Liz Shoaf - Betrayed Birthright

The footsteps stopped and Abby sensed the menace and hatred floating up the stairs in a thick wave of dark emotion. Whoever it was meant her harm. But why? Who disliked her that much? The police in North Carolina had asked her that question and she still had no answer.

A siren wailed in the distance. Quick footsteps raced back down the stairs and out the kitchen door. Her legs wobbled. Abby plopped onto the top step and blew out a relieved breath. Her dog licked her face and she hugged him close. “Thanks for the help, Bates. I know you’d probably be happier as a police dog, but I sure am glad you’re with me.”

The trembling in her body started small, but gained momentum as the police cruiser swerving into her driveway illuminated the front of her house.

* * *

Noah Galloway pried his eyelids open and squinted at his wristwatch—it was 3:15 a.m.—when his cell phone belted out “God Bless America,” his call tune for dispatch. He came fully alert within seconds. “Galloway.”

“Sheriff. We have a B and E in progress at 135 Grove Street. Nine-one-one transferred the call.”

Night calls were rare. B and Es, even more so in their small town. Grabbing his jeans, he dressed with one hand and held the phone to his ear. “You on your way over?”

“Yes, sir. I’m in my car right now. I’ll be there in three minutes. Don’t you worry none. I’ll take care of Dylan while you’re on duty.”

He thanked Peggy Sue—his dispatch officer and dedicated babysitter—shoved his gun into his holster, threw on a jacket and raced down the hall. Stepping quietly into his son’s room, he reassured himself that Dylan was safely tucked in bed and left the door cracked on his way out.

Peggy Sue was climbing the steps to the front porch as he opened the door.

“Isn’t that the address for the church’s new choir director?” It was a small town, and as sheriff, he made it his business to keep tabs on everything going on.

“Yes, sir. I can’t imagine anyone breaking into a choir director’s home. It’s blasphemous, is what I think.”

Noah ignored the small talk. “Is Cooper on his way?”

“Yep, I called Coop first. Y’all should arrive there about the same time.”

Before hopping into his car, he glanced back at Peggy Sue, an older woman who had taken him and Dylan under her wing when they moved to town.

She grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll hold down the fort.”

Noah gave a curt nod and ducked his head as he folded his long frame into the squad car. He estimated he’d arrive at the scene within five minutes. Grove Street was located on the outskirts of town, where quite a few older homes had been built during the town’s more prosperous days.

His jaw clenched when he turned a street corner. Coop had flipped on his siren, and red and blue lights were streaming through the neighborhood. Nothing like alerting the perpetrator to our presence. Taking a deep breath for patience, he exited his patrol car just as his young, energetic deputy flung his car door open and presented himself as a target.

Noah motioned Cooper to the back of his squad car and reminded himself that his deputy was new at the job. The eagerness shining out of Cooper’s eyes reminded Noah of himself many years ago, before disillusionment set in.

Before he had a chance to put his plans into motion, a woman came careening down the front porch steps. He gauged her to be about five foot three, a little over a hundred pounds with long, soft-looking blond hair. Her eyes were rounded and her mouth formed a grim line. Dressed in pajamas decorated with big pink hearts, she yelled while pointing toward the side of the house.

“He fled through the kitchen door when he heard your sirens. You’ll have to hurry if you want to catch him.” Her breath came out in short gasps.

Noah nodded at his deputy. “Go ahead, Coop.”

“Yes, sir.” Coop gave a crisp salute.

He doubted the perpetrator was still in the area—the only reason Noah allowed Cooper to go after him. Keeping a close eye on the dog that had accompanied the woman outside—and the pistol that looked much too comfortable in her hand for his peace of mind—Noah made a closer assessment of the woman shivering in front of him. He estimated her to be in her midtwenties and her eyes were dark brown. Peering deep into those eyes, he recognized courage overlapping the fear.

He shook off those fanciful thoughts. Though he’d heard the church had hired a new choir director, they’d never met. “Sheriff Galloway, ma’am. Maybe we should take this inside. The perpetrator has likely fled, but we don’t know that for sure.”

She glanced around, as if coming out of shock. The neighbors’ lights had started blinking on and he knew people would soon be in the street demanding to know what was happening.

“Where are my manners? Yes. Please come in.”

Thinking she might be a little shaky from the ordeal, Noah placed his hand on her elbow but immediately released her when the dog gave a low warning growl. The animal’s posture and demeanor indicated intensive training. This wasn’t just a pet. The animal looked like a Belgian Malinois, a dog widely used by both the military and police. It sported a short, light brown coat and black covered its face. And why does a church choir director need a trained attack dog?

“Control your dog, ma’am, and please hand me the pistol.”

She blushed and he couldn’t help but notice that the pink in her cheeks matched the hearts on her pajamas.

“I’m so sorry. Bates is a little protective,” she said, but after a moment she straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye with a glint of determination. “No, I’m not sorry. My dog did his job tonight. He protected me.”

His second impression of the woman reminded him of a soft Southern belle with some feistiness thrown in. Interesting combination. Noah glanced between the woman and the animal. “I take it he’s trained. Give him the release command and he’ll back off.”

The petite woman faced her dog. “Time to be nice, Bates, baby. Sheriff Galloway is a friend.”

His incredulity at her choice of command must have shown on his face when she turned around. Hands propped on her tiny waist, she lifted her chin a notch. “What?”

He swallowed an appalled retort. “Nothing.” He would have used a more common “off” or “back” command, but that was her business.

He glanced at the front door. “We should go inside. Let me make sure the house is clear.”

She dutifully handed him her weapon. “I have a concealed-carry permit.” She sounded as if she was just waiting for him to ask to see it. When he stayed silent, she gave him a sweet, tentative smile, and his protective instincts flared to life.

“And there’s no need to check the house. Bates would alert me if even a mouse dared to invade his territory.”

“That may be true, but I still need to check the point of entry.”

The dog had disappeared, but met them when they stepped into the house and moved to the kitchen through which she claimed the assailant had fled. Based on the broken glass pane, it was obvious how the intruder had entered the premises. The ground outside was dry and there were only slight impressions of shoes on the grass. Not enough for a print.

“That windowpane will have to be replaced and you need a dead bolt on this door.”

“I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

The window would be repaired before he left, but for the moment, he nodded and she led the way to the living room. Outside, the house reflected a Victorian style, and this room was decorated in the same theme. Shelves filled with picture frames lined one wall. They contained photos of children of all ages. A beautiful black, antique-looking baby grand piano was showcased in the room.