Operation Second Chance

“We’ve never met, no. I’m Hayley, Quinn’s wife.”

“Oh.” He didn’t remember Quinn having been married before.

“Almost a year now,” she said, as if she’d heard his thought. “We met a little over two years ago when he kidnapped me and my dog.”

Adam blinked. “He what?”

“It’s a long and, if I do say so myself, entertaining story. But not something you want to hear just now, I’m guessing.”

“No, Mrs. Foxworth. I need to get...out of Amanda’s sight. If I’d realized she was here, I would have waited until she was gone.”

“Hayley, please. And I understand. She does seem a bit...angry.”

He let out a sour chuckle. “Angry isn’t the half of it.”

“She still blames you?” At his look she nodded. “Quinn told me the story. And,” she added, “he said it wasn’t anyone’s fault. And more, that you probably saved his life, after he was shot.”

“He’s more generous than he should be,” he said flatly.

“I certainly wouldn’t argue that, although not in the sense you mean.”

“Amanda’s father died because I didn’t check carefully enough before I went inside the store. He had an accomplice still outside who killed Greg. Nothing can change that.”

He had never forgotten anything about that day, no matter how much he would like to. And even if his mind had cooperated his right arm, the elbow shattered by a gunshot, wouldn’t. The limit on its range of motion reminded him multiple times a day, and every time the weather changed he was even more sharply reminded for the time it took the old injury to adjust.

The bottom line was that everything Amanda Bonner had screamed at him that day in the hospital was true.

“I understood you were cleared of culpability by the official investigation,” Hayley said.

He held her gaze then. “In large part because of your husband’s deposition. Like I said, more generous than he should be.”

He turned to go, but she spoke again, and he couldn’t walk away without being more rude than he wanted to be to Quinn Foxworth’s wife.

“You’re living over on the dry side, Quinn said.”

He was a little surprised Quinn knew that, but then realized his cutting and running for home had probably been common knowledge.

“Yes. My family’s got a ranch outside Palouse, on the Palouse.”

She smiled at his phrasing. “That’s quite a drive to here. Do you do it often?”

“Once a year,” he said flatly, pointedly.

“On this day,” she said softly, and it wasn’t a question. “Tell me, does the trip bring you any absolution, in your mind?”

His gaze sharpened as he stared at her. Then he nearly laughed at himself. He should have known Quinn would marry a sharp, smart, perceptive woman. “No. Not an iota.”

“No one demands as much penance from us as we do from ourselves.”

“No amount could make up for Amanda losing her father.”

“No. Nothing can.”

Something that had come into her voice made him say, “You know, don’t you?”

She nodded. “My father was also a police officer. Killed in the line of duty when I was sixteen.”

His eyes closed and he let out a weary sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Unlike with some who say that but know nothing about it, I believe you.”

That made his eyes snap open. “I—”

He broke off as something moved on the edge of his vision. He looked that way. It was a dog, heading toward them at a run.

“Uh-oh,” Hayley said. “That dog I mentioned? He’s really smart. As in open the truck hatch smart.”

“He’s yours?”

“Uh-huh. And,” she added as the animal rapidly covered the ground between them, “he’s apparently on a mission. Quinn?”

She called out the last, and her husband turned to look. But instead of being upset or worried that the dog was loose, he looked only interested.

Adam watched as the animal slowed to a trot now that most of the distance separating him from his people was covered. He looked like he’d be about knee-high to him, and his coloring was rather distinctive, mostly black over his head and shoulders and a sort of russet tan from there back to a very full, plumy tail. He greeted Hayley with a quick swipe of his tongue over her fingers, and she stroked his head. But then she, as Quinn was doing, just waited.

The dog stopped in front of Adam, sat and looked up. The animal’s gaze was so intense it was a bit unsettling. He wasn’t sure if he should try to pet the dog or not, but then a wet nose nudged his hand. His right hand. He gave the animal a tentative stroke. The dog leaned into it, in a way that somehow eased the turmoil in his mind, and unknotted his gut. He stared at the animal, a little stunned at how much better he felt. Even his elbow, aching a bit in the December chill, felt better.

