Dana Mentink - Seek And Find

She flipped on her tape recorder. “And what about the deaths on the night of the police fund-raiser dance? A cop’s wife is murdered one year, and then a few years later, rookie Mike Riverton falls down a flight of stairs. And then another rookie, Brian Miller, dies in a fire? All on the night of the dance? Someone should look into that.” She flicked the recorder off and tossed it on the seat in disgust. And that someone should be me. No one had more motivation to look into the deaths than she. After all, I am the daughter of a murderer, she thought with a shiver.

But newly hired reporters with a hundred bucks in their bank accounts and a rent check coming due couldn’t afford to lose their jobs. Besides, she was desperate to put down some roots in Tuckerville, her new home some forty-five minutes away from Desert Valley. She wanted to get used to a rural life for a change, and ideally her sister would stay for a good long while. It was the only way they could learn to love their way past the hurt.

Pebbles pinged as she pressed the accelerator. Midday sun blazed onto the windshield, dazzling her. A split second later, everything changed. One moment there was nothing but shrub-lined asphalt ahead and the next, a fawn-colored bloodhound wearing a heavy leather collar shot across the road, followed by a police officer who halted in the bushes, startled, intense sapphire-blue eyes opened wide.

She had only a moment to register that he was very fit, very tall and more than a little irritated as she slammed on the brakes to avoid the dog. Then the tires squealed, and she skidded off the road and through a screen of shrubbery, bumping to a stop amid a pile of rocks. She sat, heart thumping, panting, nerves jangling from the mad jostling.

The officer ran to the car. “Are you all right?”

She blinked and nodded. He opened the door for her and she got out, noting both her flat front tire and his hair, the color of the desert sand. “I’m okay, but my tire’s another story.”

He called out, and the bloodhound loped from the trees, coming to an ungainly stop next to the officer.

“Your dog?”

“Yes. I’m very sorry, ma’am. Every once in a while, Hawk gets this wild notion, forgets he is a police dog and takes off. I think it has something to do with squirrels. He’s certain they’re mocking him.” He shot an exasperated look at his canine. “Looks like we’re gonna need more training.” Hawk slurped a tongue along the officer’s pant leg.

“Knock it off, dog,” he said.

There was an enticing, familiar scent clinging to the officer.

“I think he tastes garlic,” she said with a smile.

He flushed red. “Oh, man. I smell like garlic? Earlier I was trying to figure out my mom’s recipe for beef stew. I’ve showered and everything, but the scent gets into your pores.”

“Won’t your mom give you the recipe?”

“No. She says once I learn it, I won’t come around as much.”

They both laughed.

The big-bodied bloodhound sat heavily on the ground, staring at her through the fleshy folds of his face. Police dog or not, he was adorable, and his handler was not hard to look at, either. The guy should have been on a police recruitment poster or something.

Hawk gave her a scolding look, as if she had somehow gotten between him and his rodent nemesis.

“Is he a puppy?”

“Two years old, but from what I can see, he’s got plenty of puppy left in him. He’s managed to destroy two pairs of work boots, a cupboard door and the backseat of my truck. And what is this?” He bent closer, picking a scrap of material from Hawk’s lip. “This better not be a piece of the backseat again, dog.”

Hawk did not look the least bit contrite. He shook his head, jowls flapping. Madison giggled. “Not your typical police dog?”

“Just a bloodhound. They’re not patrol dogs, really more specialized for tracking and trailing. Maybe I should have requested a nice German shepherd. They don’t eat backseats.” Hawk yawned, and James chuckled. “We didn’t become partners until a couple of months ago. Just graduated from the K-9 training center in Desert Valley, and we’re assigned here temporarily.”

“I heard. You and four other rookies with their K-9s. Marian Foxcroft paid for you all to be assigned to Desert Valley until you solve the murder of Veronica Earnshaw. She was the police-dog master trainer, right?”

“You’re well informed.”

“I like to keep apprised.”

The officer sighed, taking in the flattened front tire. “Anyway, we were doing a search, and he’s still learning. He’s determined, but he takes off once in a while and breaks the rules. Hawk wins the prize for having to take the most retraining courses.”

“I guess I could use some retraining, too. I was going too fast.”

“Yes, you were, now that you mention it,” he said with a grin. “It’s thirty-five along this stretch. You from out of town?”

“Not far out. I live in Tuckerville with my sister.” At least, if their disagreement from the night before hadn’t driven Kate away. Things are getting better, Mads. Remember that. After years of estrangement, desperation had finally driven Kate back. “She got a job in Desert Valley just yesterday.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Good for her. Not much work around here to be had.”

He was right. Kate had combed Tuckerville and all the nearby towns until she’d finally landed a job, which gave Madison an even greater motivation to help solve the crime spree here in the tiny town. Kate might not want the close relationship that Madison craved, but Madison intended to do what she could for her only sibling, one way or another. At least the town where she worked would be safer if she could help nab a few killers. You’ll thank me later, Kate.

“So, Officer, are you going to give me a ticket?”

He shot her a rueful grin. “In view of the fact that my dog was misbehaving, I say we call it a draw.” He extended a hand. “James Harrison.”

“Madison Coles,” she said, noting that his eyes were such an intense blue they seemed lit from the inside, like sunlight playing through stained glass. His palms were strong and warm, tough enough to indicate he worked with his hands when he wasn’t on duty—or maybe the calluses were from hauling on a leash all day. And the faint scent of garlic was more enticing than any cologne. “That sounds fair to me.” She went to the trunk and fished out a lug wrench.

“Let me change that tire for you,” he said, taking the tool from her hands and hefting the spare from the trunk.

“I can do it,” she said quickly. Take care of yourself, Mads.

But he was already crouched over, easily detaching the lug nuts. “I’ve never let a lady change her own flat, and I’m not about to now.”

“Thanks,” she said. She hadn’t expected to find chivalry in this desert nowhere. It both pleased her and kicked up some anxiety. He’s a cop, Mads. Perfectly okay to let him change your tire. “What were you searching for, anyway?”

“Just following a hunch.”

The trees behind them were thick with tangled branches, the perfect place for someone to hide. A killer, perhaps?

“So, you’re following a lead on Veronica Earnshaw’s murder? Or maybe the attack on Marian Foxcroft?”

He frowned. “We’re all doing our best.”

“You must be making progress. You’ve got a lot of extra rookies assigned to this town, not to mention the dogs.”

He knelt to remove the tire. “Yes, that’s true. The town is practically crawling with K-9s until we’re reassigned elsewhere.” There was a touch of cynicism in his voice. “Why are you so interested?”

She shrugged. “Who isn’t? Murders and a bludgeoning attack in a small town like this? How is the investigation going?”