The Marine's Last Defence

All of the men thought the dog was great. But it was still his job to control it—not an easy task without a leash. He’d found a silver emergency blanket in the trunk and had fashioned a makeshift rope by slicing the end off.

No words saying he should have left the pup there. Nothing except “four black coffees, Craig,” turning him into a glorified errand boy. He had to remember that it was the appropriate place for the rookie team member. He walked to the car with a few laughs and snickers behind his back. His partner hadn’t offered the keys. No way he was going to beg, but he could keep the pup warm inside the car while he walked across the street.

A local diner was on the opposite corner. He could handle the errands and understood they came with being the newest team member. He’d dumped enough rookies into the same position himself over the years. He was just ready to move forward, to investigate. He hated being stuck with unimportant things. It gave him too much time to think about the life he’d wanted while in Afghanistan that seemed so far out of his reach.

The tremor he’d forgotten started his hand twitching. He fisted his fingers and shoved it in his pocket. Out of sight, out of his thoughts. Right along with the dreams he’d had from another time.

“Man alive, it’s cold out here.” A man waited on the corner to cross Gaston Boulevard, jumping in place to keep warm. “You a cop?”

Jake gave a short nod, not in the mood for curious onlookers. Even those dressed all in black, sturdy shoes and expensive leather gloves. Why was this guy walking anywhere in this weather? Not everyone’s a suspect, he said, to quiet the suspicions forming in his head.

This wasn’t the Middle East, where he couldn’t trust a kid crossing the street or even a middle-aged man dressed in black. The light turned red, the walk light blinked on and they both crossed. The man continued to the convenience store next to the diner, probably after cigarettes, since he’d reeked of nicotine.

Jake entered the old-fashioned diner and stuffed his gloves in his pockets. The place was basically empty except for a pretty raven-haired woman in the back booth. As soon as he looked in her direction, she dropped her lips to the edge of the mug and blew, gingerly sipping and not making eye contact.

Nothing suspicious in a young woman wanting to be left alone by a man covered in mud.

A robust man dressed in a bright red-and-black shirt hurried out of the kitchen. He only needed a white beard to look exactly like an off-duty Santa Claus. “Have a seat anywhere,” he said, wiping his hands on the bottom of his flannel plaid shirt.

“I just need five coffees to go, Carl.” The Santa named Carl looked surprised to hear his name until Jake pointed at his dangling nameplate stuck on his sleeve. “Don’t lose that in someone’s breakfast.”

The woman in the corner laughed, barely, but it was a sweet sound compared to the silent razing he’d been taking for wrecking the murder scene. Sweet, and it brought a smile to his frozen face.

“I was wonderin’ how you knew.” Carl reached for the cups and coffeepot. “You want cream or sugar?”

“Blacks all round. Thanks.”

“Hey, you with the cops at the lake? A guy came in earlier and said you found a body by the dam.”

“Detective Jake Craig, Dallas P.D.,” Jake acknowledged, trying to dissuade him from asking more questions. It didn’t work.

“So was it a woman, like they say? Was she really all in white? Murdered? Froze to death?”

Everyone, including himself, wanted those answers.

“How long have you been at work today?” he asked. If the counter guy wanted to be chatty, might as well point him in the right direction.

“Been here since ’bout midnight, I think. Took a while in this weather with the roads the way they were. I skidded through two different red lights. Glad you weren’t around then.”

“How about her?” Jake asked about the woman in the corner.

“Bree? She’s been here since I came on board.”

“That’s a long time to nurse a cup of java.”

“Nah, happens all the time. And I think that’s her fourth or fifth hot chocolate. She nods off every once in a while.”

There was a rolling suitcase against the wall next to her. “She homeless?”

“Naw, nothin’ like that. Lost her car, broke down a couple of months back, and she walks everywhere. Does jobs for people in Lakewood, picks up an extra shift around here sometimes. Manager don’t mind her sitting there when we ain’t busy.”

“You said she’s been here since midnight?” His victim had already been killed by then.

“Yeah, let me get you a carrier for these. I got a new box of ’em in the back,” Carl said, putting the last lid on a large cup.

