Shirlee McCoy - Texas K-9 Unit Christmas

She dropped the pan into the deep stainless-steel sink and wrapped the roller in plastic. Tomorrow she’d paint a second coat in the dining area and roll fresh paint onto the kitchen walls. Right now she really needed to get home. She glanced at her watch.

Nearly eleven.

She hadn’t realized it was so late. Bea would be worried and probably hungry. She’d been having trouble remembering to eat.

Emma turned off the light in the dining room, plunging the diner into darkness. Wide windows looked out onto a sidewalk and street that bustled with life during the day. Both were silent and empty. A few business owners had hung Christmas lights in the windows of their shops. Others had placed wreaths on doors or Christmas decorations in large display windows.

It should have been cheerful, but it just made Emma feel sad and lonely. Camden had been planning to give her an engagement ring on Christmas Eve. He’d told her that when he’d given her an ultimatum. Either stay in Boston with him or travel to Texas to take care of her aunt. She couldn’t have both, because he wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted a long-distance relationship.

She’d heard the truth in his words—he just hadn’t really wanted her. Not enough to make things work while she took care of Bea.

Jerk.

She grabbed her purse and jacket from the office. A small window looked into the back parking lot. Empty but for her car. One day it would be full of cars and people. She hoped. Prayed.

There was no plan B.

She flicked off the office light and the kitchen light. The entire diner was suddenly dark and silent. Eerie, really.

No. Not eerie. Just exactly the way a restaurant was supposed to feel when it was closed. The problem was, she’d been listening to too many people saying too many things about the murder of the diner’s former owner. People seemed to think Arianna’s death had somehow tainted the building. Ludicrous! That was what Emma thought, but all the talk had kept the building from selling. That had worked out for Emma. She’d purchased the property for well below market value. Hopefully, the notoriety that went with the place would bring in crowds rather than keeping them away.

She opened the back door, fumbling in her purse for the key. A soft rustling sound broke the silence, a whisper of fabric on air, a shift in the darkness to her right. She swung toward it, her heart stuttering as a black figure lunged from the shadows.

She screamed, sprinting toward the car, her purse falling from her hands.

Faster! her mind screamed, but her feet seemed to be moving in slow motion, the air behind her so charged with energy that she knew he was right there. A step away. Ready to....

An arm wrapped around her waist. A palm slapped over her mouth. She couldn’t scream. Could barely breathe.

God, help me!

“Where is it?” her captor growled, his hand tightening over her mouth, his grip so hard her teeth ground into her lips. She bucked, slamming her head into his chin.

He cursed, forcing her, one step after another, back into the diner. He shoved her into the kitchen, and she crashed into the center island prep area, pain shooting through her ribs. Then he was on her again. One hand on her throat, the other pressing her harder against the cold metal counter.

“I said, where is it?”

“Where is what?” she gasped, her fear so real, so sharp that she could feel nothing else, think of nothing else.

“The money!” he snarled.

She had three dollars in her purse. Maybe another dollar worth of change. She tried to tell him that, but he dragged her around, slapped her so hard she saw stars.

He was going to kill her. Simple as that. But she didn’t want to die. She swung her fist, connecting with a hard jaw. She felt a second of victory before he hit her again, this time with enough force to send her flying backward. She landed hard, her head smashing into the floor. Darkness edged in, but she scrambled to her feet, tried to run. He snagged the back of her hair, yanking so hard her eyes teared.

“Stop fighting me! I just want the money. Give it to me, and I’ll leave you be.”

She wanted to. She really did, but she had no idea what he was talking about. “My purse—”

Someone knocked on the diner’s front door.

Emma’s attacker froze, his hand still fisted in her hair.

The person knocked again, this time hard enough to rattle the doorframe.

“Who is it?” the man growled at Emma.

“I don’t know.”

He shoved her violently, and she stumbled forward, her knees hitting the tile floor. She felt no pain, felt nothing but the fear that coursed through her.

Balmy air lapped at her hot cheeks, and she realized she was alone, the back door open.

“Emma!” Someone called her name, and she tried to respond, but the words caught in her throat.

She had to get up, walk through the dining room and open the front door. Every movement hurt as she dragged herself upright and shuffled out of the kitchen.

“Emma!” The front door rattled, and she took a step toward it, dizzy, off balance. She tripped over something, her hands hitting the ground seconds before her head crashed into the tile floor.

TWO

Police Lieutenant Lucas Harwood rounded the corner of Arianna’s Diner, his K-9 partner, Henry, padding along beside him. The place had been closed down for eight months, and it had the lonely, empty feel of an abandoned building.

It had been an abandoned building.

That had changed, though. Emma Fairchild had bought the property. According to her aunt Bea, she should be there now, working to get the place ready for its grand opening. So far Lucas hadn’t seen any sign of her. The lights in the diner were off. No hint of activity inside the building.

It was possible Bea was mistaken. Emma was a grown woman. She might have gone out with friends or gone on a date. He had to be sure, though. He’d taken the report, and it was his job to follow up on it.

He walked through a small alley that separated the diner from the store beside it. Nothing unusual there. No sign of a struggle or trouble. No sign of Emma, either. The musty scent of dirt and garbage hung in the air, the shadowy alley the perfect place for transients to camp out for a night or two.

The alley spilled out into the diner’s back parking lot. One car was parked near a burned-out streetlight. No one in sight, but the back door yawned open, something lying on the ground in front of it. He approached cautiously, Henry whining beside him. Trained in apprehension and protection, the three-year-old German shepherd mix could sense trouble a mile away.

“What is it, boy?” Lucas murmured as he bent over a large purse, its contents spilled onto the ground. He lifted a wallet in gloved hands. Three dollars and a debit card. Massachusetts driver’s license issued to Emma Grace Fairchild. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Five foot two. One hundred and two pounds. Tiny, just as she’d been all through junior high and high school. They’d been friends then. Close friends. It had been years since he’d seen her, though.

Henry whined again, his nose raised to the air, his ears alert. He smelled something.

“Seek,” Lucas said, giving Henry the lead.

The dog ran through the open doorway, and Lucas followed.

“Police!” he called. “Anyone here?”

Silence, darkness. Still no sign that Emma was there.

Henry barked quietly.

“Seek!” Lucas commanded, and the dog nosed the ground, found a scent and followed it through the large room. Lucas had been in the diner quite a few times when he was a kid. The place had always been hopping with activity. Now it was dead quiet.

Someone was there, though. Lucas could feel it.

He pulled his service revolver and eased into the dining room behind Henry. Even in a city the size Sagebrush, there were plenty of criminals. The diner’s original owner had been one, working for a crime syndicate responsible for several bank robberies and murders. In the end she’d become a victim of the organization she worked for.