Terri Reed - Seeking The Truth

The place was crowded due to the Central Park Walkathon. People of all ages and ethnicities mingled on the side platforms. Most wore the green shirts of the walkathon, but there were many other obvious tourists, what with it being late summer, along with local subway passengers.

Officer Carter Jameson kept vigilant for any sort of trouble as he and his K-9 partner, Frosty, an all-white German shepherd, moved from the uptown platform to the downtown platform and back again.

A family of three stepped into his path. The father held an adorable curly-haired toddler in his arms.

“We need to get to the South Street Seaport. Is this the right train?” the mother asked.

“Doggy!” the little girl squealed, her arms reaching out for Frosty. She nearly tumbled out of her father’s arms to reach the dog.

The father stepped back, securing his hold on the child. “The dog is working. We can’t pet him.”

Carter appreciated the father’s words. “We are working, but we can take a short break if she’d like to pet him.”

He looked down at Frosty and gave the hand gesture to sit, which Frosty immediately obeyed. “Play nice,” Carter said, giving the dog the verbal signal that at this moment he was off duty.

Part of Carter’s role as an NYC K-9 Command Unit officer assigned to the transit authority was public relations. To let the citizens know they were there to protect and to serve.

“You sure he won’t bite?” the man asked, a wary expression on his face.

“Frosty is used to my six-year-old,” Carter assured him. “She uses him as a horse.”

“That’s a cute name for a cute fellow.” The mother held out her hand for Frosty to sniff. Frosty sniffed, then licked her hand, his tail thumping on the hard concrete platform.

“Doggy!” the girl cried again. The father kept her in his arms but squatted down for the child to rub Frosty’s coat.

From the pocket of his uniform, Carter withdrew a sticker with the NYPD gold shield and squatted down next to Frosty. Holding out the sticker, he asked the girl, “Would you like to be deputized?”

She clapped her hands.

Peeling the back off the sticker, Carter placed the gold shield on her shoulder. “Now you are one of us.”

“Thank you for taking the time with my daughter,” the father said as he rose.

The words warmed Carter’s heart. He worked hard to uphold not only the code of the NYPD to protect and serve, but also his faith. Not that he and Frosty wouldn’t take the bad guys down in a heartbeat, but he’d do so with humility and as much kindness as possible.

Frosty’s attention jerked to something behind Carter. The dog didn’t alert, but his eyes were fixated on whatever had drawn his focus. Carter could feel a presence hovering.

He glanced over his shoulder. His gaze snagged on a pair of red pumps below well-shaped calves disappearing into a gray pencil skirt.

The reporter?

Two hours ago, his brother Noah, the interim chief of the NYC K-9 Command Unit, had called to warn Carter a reporter wanted to interview him regarding the upcoming national police dog field trials and certification competition, which would be held in two weeks. Carter and Frosty were favored to place high in the public demonstration competition.

A burn of anger simmered in Carter’s gut. The way the press had hounded his family the past five months after the unsolved murder of his oldest brother, Jordan, bothered Carter. He had no patience for pushy journalists.

Turning back to the family, he said, “This is the uptown train. The downtown tracks are beneath us. You’ll want to get off at Fulton Street. And then walk toward the water. It’s easy to find.”

“Thank you, Officer,” the woman said.

The father held out his hand, which Carter took. “We appreciate your help.”

The family turned and walked away.

Carter took a moment for a steadying breath. To Frosty, he murmured, “Work.”

The dog’s ear perked up, indicating he knew he was back on duty.

“Officer Carter Jameson?”

The honeyed voice, with just a hint of an accent, tripped down his spine.

Unnerved by the visceral reaction, he arranged his features into a neutral expression and turned around. “Yes. May I help you?”

The beautiful woman facing him was tall with long brown hair that floated about her cream-colored, silk-clad shoulders. Brown eyes framed by long lashes stared at him, and her full lips were spread into a tentative smile.

His gaze swept over her. She was dressed to impress, in her fancy blouse and gray pencil skirt. The red pumps were impractical. Though she had on a sturdy-looking cross-body type purse, not so impractical. The flowery notebook and pink pen in her manicured hand would have delighted his daughter, Ellie.

She tucked her pen behind her ear before holding out her hand while gesturing with the notebook to the newsstand that sat in the middle of the platform. “I’m Rachelle Clark with NYC Weekly .”

He grasped her hand, noting the softness of her skin and the crazy frisson of sensation racing up his arm. “I can’t say that I’ve ever read that particular one.”

There were so many local NYC-centric newspapers and magazines keeping those living in the five boroughs up-to-date on the happenings, Carter couldn’t possibly read them all.

She extracted her hand. “You don’t want to know what’s going on in your own community?”

Tucking in his chin, Carter said. “I didn’t say that.” He narrowed his gaze. “I believe my brother told you I was working.”

She had the good grace to grimace. “True.” Her smile reappeared. “However, he did tell me where to find you, so I took that to mean he wasn’t opposed to me asking you some questions.”

“Did he now?” Carter would have to chew Noah out for throwing him to the wolves, or wolf, in this case.

“How about this?” Rachelle said. “I can follow you around the rest of your shift. Just observe. I won’t ask any questions.” Her accent deepened into a definite Southern drawl. “I won’t say anything. Just think of me as a little shadow.”

Yeah, right. An attractive shadow. Like having her dogging his steps wouldn’t break his concentration. He looked down at Frosty, who looked up at him with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

“We’ll take a break right now,” he said. “You have five minutes.”

“No, no, no. It would do my article so much good if I could see you in action. Even if it’s just for a little bit. Then when you’re off duty, I can interview you.”

Carter rubbed at the tension in the back of his neck. “Like I said, five minutes.”

Her gaze darted to his partner then back to him. “He’s a handsome dog.”

“He knows it,” Carter told her.

She laughed slightly but didn’t reach out to touch Frosty. Carter wondered if she was afraid or being respectful.

He strode away toward a locked closet built into the staircase, fully aware of his “shadow” following. He tried to ignore the hint of lavender wafting off the woman as he brought out water for Frosty, who lapped it up thirstily. He grabbed his own thermos and drank deeply, his eyes on the reporter watching him.

She glanced around. “Was there a race today?”

“For a reporter, you’re not very well-informed.” He barely suppressed his amusement when surprise and a bit of annoyance flashed in her chocolate-colored eyes.

She recovered quickly and said through smiling lips, “I don’t cover sports.”

He couldn’t contain the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A walkathon for diabetes. Hardly a sport.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you expecting trouble?”

Only the kind tall brunettes posed. He shook his head, dislodging that thought. “No. We’re just patrolling as a precaution.”