“Meet Cutter,” Hayley said softly. “The four-footed member of the Foxworth team.”

“And perhaps the most indispensable.”

Quinn’s voice came from behind him; apparently he’d come over to see what was up with the dog. Thankfully, for Adam, Amanda had remained where she was.

“He’s...” He couldn’t think of a word.

“Yes, he is,” Hayley said. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Does he always have this effect on people?”

“Unless you’re one of the bad guys,” Quinn said. “Then you’d likely have lost that hand by now.”

“And in case you’re wondering,” Hayley added, “he’s an excellent judge of character.”

“Among other things,” Quinn said, with a glance at his wife that had so much love—and heat—in it that it made Adam lower his gaze.

The dog got to his feet again, gave Quinn the same swift lick of greeting he had Hayley, and then trotted off toward Amanda. Adam couldn’t resist watching. The dog sat at her feet much as he had before but, apparently familiar with him, Amanda didn’t hesitate to bend and stroke his head. He leaned into her in the same way he had Adam, and he could see by her expression it was having the same calming effect.

But then the dog did something odd. He stood, turned, sat again, this time with his back to Amanda, and stared at Quinn and Hayley. Then he came back to Adam, sat in the same way and did the same stare.

“Well, well,” Quinn said with interest.

“Indeed,” said Hayley, with a glance from him to Amanda and back again.

Adam had no idea what all that was about. He glanced at Amanda, and she seemed just as puzzled.

“So tell me,” Hayley said, “before her father’s death, how did you and Amanda get along?”

Adam blinked. What on earth had made her ask that? He wished she hadn’t. Because it brought back all those memories. Of the first day he’d met his partner’s daughter, who had not at all been the girl he’d sort of expected but a lovely young woman. The kind who would have turned his head anywhere. But then he’d always had a weak spot for redheads, and her long, silky fall of hair had that burnished autumn-leaves color that always caught his eye.

And when she had smiled at him up from under thick, gold-tipped lashes, her eyes that vivid, heart-stopping green, he’d thought, for a moment, there might be something...

But now all he knew for sure was that she hated him.

And she had every right.

Chapter 3

Amanda still couldn’t believe he was here.

Adam Kirk. The man who had been her father’s partner that night, who should have had his back. Yes, he’d still been a rookie, but nearly off probation, and even he had said if he’d been quicker to realize what was happening, his partner might still be alive. And yes, he’d been shot himself, but only in the arm, while Quinn had been shot in the torso and still had managed to grab her father’s weapon and take the shooter down.

And on top of that, he was a quitter. He’d left the department after the killer’s trial, left town after that, and never come back. She had no respect for that, she who had been raised by the man buried here, who had taught her to never quit on anything she really wanted.

She stared at Adam across the distance between them, her jaw tight. She hadn’t seen him since the trial, and hadn’t spoken to him since the day she’d blown up at him in the hospital. She refused to feel bad about that, even now. He’d been there with only his arm bandaged while her father was down in the morgue. He’d had it coming, every bit of it. And he knew it. He’d never said a word back, he’d just refused to meet her eyes and taken it, so she knew he knew it.

She wished she could have hung on to that odd sort of calm that had come over her when Cutter, the Foxworths’ dog, had come to her. She didn’t like feeling this angry. And sometimes she wondered if her lingering anger had something to do with the fact that when she’d first met her father’s new partner, she’d practically drooled. Dark hair and gray eyes that made her question her usual preference for blue. That tall, lean body, that way of walking that wasn’t quite swagger, and made sense when she’d learned he’d grown up on a ranch. Which also made him the cowboy of her more girlish dreams, an image that had been sealed in her mind the day he’d shown up at the police-sponsored booth at the fair in Puyallup in a black cowboy hat.

And suddenly she was back to that day, looking up at him, wanting to make him smile so she could see that dimple in his right cheek flash. So she’d teased him that he was a police officer, he should be wearing a white hat now.