“How much do I owe you?”

“On the house for cops.”

After leaving a five, Jake put his wallet away and leaned against the counter, watching the busy intersection. Predawn joggers, walkers with dogs, people driving by and going about their ordinary day. Busy, yet not a single witness. He took the lid off one cup and poured a good amount of sugar in. He’d need the extra calories today.

While he sipped, he watched, honing his skills, making mental notes. Passing the time like he had for so many years.

The woman Carl called Bree shifted in her seat, looking nervous. She’d obviously overheard the conversation with Carl. Most people were more curious for details. When he came across someone who turned away, covered their face and tried to act casual about doing so...it normally meant they were hiding something.

Or was he just being overly suspicious again, wanting to investigate a murder instead of paying his dues by getting coffee?

Stick it out. They’ll come around soon enough.

Carl loaded the coffees into the cardboard.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problemo. Come back when there’s not a murder. Gotta get ready for my breakfast regulars.” Carl waved and returned to the kitchen.

“I’ll do that.” Jake leaned his shoulder against the door, pushing it open for a fraction of a second. Hit by a blast of frigid air, the coffee carrier tipped toward his filthy coat. He let the door slam, successfully catching the coffees and balancing them against his chest. A tiny giggle from the corner. He looked up and locked eyes with Bree. The woman had a beautiful smile. No matter how brief or even if she was laughing at his near disaster.

She quickly hid her eyes by resting her forehead on her hand. Her reaction made him more than a little curious. He set the container down on the first booth’s table and deliberately meandered past the booth that separated them.

Speak. He stood there, waiting. Expecting...he didn’t know what. Anticipation took over his vocal cords, refusing to let them work. He didn’t want to ask her why she looked suspicious. He didn’t want her to be a suspect or a witness. What he wanted was her phone number.

Naw, he couldn’t do that. At least not as a police officer. He hadn’t asked for any phone numbers or called any that had been offered to him in the year since his divorce. Dang it. She was a potential witness. He should ask for her information, since she’d been here all night. Man, that is so weak. Just say something. His hand had reached inside his coat for his notebook before he realized he needed a pen.

Then her spine straightened, her hands dropped to her lap and she tilted her face up at him. Strikingly magnificent amethyst eyes. He’d never seen that color before.

“Do you need something, Detective?”

“I was...” The pen had been with the notepad earlier. He patted every pocket on his coat. “Can I borrow your pen?”

She didn’t turn away, just slid her larger spiral notebook in front of her and handed over the pen from between its pages.

“Thanks.”

“If you need one for the crime scene, I’m sure Carl has an extra. That ink’s actually pink.”

The old saying of a smile lighting up a room popped into his head. He would swear the entire diner had brightened when the corners of her mouth rose, silently amused that he’d be writing with her girlie-colored pen. He shook himself and wrote Carl’s name and then Bree.

“Ma’am, sorry to disturb you. Carl mentioned you walked here. Did you come through the park?”

“No, not last night. Was someone really murdered?” She visibly relaxed when she answered.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Sort of an odd physical reaction to the word murder. Don’t read anything into it.

“That’s so sad.”

“Yes, ma’am. Did you see anything unusual? Anyone running from the park or a car speeding away?”

“No. But I slept some after midnight.”

“I’d like your name and phone number, just in case we have new information and need to pursue it with you. You never know what detail might help.”

“It’s really hard to see out of these windows at night, Detective. I really don’t think there’s a need to put me in a report.”

He looked up to see the reflection of a man covered in mud—even on his face. He looked like an extra in a disaster movie. He agreed that from the booth you couldn’t really see much outside.

“Not for the report. It’s only in case I need to get in touch again. I’d prefer your cell number, if possible. Carl said your name was Bree?” He concentrated on the tip of the pen where it met the paper. Not on the disconcerted twitch that occurred at the corner of her eye when he said he wanted information about her.

“Yes. Bree Bowman. And I don’t have a phone, but you can reach me at 214-964-79— Well, shoot, I always get those last numbers confused.” She opened the spiral and removed a yellow flyer. “Here.”

