Listen to the Child. Carolyn McSparren

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      Mac pressed his palms against his eyes. “Okay, where’s this cat?”

      “There isn’t one. I just said that because if you don’t have at least some peanut butter crackers and potato chips out of the machine, you’re going to pass out facedown in somebody’s intestines.”

      “What about you?”

      “I brought myself a healthy lunch. Turkey sandwich and an apple. I just finished. You might consider packing yourself a lunch. Or don’t you do that sort of thing?”

      “Even I, Miss Mayfield, can make a turkey sandwich,” he said and headed for the conference room.

      As he munched his peanut butter crackers, he remembered that he’d promised to drop by Kit’s house in a couple of days to check on Kevlar. In the meantime, he could consult with his partners about trying her out on a part-time basis. The scrubbing and cleaning part of the job required no special skills. She said she had the computer skills already. Why not give her a chance?

      MAC HAD PROMISED to check on Kevlar. Tonight— Wednesday—was the night. He nearly lost his nerve when he saw a dark-green van parked behind Kit’s Jeep. Then he told himself that since this was a purely professional call, and since he couldn’t have telephoned ahead to let Kit know he was coming, he’d simply ring the bell and assume she wasn’t having a party.

      The instant the bell sounded, he heard Kevlar’s bark from inside the door, and a moment later, Kit opened it.

      “Dr. Thorn?” She sounded surprised.

      He felt tongue-tied and dry-mouthed. Ridiculous. He drew himself up to his six feet four. “I’m checking to see that you’re looking after Kevlar properly.”

      “Oh, really. See for yourself.”

      “I don’t want to intrude. You have company.”

      “Hey, Doc,” a male voice called from the living room. A stocky young man with a buzz cut stuck his head around the corner of the door. “It’s me, Vince Calandruccio. Adam’s daddy.”

      A moment later the largest black German shepherd Mac knew—and he knew plenty—stuck his head around the door as well.

      Mac grinned and said, “Hey, Adam, how’s the arthritis?”

      At a hand signal from Vince, Adam came forward, carefully sidestepping Kevlar, who stood quietly beside Kit. Mac dropped to one knee and began to ruffle the shepherd’s ears.

      “Adam moves a whole lot better, Doc, since you put him on that new stuff. You should have seen him do the police obstacle course last Friday. Fast as he was when he was a pup, weren’t you, boy?”

      Mac looked up and saw that Kit was getting only a few words of their conversation because Vince was behind her and Mac had bent his head over Adam. He stood, looked at Kit and spoke slowly. “Since Kevlar seems to be doing well, I’ll be on my way.”

      “How would you know?” Kit said. “You’ve barely looked at him.”

      “Hey, no, Doc,” Vince said. “Stay long enough to have a beer.”

      “I don’t want to interrupt.”

      “Interrupt, hell. Me’n Kit been friends since police academy. She worked the Dog Squad for a while until they found out what a great sniper she was.”

      “A sniper?” He turned to stare at her. “A police sniper?”

      “First woman in the T.A.C.T. squad. First woman sniper,” Vince said proudly. “Best in the business. Take out a gnat’s eye at a thousand yards. You ever get into a hostage situation, Doc, you better pray they send our gal Kit out to save you.”

      “Not any longer.” Kit sat in a wing chair beside the fireplace. Kevlar immediately jumped into her lap, turned in a circle and settled down. “Men are supposed to be better snipers than women because their pulse and heart rate are slower, but mine used to be so low that every time they took it they wondered if I was actually alive.”

      She shrugged her shoulders as though it didn’t matter, but Mac could tell it mattered terribly. “I could probably train hard enough to get it down again, but my depth perception’s all screwed up.” She touched the scar that bisected her eyebrow. “Besides, who needs a sniper who can’t hear the order to fire?”

      Mac had never registered that Kit’s sardonic look came from the thin scar that raised her left eyebrow slightly. “The scar is barely visible. Good stitching.”

      “As good as yours?” She raised that eyebrow at him.

      He lifted his shoulders. “Close.”

      “So how ’bout that beer?” Vince headed for the kitchen with easy familiarity.

      Adam followed his master with his eyes, but didn’t rise from his place beside the couch.

      When Vince came back with the drink, Mac took the beer, which he really didn’t want, and sat opposite Kit so that she could see both his face and Vince’s. “Where is your daughter?” he asked.

      “Upstairs doing homework.”

      Vince stretched out his thick legs in front of him and leaned his head on the back of the sofa. “Doc, as long as you’re here, how about some advice.”

      Mac nodded.

      “See, you’re keeping Adam here going fine, but he’s seven years old now and close to retiring as a police dog. The canine unit likes younger dogs.” Vince reached down and scratched behind the dog’s ears. “He’ll be going home with me for good when he does. See, right now we either get dogs from Germany—that’s where Adam came from—or from a guy in Ohio who breeds German shepherds specifically for police departments.”

      “I know that.”

      “He assesses the pups and does basic training for the first two years, then if he thinks a dog’s a good candidate, he recommends we buy it. So far he’s been a hundred percent on the nose. We’re paying upward of ten thousand bucks a pup, then we have to complete the training and train the handlers ourselves.”

      “Ten thousand dollars?” Mac said. “Isn’t that a bit steep even for a good shepherd?”

      “Not for these guys,” Vince said. “The imported Belgian Malinois cost even more. Thing is, I think with the right female, I could breed some pretty good pups from old Adam here.”

      “Possibly.”

      “I got my eye on a great big old girl from outside Leipzig in what used to be East Germany—that’s where Adam came from. I’ve got permission to breed her to him if I can get her over here. I could undercut the guy from Ohio and still make one heck of a profit, even if I only sold one pup a litter to a police department and the rest for pets.”

      “So what do you want from me?”

      “Think Kit here could manage a kennel?”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