White hats get dirty too easily, Mandy.

She had allowed him the use of the nickname, a sign of her instant attraction she supposed. Of course she’d retracted that permission, furiously, that night in the hospital when she’d told him exactly what she thought of him.

But now, as she looked at him across her father’s grave, she remembered his words as if they’d been a warning. He didn’t wear a white hat because he didn’t really deserve the appellation, the symbol. He didn’t wear a white hat because he knew he’d dirty it.

She was startled when Quinn and Hayley—and Cutter—seemed to be leading Adam back toward her. The dog, in fact, was nudging at him from behind, just as a herding dog would a stray.

Quinn hadn’t blamed Adam for what had happened that night, even though he had been hurt much worse. She had been puzzled at first, since it was so obvious, but realized she was looking at it like someone who had grown up around cops all her life. And rule number one was, you always have your partner’s back.

Adam had not had her father’s back.

“Took you five years to decide you cared enough to show?” The words broke from her before she thought. She didn’t want to have a fight here, over her father’s final resting place.

Adam’s head came up then. And her first idiotic thought was that his eyes were a darker gray than she remembered. “I’ve been here every year,” he said quietly.

He had? Or was he just saying that?

“I’ve run into him here twice,” Quinn said, as if he’d heard her doubts.

A long moment of silence spun out, seemingly magnified by the peaceful setting.

“I didn’t know your father,” Hayley finally said, her voice soft. “But from what I’ve heard and read, he would not want his beloved daughter to spend the rest of her life angry.”

“I’m not. Most of the time.”

Her gaze flicked to Adam in time to see him wince. It gave her no pleasure to have hit home. And, as on that day in the hospital, he said nothing.

“Amanda, it wasn’t his fault,” Quinn began, but somewhat to her surprise, Adam cut him off.

“It was. And she knows it as well as I do. I deserve every bit of what she feels about me. I was his partner, and I didn’t have his back.” He shifted his gaze to Amanda. “I’m sorry I disturbed you. I didn’t see you in time, or I would have waited.”

He walked past her then and stopped next to her father’s headstone. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, and she found herself wondering what he was thinking. Then he straightened, stared at the stone for a moment. And lifted his right hand toward his forehead as if about to make a formal salute. But he stopped short.

Like he did in everything.

And then, silently, without another look at her, he walked away.

Adam wanted nothing more than to get back in his truck and head home. If he hadn’t had that appointment in the morning he would have. But the orthopedist had been adamant about this final checkup. He supposed he had some city paperwork to sign off on or something. Otherwise Adam didn’t see the point. His arm was as good as it was ever going to get, at least as it was now, he knew that. The only thing they’d been able to offer for the existing joint was a seemingly endless stream of surgeries that might or might not help. He’d already had six, carried around enough plating and screws to set off metal detectors, and adding another surgical scar wasn’t high on his list of things to accomplish. Eventually, he might go for the elbow replacement surgery they’d been pushing. But for now, he’d had enough of hospitals, doctors and, most of all, scalpels.

The only thing he liked less was this urge he felt to run. Again.

And so he didn’t. He instead made himself drive to the center of their old beat, found a parking place in front of the hardware store, got out and began to walk. It had changed a bit in five years. He passed the bakery, where Greg had often stopped not for the cliché of doughnuts, but for a particular cinnamon roll treat his daughter loved. They had still lived together, their relationship close, tight, since Greg’s wife had died when their daughter was barely five.

He remembered the first time it had hit him that Amanda was an orphan now. And the fact that she was an adult didn’t make that any less true, especially as close as they’d been. He had tried to imagine what it must feel like, what he would feel like, what it would have been like if he hadn’t had his folks, if they hadn’t been there to see him through the worst of his physical recovery. He couldn’t.

He passed the pet supply store, thankful not to see any sad-eyed, hopeful puppies that made him want to buy them all just to get them out of there. They’d given that up apparently—thankfully—because the window was instead full of treats and leashes and collars and some sweaters the ranch dogs would tear to bits rather than be caught wearing.

