the open window, the frayed edges ruffled by the wind.

“How old is your son, Ms...?”

“Billows. Eva. He’s seven.”

Billows?

The name sparked a memory, but Austin couldn’t quite grab hold of it. “Did you and your son have an argument about something? Maybe a missed curfew or—”

“He’s seven. He’s not even allowed to be outside by himself.” Her voice broke, but her eyes were dry, her face pale and pinched with worry. A pretty face. A young one, too. Maybe twenty-three or four. Too young, it seemed, to have a seven-year-old.