“Jerome’s Pet Sitters. You work here?” He stuffed the paper in his pocket.

“I fill in when I have time. Jerome takes messages.”

“Is Bree short for something?”

“No.”

She shifted on the bench, looking as uncomfortable as he felt awkward. He knew cops who used the addresses and numbers of pretty girls. That wasn’t his style. He couldn’t legitimize pushing for her address. He’d get it if he really needed to get in touch.

“That should be enough for now.” He set her pen on the table, watching it roll to the edge of the spiral. “Thanks for your cooperation.”

“No problemo,” she said, imitating Carl.

“Right. Thanks again.” He scooped up the coffees, including his own, and headed for the door.

“Wait. Let me help.” Bree’s voice came from just behind him. “I can get the door so you don’t have a disaster with those cups.” She darted around him, pushed the door and kept it open while he passed through.

“Thanks for the help.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Like an idiot he stopped and took another look at her. And like someone who hadn’t flirted in a decade—which he hadn’t—he said, “You know you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

She inhaled sharply and pressed her lips together. Maybe embarrassed. Maybe flattered. Maybe like she received that compliment a lot. “Thanks, Detective. But it’s really cold out.”

“Yeah, sorry. Have a nice day.”

“You, too.”

Just before the door closed, he heard another sweet giggle.

You’re such an idiot.

* * *

DAWN CAME AND WENT along with the ambulance and dead woman’s body. She’d had no identification, no keys, and to their knowledge, no one had reported her missing. Dallas howled endlessly as her owner was removed by the medical examiner.

The obvious assumption was that the victim had been mugged while walking her dog. Locate where the dog lived and they’d discover the identity of the owner.

Simple.

No one was pursuing it. They’d wait on Animal Control to call with the chip’s registered address.

After contaminating the scene, Jake had been told he was lucky to be holding the dog. Coffee run completed, he’d waited in the car. Warmed the dog. Fed the dog his sandwich from home. Watered the dog. Pacified the dog. Everyone else finished up, the crime scene had been released, and he was now letting the dog do his business near a tree.

“Hey, Craig,” his partner called to him from across the lot, laughing and slapping the back of another longtime detective. “Make sure you wait around for Animal Control to get that mutt. They’re expecting you to be right here, so you should probably walk the dog in circles until they show.” He laughed some more and threw the car keys. “I’m catching a ride back to the station.”

Jake caught the keys and didn’t have a chance to ask his partner what they all found so hilarious before the car pulled away. He stood there holding the pup’s makeshift leash, fearing the joke was on him. Yeah, he was darn certain that around the station he’d graduated from the position of rookie to leash holder.

The last patrolman headed to his car, pointing at the ground. “You got a bag to clean that up, man?”

Jake shrugged, then shook his head.

“Seriously, man. You can’t leave that on the ground like that.”

He shot him a look, hoping the patrolman would back off. “I’ll get something from Animal Control.”

“You gotta set a good example for the kids over there. Leaving it in a park’s against city ordinances. You’re a cop now.”

“Sure. I got it.” And he did...get it. The marines were behind him and he was on his own, alone in a city where he barely knew anyone. He’d wanted that after the divorce. No one around to remind him of the six years of humiliation.

Jake sat in his car and started the engine, thinking of amethyst eyes. A better memory than the wasted time he’d invested with his ex. Should he call Bree Bowman?

And then what? Say what? Do what? Ask her to meet for coffee? Maybe he’d make it a habit to have breakfast at the diner and try to catch her there again. And breakfast to boot. It wasn’t too far out of his way. Then he might be able to offer a ride sometime. That was a plan he could live with. Slow. No commitment.

Another twenty minutes went by and more kids on bikes gathered in the parking lot. It looked like they wanted his car out of the way so they could take advantage of the ice and snow.

He moved to the far edge of the lot to give the boys room. Some of the tricks they performed were amazing. It wasn’t too much longer before Dallas began whining again, soon howling loud enough to attract attention.

This time she clawed at the window as one of the boys slowly approached from the curb. Dressed in a ski cap, a huge coat that wasn’t zipped, and straddling a bike designed more for tricks than street cruising, the teen waved and gestured to roll down the window.

