Operation Power Play. Justine Davis

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       Chapter 4

      Cutter was sitting by the door when he opened it.

      This wasn’t strange. The dog had been right there every day since he’d been here. It didn’t matter what time he managed to break for lunch—the dog was ready and waiting. Brett supposed he must hear him coming.

      But today the usually present yellow tennis ball was absent. And instead of greeting him with a tail wag and a happy yip, the dog bolted past him and ran toward the car parked in front of the house.

      “You want a ride?” Brett said, puzzled.

      Cutter sat next to the back driver’s-side door. He looked back over his shoulder at Brett.

      “Buddy, I’m on duty. I can’t just take off for a leisurely jaunt.”

      Cutter just looked at him.

      “Seriously, dog, I can’t.”

      Cutter yipped, short and sharp. But didn’t move.

      Brett sighed. “I have a feeling I haven’t had enough sympathy for the Foxworth crew.”

      The moment he spoke the name, Cutter jumped up, letting loose a staccato series of barks. He rose up and put his paws on the car door.

      “I know you must miss them, but they’re not home yet.”

      Brett realized with no small amount of amazement that he was carrying on a conversation with a dog. A conversation that should have been one-sided yet felt anything but.

      Cutter stayed where he was, only now he was pawing at the door handle. With his luck, he’d probably put some scratches in the paint that Brett would have to answer for. It was a county car, after all, even if it was his for the duration.

      He glanced at his watch. Because he’d already been at this end of the county for the deposition, he had a bit more time. With a sigh, he gave in. It was for only a little while longer, after all. Then Cutter would go home, and his life would go back to the normal, quiet thing it usually was off duty. He needed that, with the kind of job that took up his working hours.

      Cutter leaped into the backseat the instant he opened the door. Once he was back in the driver’s seat, he pondered where to go. Maybe the dog just wanted to visit home, make sure everything was all right while his people were gone.

      He nearly laughed at his own thought. He was fairly certain that kind of thought process was beyond the average dog’s capabilities.

      But then, Cutter wasn’t an average dog.

      He decided it couldn’t hurt and started the car. The dog sat quietly in the back until he reached the intersection where he had to turn to get to Hayley and Quinn’s place. He’d been there only once. Actually, he hadn’t been there; he’d been to the next house over, which had been destroyed in an apparent propane explosion. When the firefighters suspected there might be a body inside, it had been all hands on deck until they’d sifted through the smoking ruin and determined there hadn’t been anyone inside after all. Once that was certain, the case had gone back to the fire department and their investigators.

      It wasn’t until much later, after he’d met Quinn and Hayley, that he’d gotten the full, dramatic story on that one. Hell of a way to start a relationship, he thought as he started to pull into the left-hand-turn lane to head toward their house.

      Cutter erupted into furious barking.

      The suddenness and the sheer volume nearly made him jump. He hit the brakes, thankful for being in a semirural area without much traffic. The dog stayed on his feet, apparently braced for the stop. The moment the car halted, the racket ceased.

      “What the hell, dog?”

      He turned to look into the backseat. Cutter was still on his feet, staring intently out the side window. The other side, facing the opposite direction. Away from home for the dog.

      It took him a moment to realize what lay in that direction. The Foxworth building.

      “There’s nobody there either,” he said. “Quinn gave everybody the time off while they’re gone.”

      Cutter never moved. Never even looked at him when he spoke. Just stared in that same direction.

      “Okay, okay, I get it. Hang on.”

      He looked around to be sure they were clear and made a right turn instead. Cutter immediately settled down once more, seemingly happy that his temporary custodian—or should that be servant?—had finally understood. Brett’s mouth quirked as he shook his head at himself. At least there was that big clearing behind the building, he thought. He could run Cutter as well there as at home. There seemed to be no shortage of tennis balls in his car these days.

      The dog stayed still until he made the last turn, onto the narrow road toward the secluded Foxworth location. Cutter got up then but remained quiet, eager, but satisfied Brett knew where they were going.

      He was sure if he stopped to think about the fact that he had just skipped lunch, gotten back in his car, driven twelve miles and then changed his destination, all at the direction of a dog, it would seem ridiculous. Trying to explain it to anyone who had never met Cutter would be impossible. He knew trying to explain it to, say, one of his fellow detectives would result in jokes about psychiatric committal.

      Yet here he was, about to turn down the curving gravel drive that led to the green three-story building hidden among tall trees that was Foxworth’s Northwest headquarters. And utterly certain this was what the dog had wanted. That he was doing what a dog wanted was something he was just going to have to come to terms with.

      Then again, doing what the dog wanted this morning had ended up with him on a first-name basis with Sloan Burke.