Elizabeth Heiter - K-9 Defence

Things like what? A childhood? He studied her, trying to imagine what her life had been like after her sister had gone missing. Trying to imagine the guilt she’d internalized at such a young age when it clearly hadn’t been her fault.

He knew all about that. He understood how irrational survivor’s guilt could be, just like he understood that knowing it didn’t make it go away. But he’d been an adult, faced with an inevitable consequence of war. She’d been just a child. And yet, until she’d spoken those words to Jasper, he never would have suspected she blamed herself.

He barely knew her, but she came across as competent and positive. He supposed it showed that the front you put on for others didn’t always match what was underneath.

He dropped some money on the table for their coffees and stood, trying not to cringe as his leg spasmed. They needed to do this before the police station closed.

Desparre wasn’t big enough to warrant twenty-four-hour coverage. Officers here were on call after a certain hour, but the station would be closed. He checked his watch—8:00 p.m. They had one hour and then they’d be out of luck.

Kensie stood more slowly, taking one last, long gulp of coffee as if she was either preparing herself for something or delaying moving forward. Rebel followed Kensie’s lead—probably her leg was hurting, too.

Twenty minutes later they were back in town. Desparre had a few old streetlamps casting dim light over the main road, but otherwise it had grown dark while they’d been inside the coffee shop. The place looked like a ghost town, except for the light and rock music spilling out of the bar.

Kensie got out of the truck first, moving quickly. Rebel trotted by her side, only a hint of her injury showing in the way she favored her back left leg.

Colter grasped the door hard and lowered himself out slowly. Sitting in the car and then the coffee shop had stiffened up his leg. Without giving it enough time elevated, the muscle above his knee felt knotted into an immobile mess.

He forced it to move, gritting his teeth as he tried not to limp, just in case Kensie looked back. The military had drilled into him that failure and weakness weren’t options. He’d already failed, but he had no intention of looking weak in front of her. Not again.

Ahead of him, Kensie reached for the door to the police station, then jumped back as it opened from inside. Next to her, Rebel looked back to him, as if debating whether he needed her more than Kensie did.

She’d never taken to another human the way she had to Kensie. Not since he and Rebel had bonded on the battlefield had she so readily accepted anyone. Then again, he hadn’t given her a lot of chances to spend time with civilians, outside his parents and the doctors at the various hospitals.

Apparently deciding he was fine, Rebel turned back to Kensie, who was now standing face-to-face with Chief Hernandez. She was bundled up, obviously heading out for the night, and she looked less than happy to see Kensie.

Colter picked up his pace, biting down against the pain. He’d be paying for this later, but he’d seen too many veterans get hooked on painkillers or booze after life-altering injuries. So he stayed away from all of it and just took the pain. Maybe it was his penance for living when everyone else had died.

“Miss Morgan, there’s not much more we can tell you about your sister.” Chief Hernandez nodded at him as he pushed his way up beside Kensie. “Colter.”

“Chief. What about the girl who came into the store the day the note was found?”

“What girl?”

“The one who looked kind of like Kensie. She was there at the same time as a family.”

The chief gave a tight smile. “You mean the one there with her family? We don’t know who that was, but we did talk to Jasper about what he remembered. And that was a family, not a scared girl trying to escape.”

She looked at Kensie, who’d shrunk low into her oversized parka. “I’m sorry. I wish we could help.”

When she started to walk away, Colter blocked her. “What’s the problem? Is the case still open?” He heard the confrontational note in his voice, but couldn’t stop it.

She frowned and shoved her hands in the pockets of her parka. “Technically, we let the FBI take over. We checked it out. There’s nothing more we can do.” She looked at Kensie. “I’m sorry. I understand this is hard to hear, but—”

“Hard to hear? What? That the police won’t do their job?” Colter tried to keep the words inside. But either he’d lost his social skills during his self-imposed hideout this past year or he was just in military mode, assuming everyone was an enemy until proven otherwise.

He swore internally, but before he could figure out how to backtrack, Chief Hernandez stepped toward him, getting in his space.

Rebel bared her teeth and even Kensie sidled closer to him in a silent show of support, but the chief sounded more tired than mad when she finally spoke.

“We did our job. I think you’re low on information, Colter. We worked closely with the FBI on this. It was their call in the end, but we agreed with them.”

She looked briefly at Kensie, then focused her attention on him again. “Kensie already knows this because the FBI told her, but let me share what they determined after running down all the leads: The note was a hoax.”

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