“Hey, Dallas. You get lost, girl?” the teen crooned to the big pup and stuck his gloved hand through the window to stroke the silky ears. “Whatcha doin’ way over here?”

“Do you know this dog or the owner?” Jake asked.

“Sure, this is Dallas. She belongs to Mrs. Richardson. I ride past her house every day. Weird that she ran away. She sticks pretty close to home even when she gets loose.” The teen continued to pet the pup through the open window. “You a cop? One of the other guys said a drunk froze to death. He got a look at the body bag.”

“Would you happen to know her address?”

“It’s five or six houses up on Loving Street. The one on the hill. I can take her back if you want. She’s run next to my bike before.”

“Thanks, but I better hang on to her. What does the house look like?”

He shrugged. “We can show you. Nothing to do around here anymore. It’s getting too wet.”

“Thanks. There’s no rush. Make sure to use the crosswalks.”

“It’s the second street, mister.” The teen turned and tapped the hood before peddling off through the snow. “Try to keep up.”

Jake pushed the button to roll up the window and put the car in gear. Dallas turned three circles on the passenger seat before settling. She dropped her head in the crook of Jake’s elbow and looked up with dark brown sad eyes.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” He scratched the pup’s snout and then picked up the car radio. “You’ll be okay. Somebody with a great yard will snatch you up quick.”

One by one the boys followed each other, skidding through the parking lot, enjoying the snow and slush. Sometimes, being a kid had its advantages. No worries and no past.

“Dispatch, Craig to Loving and Winstead. Cancel the Animal Control pickup at White Rock Lake. I’ll call back if needed later.” He turned on the second street, following the kid he’d spoken with while the others continued straight.

“Detective Craig, no record of a request for Animal Control. Your location is noted.”

The other detectives were probably having a big laugh at breakfast with this joke. He’d been left holding a dog leash, waiting for the past two hours on Animal Control when they’d never been notified. Some joke.

But he’d take the hazing. This time it might just work in his favor. When he’d spoken his opinion that the dog had a connection to the murder victim, his partner had put him in charge of the animal.

He’d either return Dallas to her owner without anyone the wiser or call in the identity of the dead woman. Maybe he’d get the last laugh after all.

Chapter Three

Two weeks in one bed. Sabrina could barely believe how much she looked forward to having the same pillow under her head for that long. Living out of a suitcase, shuffling from house to house or a couple of nights in a hotel room had gotten old after the fourth or fifth time. Six months later and she wasn’t any closer to discovering Griffin’s connection to whoever had ordered her death or who they’d referred to as the “higher-ups.”

She was ready to give up her search and her nomad existence. Griffin had accused her of not having a life. Well, he’d been wrong. Her life had been full of people and pets and things to care about. It was living like this that wasn’t really living. If that even made sense. A solitary life void of friends and fun. Shoot, she didn’t even have a car.

And to top it off, the first inkling of an attraction she’d had was for a cop. A detective she’d nearly given her cell number to. Yes, she’d lied to the detective about owning a cell. What if he’d actually called? What a stupid move that would have been. But he’d seemed so...so shy.

She lifted the suitcase out of the slush as she crossed the last street.

Walking through a little snow wasn’t hard for a girl born and raised in the Texas Panhandle. No, sir, a little snow and ice didn’t slow her down at all. She walked the four blocks from the coffee shop to her next pet-sitting job, pulling her handy-dandy suitcase. Barely any cars passed by. She’d taken the long way around to avoid the park just in case the detective was still nearby. From her view at the diner, it had appeared empty with the exception of one car and the local kids on their bikes.

Dallas with a layer of snow was a lot different than Amarillo in the same condition. Back home on a Saturday morning all the kids would have been on that hilltop, sliding until their fingers were frozen from grabbing the edge of their plastic or even cardboard sled. She couldn’t let herself think of home.

Thinking of the people she’d hurt by running away wouldn’t help her get home any sooner. At first, she hadn’t contacted her parents because she hadn’t wanted anyone in danger from the men working with Griffin. She soon realized being dead made getting around much easier. Law enforcement wasn’t searching for her.

