Elizabeth Heiter - K-9 Defence

Anger at Danny for making her feel that way overtook his embarrassment, but even that was quickly eclipsed by fear. Fear over what could have happened if she’d ridden off in Danny’s truck instead of his.

And nothing had been done about it. Police had shown up and taken his statement—and Kensie’s, about the missing door handle inside Danny’s truck. But the officers had shaken their heads, telling Colter he was lucky Danny wasn’t pressing charges for assault. When Colter argued about the door handle—obviously meant to keep someone trapped—they’d said it wasn’t a crime to have a broken truck.

As someone who’d run investigations himself, Colter understood their dilemma. But that same experience told him Danny was still a threat.

He shot another glance Kensie’s way, unable to stop himself from drinking in a quick look at her. Reassuring himself she was safe.

Catching his look, she said softly, “Danny said he was Air Force. I thought I could trust him.”

“I really am a Marine,” Colter blurted.

Thankfully, she looked more perplexed than startled by his outburst.

“An MP. Military Police,” he clarified. “I served for almost a decade, rose to the rank of Staff Sergeant. I doubt Danny Weston’s gotten any closer to the service than walking past a recruiting booth.”

“I shouldn’t have believed him.”

Her voice was so low he almost didn’t catch it. His hands tightened on the wheel of his truck as he continued his slow, steady drive along one of Desparre’s back roads out of town. “The guy’s a creep, but he’s smart. Good at getting people to trust him. Especially women.”

“I think he was in the grocery store. He heard me talking about you. It seemed like he knew you.”

“Yeah, he knows me. But we’re not friends.” Colter and Danny had crossed paths a few times since he’d moved to Desparre. Once had been in the bar where Danny was trying a little too hard to get a local woman to go home with him. Colter had walked her to her car, but he suspected if there hadn’t been people watching, Danny would have come at him that night. A few times since, Colter had seen him around, and the guy had set his radar off.

He had no idea what had brought Danny to Desparre, but he suspected it wasn’t good. And he didn’t trust the guy within a mile of Kensie.

“Just steer clear of him, Kensie.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

There was an edge to her voice that he suspected came as much from fear as it did from anger.

He drew in a deep breath through his nose, trying to calm his emotions. Yeah, it hadn’t been smart of her to get into a stranger’s truck, but how mad could he be when he’d essentially asked her to do the same thing with him?

She didn’t know him. She was acting on blind faith and desperation. They were feelings he knew well. As much as he didn’t want to get involved in anything remotely resembling a mission, he couldn’t let that desperation lead her into danger again.

Because if Alanna had been grabbed by a guy like Danny, it was probably already too late to save her.

The errant thought left a bitter taste in his mouth and he shoved back the inevitable memories that followed, of the last moments he’d seen the brothers he’d loved. Brothers he would have traded his own life for if he could have.

He prayed Kensie wouldn’t have to live with the same grief.

“So, the store,” he said, trying to clear the fog that always threatened whenever he thought about that day, his last day in the military. “Tell me what you know.”

She glanced his way, her beautiful eyes clearing, like this was the distraction she needed, too. “Not much. Apparently the owner found it in a stack of money. The chief of police told me Jasper didn’t know who’d left it there, but I’m thinking we can ask him about everyone who came in that day. Or maybe he’ll recognize me. My sister might still resemble me.”

Her last words were full of hope and wistfulness, and he tried to remember how cold she’d told him the case was. “You said she disappeared fourteen years ago?”

“Yeah. She’d be nineteen now.”

“How old were you when—”

“When she was kidnapped?” Kensie finished. “I was thirteen.”

She didn’t offer any more, so Colter let the silence remain, let Rebel take up the task of relaxing Kensie. His dog seemed more than up for it, leaning between the seats and practically hanging her head in Kensie’s lap.

“I think she likes me,” Kensie said, amusement in her tone.

“Yeah, she transitioned better into civilian life than I did. I think she’d be friends with everyone if she could.”

It wasn’t totally true. Like most dogs, she seemed to have an innate sense of who she could trust. But she definitely would like it if he’d let more people into his life, give her someone else to spoil her.

Kensie laughed as Rebel nuzzled even closer, her front feet practically in the seat with them now. “Well, thanks for making an exception and being my friend.”

Was that what he’d done? He let the idea rattle around in his brain as they pulled up to the store out in a little strip of shops off the beaten path. Yeah, he guessed it was. He’d saved her life, she’d seen his home, and he cared about what happened to her. Plus, he sympathized over what happened to her sister. A year after leaving the military, he’d made his first new friend. As much as he liked Kensie, it left him unsettled.

“Let’s go see what we can get out of Jasper.” As he spoke the words, a familiar determination filled him, one he’d prayed wouldn’t return. The feeling of a mission.

Instantly, his chest tightened and breathing seemed more difficult. The doctors at the VA hospital had told him the PTSD might always be with him. Sometimes it would be flashbacks, other times panic attacks or nightmares. They said he needed to learn to recognize the triggers and manage his response. But that was easier said than done.

Rebel’s head swung toward him, her ears twitching. The first few months after he’d gotten out, there were times when something as simple as a branch snapping would send him right back onto that battlefield and the first crack of the sniper rifle. And he wasn’t the only one; more than once, he’d found Rebel cowering in the bathtub during a thunderstorm. Or she’d leap on him, trying to protect him from a car backfiring, and re-aggravate both of their injuries.

Rebel knew exactly what was happening right now. But he didn’t want Kensie to see his weakness, so he flung open the truck door and practically fell out of it.

The cold air shocked his system, filling his lungs and stopping the spasms in his chest. He clenched and unclenched his fists, a trick he’d learned at the hospital accidentally. It helped ground him, give him control over one small thing.

By the time Rebel leaped to the ground beside him and Kensie hurried around the truck, he felt back in control.

She squinted at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s do this.” It was something he’d always say to Rebel when they were about to track a scent. It came out now without thought, but instead of provoking another attack, it straightened his shoulders and filled him with strength.

Beside him, Rebel seemed to strain forward, even though she was always off leash. She sensed a new mission as much as he did. Unlike him, she seemed truly ready.

Thank goodness her injury hadn’t fully healed.

The selfish thought hit unexpectedly. But if Rebel had healed while he hadn’t, she would have been back at war, assigned to a new soldier. The only reason he’d gotten to keep her was that the huge piece of metal that had gone straight through his leg had also pierced her. Neither of them would ever be a hundred percent whole again. Which meant the military didn’t want them anymore.