Valerie Hansen - Rookie K-9 Unit Christmas

Barefoot, he tiptoed to the open bedroom door and waited in the shadow from the night-light in the hallway. A low mumble reached him. How could Patrick be talking in his sleep when he had so much trouble doing so awake?

Sean pressed his back to the jamb and slowly eased forward. The voices were clear. For an instant he wished they weren’t.

“I ain’t killin’ no kid. You got that?” one person grumbled.

“We aren’t supposed to. Just the father.”

“Fine. What if the kid sees us? What then?”

“Nobody’ll know we’re here if you shut your yap,” the other prowler whispered. “Come on.”

Sean tensed. He was strong, ready to defend himself, but anything might happen if Patrick awoke. The boy’s most frequent utterance was a high-pitched squeal of fright and frustration. If he began to carry on like that, the attackers might change their minds and harm him, too.

Going on the offense was the answer. Sean grabbed the junior baseball bat he’d bought to help Patrick regain coordination and braced himself.

The first man led with his pistol, giving Sean a one-time chance of disarming him. Wood in the child’s bat cracked as Sean brought it down on the assailant’s wrist. The man dropped the gun, doubled up and howled. His partner didn’t wait for him to recover. Instead, he fired blindly in the dark, then turned tail and ran.

Sean dove for the gun and connected. Its owner leaped onto his back and tried to wrest it away. He might have succeeded if he’d had both hands in working order—or if his cohort had stuck around to help.

Sean continued to struggle with the man in the confines of the narrow hallway. His temple hit a doorjamb. Flashes of light, like exploding mortar shells, blinded him. Noises of war filled his ears. The acrid smell of gunpowder and the portent of death seemed to be everywhere.

A trickle of blood wet his close-cropped hair as survival instinct locked his fingers around the cold metal in his hands. At that moment, nothing could have pried open his grip.

There was a muted crash, then a tinkling, rustling sound. Clarity returned enough to suggest that the first man had stumbled over the Christmas tree he and Patrick had just decorated.

A child screamed.

Patrick!

Lunging, Sean knocked the intruder aside and struggled to his feet, gun in hand. That was enough. The injured man scrambled away, rounded the corner into the living room and disappeared out the door.

Sean wanted to follow. To capture at least one of the thugs who had declared their intent to kill him. But he didn’t. Patrick needed him more. The child came first. Always had. Always would.

So, now what?

* * *

Police officer Zoe Trent had recently graduated from Canyon County K-9 Training Center in Desert Valley, Arizona, with her Belgian Tervuren, Freya. Being partnered with a specialized K-9 had been a goal of hers ever since completing the police academy. Now that it was time to return to her regular assignment in Mesa, Arizona, however, she knew she was going to miss the new friends she’d made during the twelve-week K-9 training program.

Wishing there were an easy way to keep in touch, and knowing they would surely drift apart as normal life resumed, she’d struggled to fall asleep tonight. A Christmas carol ringtone on her cell phone startled her awake.

Freya barked to accompany her muttered, “Hello?”

“Zoe?”

“Yes.” Coming alert, she raised on one elbow.

“It’s me again. Sean Murphy. Sorry to bother you, but you did tell me to call if I needed anything.”

Instant worry for her college chum infused her. “Of course. What’s wrong? You sound awful. Have you had another PTSD flashback?”

“It’s worse than that.”

Her dark eyes narrowed, and she raked stray tendrils of long brown hair away from her face with her free hand. “How can it be worse? It’s not Patrick again, is it?”

“He’s okay, so far. There’s nobody here I can trust, and I really need help. Somebody’s trying to kill me.”

“What?” How could she express doubt without jeopardizing their seasoned friendship? “Are you sure? I mean, you told me you’d been a little confused since your medical discharge.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he countered. “I had the same misgivings. I’ve been awake for hours since this happened, trying to figure it out. Two guys broke into my apartment, and I fought with one of them.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Of course. You know how it is in a big city. If the prowlers had succeeded in shooting me, I’d have gotten more attention.”

“The men were armed?”

“Yes. One is now sporting a broken wrist, I hope. I disarmed him and he ran. So did his partner.”

Zoe paused to choose her words carefully. “Okay. You had a break-in. What makes you think these guys had murder on their minds?”

“I heard them say they were there to kill me.” He hesitated, then added, “I know I wasn’t hallucinating because of what happened next. When I hit one on his gun hand, the other fired and left a bullet in the ceiling. The cops took all the evidence. Since nothing was stolen and nobody got shot, they acted like they didn’t hold out much hope to catch the guys.”

“Unless the ballistics match another case,” she said. “Do you think these assailants might have been old friends of Sandra’s?” Zoe hated to bring up his late wife but felt compelled to ask. After all, the woman had overdosed while her innocent son was floundering in the deep end of a swimming pool.

“I can’t see why drug dealers would have it in for me,” Sean said. “Their business was with Sandra.”

“Agreed. So, how can I help you?”

“You can get me into that service dog program you mentioned when I was first discharged. I need to get my emotions under better control if I intend to survive more real life attacks.”

“Okay. I’ll see the director, Ellen Foxcroft, and put your name on her waiting list.”

“That’s not enough. Not after last night.”

Zoe could tell from his tone that he was approaching an emotional crossroad and wished they were face-to-face so she could judge his condition more accurately. “Are you and Patrick out of danger now?”

“Temporarily. I threw some clothes and stuff into the pickup, and I’ve been driving around, thinking, ever since the police left. I can’t take him back to the apartment. Whoever came after me last night may try again.”

“What about going to your in-laws? They have plenty of room for both of you, don’t they?”

“I’d rather hole up in a cardboard box on the street than rely on them,” Sean said. “The Shepherds were so concerned with excusing Sandra’s addiction and transferring blame, they laid it all on me.”

“Okay. Tell you what,” Zoe said, hoping her growing concern was masked, “why don’t you come on down to Desert Valley to visit me? I was going to head back to Mesa soon, but there’s no hurry. I don’t start my new assignment until after the first of the year, and the Desert Valley PD can use a few substitute cops here while their regulars take holiday time off.”

“What good will a few weeks do me?”

“It’ll give you a chance to chill out, for one thing. Besides, once Ellen meets you and Patrick and realizes how special your needs are, maybe she’ll make an exception and work you in.”

The quiet on the other end of the line troubled her. The Sean Murphy she’d met in college was nothing like this traumatized widower. Coming home from combat with PTSD was bad enough without having to face the death of his spouse and near loss of his only child.

“All right,” Sean finally said.

She almost cheered. Instead, she said, “I’m looking forward to it. And to meeting Patrick.”