Even if the police weren’t looking, it didn’t mean she could see the handsome detective. That would be thumbing her nose at the good fortune she’d had for the past six months. Sooner or later her luck would run out.

Each day she hoped her family would forgive her when she finally proved her innocence and could go home again. There were three more names to check out and then she’d have to turn herself in to the police. Or use the stolen money to hire a detective to clear her name.

She couldn’t do that. The money was evidence. If she’d used it, she could have gone anywhere, hired that dang detective months ago, slept in a nice hotel instead of those shelters the first week. Other than the three hundred dollars she’d been forced to use, over ninety thousand dollars—in very large bills—was now hidden in the liner of her toiletry bag. She’d only grabbed one bundle and hidden the rest with her uncle, who’d helped her leave Amarillo.

Sabrina peeled off her gloves and found her keys in her jacket pocket. She pushed the handle of the suitcase down. The huge monster was wearing out along the bottom faster than the first one she’d bought secondhand. Obtaining another needed to be added to her list of things to get done soon.

Think about that in two weeks. Maybe living out of a suitcase won’t be necessary then.

Stomping her wet tennis shoes on the welcome mat, she wished again she had her favorite snow boots. She tried to get as much snow off them as possible before entering Brenda Ellen’s immaculate domain and just pulled them off instead, along with her wet socks. She turned her key in the kitchen door, dropping the set into her pocket.

Backing inside, she lifted her case over the threshold, bracing for Dallas’s welcome. The big, rambunctious pup could knock her down when she caught her off guard.

No Dallas.

She whistled while shrugging out of her coat and dropping it along with her shoes on top of the suitcase. She clapped. Still no sound of nails clicking on the hardwood floors.

“Dallas,” she called. “Mrs. Richardson? Brenda Ellen?”

Had her trip been delayed again because of the snow? Dirty dishes sat on the counter and stove. Weird, because Brenda Ellen Richardson practically ate over the sink when she bothered to eat at home. The loaf of bread was open. Grease in a frying pan where eggs had been cooked. Blood near a block of cheese on the counter.

“Oh, God.”

Was that Brenda Ellen’s blood? Or had someone else made themselves at home?

Brenda Ellen didn’t eat eggs and never fried anything. Had they found her? No! No! No! Don’t panic. Maybe Brenda Ellen had forgotten to text her that the flight had been delayed. Maybe she’d had company overnight. That potential scene was embarrassing but held much less panic.

But where was Dallas? Even if she was locked out of Brenda Ellen’s bedroom, she’d be greeting any visitor at the door.

Something was wrong. Brenda Ellen was a businesswoman and wouldn’t have forgotten to cancel her dog sitter. Should she leave? Yes, turn and run this minute! Grabbing the suitcase and running down the sidewalk was the safest thing to do.

And then what? She could go...where?

If someone was here, they’d heard her come inside, heard her whistle for Dallas. They’d follow her down the street. What if they were waiting for her to search the house? What if Brenda Ellen was tied up or...or...worse?

I’m so tired of being afraid, she said to herself.

It was time to stop being afraid and confront the fear. Take action. Do something proactive and not just run. Dial 911 and then leave.

Her cell was packed. Fortunately, or it would have been in plain sight for Detective Jake Craig. Then get to the landline in the living room, and get help for Brenda Ellen, then leave. That was a plan. She’d taken self-defense classes. She could get to the phone on Brenda Ellen’s desk.

As quietly as possible, she rolled open the drawer that contained the meat mallet. The knives were tempting, but much bigger than the scalpel she’d stabbed Griffin with.

Attempting to get to Brenda Ellen’s phone was risky. But she couldn’t leave without trying, without knowing if her employer needed help. If Brenda Ellen was in trouble, it was Sabrina’s fault and she had to do whatever she could.

Mallet in hand, she knelt at the doorway, trying to see if anyone waited in the living area. Surely, if anyone were there, they would have already come to see who had whistled and clapped. There wasn’t anything to be frightened of. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop shaking or thinking about the different possibilities. Overreacting had become the new normal for her.