The Marine's Last Defence. Angi Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ get the dog loose was to get wet himself. The poor mutt shivered hard enough to knock his tags together. Jake could relate, having been there a time or two.

      Working his tall frame closer, his slacks were soaked as the slush seeped through the cloth. The snow that dropped on the back of his neck quickly melted from his body heat and dampened his skin. He slipped his hand around the dog collar and tugged again, receiving a louder howl and whimper.

      “Are you hurt, boy? Is that why you can’t move? All right, then. I might as well send my coat to the cleaners, too.” He stretched onto his belly, sliding forward until he could reach the hindquarters of the dog, which had gone completely still. “What’s wrong besides me calling you a boy when you’re clearly a girl?”

      Nothing felt out of place or broken. The pup’s whine was consistent. The harder he pulled her toward freedom, the more the dog pressed backward.

      The leash was caught on something or the pup was injured. He pulled hard and he still couldn’t get the leash free. Blindly he followed the leather to an icy death grip of fingers, causing him to instantly retreat. His jerky reaction scared the dog, causing her to struggle harder in the dark.

      “It’s okay, sweetheart. Take it easy and I’ll get you out of here.” Jake kept a firm grip on the collar, snagged the flashlight from his pocket and flipped the switch to take a closer look at the body.

      The glassy look of the dead took him back to Afghanistan. He’d experienced that look more than once in his military career. Male or female, it always twisted his gut.

      Then it hit him. The smell of death. Faint, most likely because of the cold, but there wafting into his brain and triggering more memories that he wanted to forget. Once experienced, he could never forget.

      The call hadn’t been a prank. The woman’s coat was covered in white. She’d been there all night. He’d flattened the crime scene getting to the dang dog, which wouldn’t or couldn’t leave her side.

      “Hold on there, girl. I’m not going to hurt you. Give me a second here.” He couldn’t remove the leash from the body. So he’d have to disconnect the dog.

      Expensive leash with a word etched into the wet leather. “Dallas? That your name or just a souvenir?” He kept a grip on the Lab with his left hand and unsnapped the leash from the dog harness with his right.

      He crooned, attempting to calm the shivering mass of fur. He peeled his jacket off in the cramped space, the sharp broken twigs poking him with every shrug. He draped Dallas and shoved his coat under the dog’s legs. He took one last look into the frozen face. There was something about her, or the situation.

      Something he couldn’t put a name to. Or maybe just a habit he’d started with the first investigation he’d had as a military cop. He didn’t want to make the vow. He had a clean slate but couldn’t stop the words. “Whoever did this won’t get away. And I’ll take care of your pup, ma’am. That’s a promise.”

      Unable to move, Dallas didn’t struggle much covered in his jacket. Jake pulled her free, shimmying under the fence instead of scaling it, dragging the pup under after. Then he sat on a fallen tree, holding Dallas in his lap. He began to feel the cold as the wind whipped through the secluded jogging path that viewed the spillway overlook and hit his wet clothes.

      Dallas made a unique noise halfway between a howl and whine.

      “It’ll be okay, girl. We’ll find you another owner before too long.” He stroked the pup’s head and she quieted just a bit. Her tags indicated a rabies vaccination and that she’d been chipped, but they’d need Animal Control to access the information.

      Jake tried his radio. Nothing. He took his cell from its carrier on his hip. Nothing. He moved up the hill until he had reception and dialed.

      “Dallas 911. What’s your emergency?”

      “This is Detective Jake Craig, badge 5942. I have an expired subject. Bus required at Garland and Winstead parking lot WTR 114 marker.”

      “An ambulance has been dispatched to your location. Do you need me to connect you to Homicide?” the dispatcher asked.

      “Thanks, but we’re already here.”

      “Understood, Detective Craig.”

      Protocol required him to ask for an ambulance, but he knew it wasn’t necessary. The woman frozen to the ground a couple of feet away was dead and had been most of the night. He’d seen the dead before. Many times over and under too many circumstances to remember them all. He didn’t want to remember.

      Life was easier when he didn’t.

      The pup tipped her soggy face up at him, and then rested on his thigh. Jake looked around the crushed crime scene as he dialed his partner’s cell. “I don’t know about you, Dallas, but it’s going to be a helluva long day.”

      Chapter Two

      This murder should have been Jake’s. He’d discovered that body—and ruined the crime scene. No one razed him or admonished him for being so stupid.

      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.

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