As he got closer, he realized his fists were clenched and his neck was tight. He tried to relax them, but it lasted only another three steps. Because then he was on the corner, looking across the narrow side street to the convenience store. Set back from the road enough for one small row of parking spaces, the 24/7 operation had always been on their patrol list. The owner at the time had been a Sikh, a badass guy whose grandfather had fought with the Allies in Italy in World War II, a fact Adam had learned during one of Greg’s impromptu history lessons given in this very store, to the delight of the owner who pronounced his account accurate. That man and his entire family had come to Greg’s funeral.

Adam had heard they’d sold the store soon after, not wishing to stay where this man they had considered an honored friend had died. He didn’t know who owned it now, and it didn’t really matter. The only thing that mattered was what had happened here.

The first thing he noticed was that they’d resurfaced the parking area. That didn’t matter either; he still knew exactly where Greg had gone down. He himself had been inside, but the instant when he’d gotten to the doorway after the sound of shots was acid-etched into his brain. His partner down, blood already pooling beneath him, and the stranger a couple of feet away, also bleeding, but who had somehow managed to roll over, grab Greg’s weapon from his limp hand and fire three rounds into the darkness at the side of the store.

Quinn Foxworth, doing the job he should have done. All because he’d believed the night cashier when she’d told Dispatch the robber had just run out the door and up the street. That Greg had told him to go on in while he checked the area didn’t matter either; he should have had his back.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

The old refrain rang in his head now as he once more faced the fact that what he should have done, could have done, would have done were all pointless and useless now. He’d done what he’d done, he hadn’t done what he didn’t, and the end result never changed; one of the finest men he’d ever known was dead. His adoring daughter’s life would never, ever be the same.

And he had no right to complain just because his wouldn’t, either.

He turned on his heel and walked back the way he’d come. He didn’t know what he’d hoped to accomplish by coming here. He only knew that what he had accomplished was to make his already grim mood even darker.

Chapter 4

The Foxworth dog was amazingly polite, Amanda thought as she refilled Quinn’s coffee mug.

When they’d first come in, she’d only been thinking she’d like to get to know Hayley better, which was why she’d asked them to come back to the house with her. She’d glanced out into the living room while she made the coffee and had seen Quinn standing in front of her father’s official department photograph on the wall, looking lost in thought.

Hayley had taken a seat on the sofa, with Cutter sitting politely at her feet. She’d never had a dog, although she’d always liked them. It wouldn’t have been fair to the animal when she’d been away at school so much and her father had worked odd shifts.

When they were all seated around the low coffee table, Cutter got to his feet and came to her. He sat in front of her, watching her with that same steady regard he had at the cemetery. Instinctively, she reached out to stroke his head. And there it was again, that same feeling of...calm. Soothing, that’s what it was. The dog’s thick, plumed tail wagged slightly, and that only added to the feeling. She decided she could forgive him for being upset that Adam had left; he must be one of those dogs that just loved people. Maybe that’s what caused the feeling of tension easing.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Hayley said. Amanda looked up to see Quinn’s wife smiling.

“Yes,” she said.

“You should see him when he makes visits as a therapy dog.”

“I’ll bet he’s really good at that.”

“He is. Took almost no training at all. They said it’s instinctive with some dogs.”

Amanda stroked the dog’s head again, then impulsively leaned down and planted a kiss between his ears.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Quinn said with a chuckle. “He’s going to make himself at home.”

“He’s welcome to,” she said, meaning it since clearly the dog had excellent manners.

But she was a little surprised when Cutter got to his feet and began to wander, not idly as if curious, but... almost intently, as if he were looking for something.

“Are you glad you moved back here?” Quinn asked.

She knew he meant the house; she’d had her own place for a couple of years, but had moved back here immediately after that night. And she knew she owed this man above all others honesty. “Yes and no. It both comforts me because he feels close, and hurts because he’s gone. Although it would be worse if it was actually in the city where he worked.” As if they could have afforded that, even if they’d wanted it. She sighed. “People keep telling me to move, but...”

“Everybody walks this path at their own pace,” Hayley said gently, and Amanda remembered her own mother had died several months before she’d met Quinn. “And you may reach a point where staying does you more harm than good, but only you can decide when that is.”

“Just be honest with yourself,” Quinn advised. “If it hurts too much to go, stay. If it hurts too much to stay, go.”

“That’s my husband, ever logical,” Hayley said with a loving smile.

“If I only knew the answer to either of those,” Amanda said wryly.

“Leave for a while, then, and see how it feels,” Quinn suggested. “Go somewhere for the rest of the winter. Be a snowbird for a bit.”

“I’ve thought about that,” she admitted.

“So do I,” Hayley said, “whenever I go south to visit my brother. Which we’ll be doing in a few days.” A broad smile curved her mouth. “He’s getting married.”

“Congratulations to him,” Amanda said, meaning it; she had nothing but good feelings about the Foxworths and anyone connected to them. “I was—”

A sharp bark cut off her words. Cutter had disappeared, and the bark had come from the back of the house. She instinctively looked at Quinn. For translation, she supposed.

“Hmm. That’s interesting,” was all he said, but he got up and headed toward the sound.

Amanda followed. She was a bit apprehensive and more than a little startled when she realized the dog had gone into what she now called—or tried to—the library, but which had also always been her father’s office. His desk was here, and the laptop she’d spent so much time poring over immediately after his death. The bookshelves along one wall were full; her father had grudgingly used an e-reader for some things, but print had always been his first choice. She had also kept her own books there, mostly from before her own e-reader days, which she had taken to much more thoroughly than he had.

That’s because I’m old, Mandy.

He’d been half joking, but it still wrenched at her. Because he would never get old now. She’d heard someone say once that you never really understood what forever meant until you lost someone you loved. She hadn’t gotten it then. She did now.

Cutter was nosing at the bottom shelf, which held her childhood favorites, including a magical series she to this day went back and read now and then. And she had been very tempted lately, as this grim anniversary had neared, to begin anew with book one, hoping to find some escape in the much-loved story.

She gave a start when the dog pawed at the middle book; she didn’t want it damaged. The books had all been gifts from her father, who had amusedly gone with her to the midnight release parties at the bookstore that was now, sadly, half the size it had once been. But she saw that Cutter was being very gentle about it, in fact he was more patting the book than pawing at it. Then he stopped, that paw atop the book, and looked up at Quinn.

“What have you got there, boy?” Quinn asked as he crouched down. He pulled out the volume the dog had been touching, the middle—and longest—book of the series. The moment he did Cutter sat. Quinn straightened, looked at the dust jacket of the hardcover. “Yours, I assume?”

“Yes.” She quickly explained about the books and their meaning to her, and the connection with her father.

Quinn gave her a steady look. “You ever go back and read these again?”

She colored slightly. They were children’s books after all. Supposedly. But she’d always found worth in them, even now. “Yes. I do.”

Quinn glanced around the room then. Nodded toward the desk in the opposite corner. “Your dad used this room as an office?”

“Yes,” she said, her brow furrowing now, wondering what that had to do with anything. Wondering even more what Quinn was finding so significant. “What is it? Does he smell something on that book?” She managed a faint smile. “I admit I tended to eat when I was reading them, because I couldn’t put them down for dinner.”

“You’re not the only one.” Hayley’s quiet voice came from beside her. “I remember reading those to my mom when she was sick. It was the only thing that gave her any enjoyment when it got really bad.”

Amanda smiled, and grabbed Hayley’s hand to squeeze it.

“Let’s see if we can find out what’s got him intrigued,” Quinn said.

Amanda appreciated how carefully he held the book, and it made her think he had probably done the same with his own father’s things one day in the past. She knew the basics of how Quinn and his sister had founded the Foxworth Foundation, in memory of their parents who had been killed in the terrorist bombing of an airliner when they had been just children. And that the foundation’s mission had been born out of their fury and frustration that the perpetrator had been released after a backroom political deal.