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He continued up the road, passing a row of small houses on his way into town. He was surprised when Charlie Greer raced down his driveway, arms flailing, white hair mussed.
“Someone’s busted into my yard,” Charlie said, his plaid shirt stained with axle grease. “Gone now, though.”
James got out, Hawk following.
The baying of several dogs caught Hawk’s attention, and he lumbered over to the fenced front yard, adding his own noise to the mix, tail wagging. James smiled as Hawk shoved his big nose through the fence to greet the dogs, including a German shepherd puppy named Stormy that Charlie had acquired recently.
“How’s your new dog getting along?”
Charlie’s face softened, and he looked years younger. “Swimmingly, but that ain’t what I wanted to tell you.”
James dutifully followed Charlie to his backyard, which was surrounded by a sturdy wooden fence.
“Found it just now when I got home.” The bolt on the gate had been cut through, and someone had entered the yard. The back door to the house was still shut up tight. There was no sign the intruder had gone any farther. James tensed. What would induce someone to break into Charlie’s backyard? The man lived modestly, fixing cars when he could to supplement his Social Security benefits. There was not much on the premises that could be fenced or sold. “Why didn’t the dogs raise a ruckus?”
“Probably did,” Charlie said. “I was out buying some spark plugs. Musta just happened because the dogs were milling around, and most of ’em hadn’t gotten out yet through the busted gate. I put ’em in the side yard, and then I saw you.”
James nodded. “I’ll take a look in the woods. Stay here.”
He called to Hawk and let the dog sniff around where the person must have been standing to cut the bolt. Hawk nosed eagerly, electrified to be starting off on a possible search. With no scent item to track, it would be up to the dog to catch any odor particles left in the air or soil. Unlikely that he’d find anything, but Hawk was always eager to try.
He clipped Hawk to a fifteen-foot lead, and they took off into the thick canopy of pines. Hawk stuck to a narrow trail that bisected the woods, paralleling a dry creek bed. They hiked for about ten minutes. James was ready to call off the search when suddenly, the dog stiffened, let loose with an ear-splitting howl and plunged ahead. James put a hand on his gun and followed, fending off the slap of low branches. He couldn’t imagine that anyone would be hiding in these woods, but he’d learned one thing in the long hours of training with Hawk and the deceased Veronica Earnshaw: trust the dog. With noses that could detect scent a thousand times better than humans, bloodhounds were master trackers. Truly, Hawk was a nose with a dog attached.
Hawk let out another spine-jarring howl.
James saw the heavy branch being swung at his head a second before it hit him. He was able to raise an arm to fend off the blow, but it sent him off balance, and he fell hard on his back. There was a sound of running feet. Hawk darted after the fleeing figure for a few yards, then turned and raced back at his fallen handler’s command. James heard a car engine, his hopes for a capture vanishing.
Hawk shoved his wrinkled jowls close and slurped a fat pink tongue over James’s forehead.
James sat up. Hawk continued to lick him until he waved him off.
“All right, you big lug. I’m okay. I just fell. That’s all.” He got to his feet, brushing pine needles from his uniform pants.
As he and Hawk trekked back to Greer’s place, he wondered who would be brazen enough to break into his yard in broad daylight.
The striking reporter’s words came back to him.
What is going on in this town?
Madison continued to fume as she squeezed her car into a curbside space along the main street. On her way here she’d stopped at the K-9 training center just to get a visual in her mind of where the grisly Earnshaw shooting had taken place. Twenty minutes was all she allowed herself. The center was larger than she’d pictured, a white stucco building with two outdoor training yards and no dogs in sight. What had she expected to find? She wasn’t sure. Stick to the story you’re supposed to be writing, Mads. Get that done first, and then see what else you can unearth.
In the early hours, the sidewalks were empty, most of the businesses not yet open. It was so different from the bustle of urban life. She was still adjusting to the slow pace of Tuckerville, and Desert Valley was even smaller. Growing up with a father who loved cities, the bigger the better, they’d lived everywhere from San Francisco to Austin until they’d settled in Arizona. It was in sun-bleached Phoenix that her Uncle Ray, a reporter who’d spent fourteen years looking for them, finally tracked them down, delivering the truth in a scorching revelation. Her father was a murderer and a child abductor.
The ever-present tension in her stomach kicked up a notch. Madison Coles had no one now, except Kate. The thought of her sister and the tender closeness they no longer shared cut at her.
Why couldn’t Kate understand that the truth had set them free? But Kate had never accepted the loss of their father. His incarceration was the beginning of a very long, troubled path that saw her sister bounce from one disastrous relationship to another until finally she’d hit rock bottom two months ago and called Madison. Two months of ups and downs, but Madison was filled with hope that they might finally be rebuilding some small hope of a relationship. One positive sign? The note from her sister on the kitchen table that morning next to the neatly remade sofa bed where Kate had slept.
Got a waitressing job in DV! Tell you more later.
A job was a start—a great start—and though she wouldn’t admit it, she’d kept the scrawled message because of the little heart her sister had drawn there. Thank you, God, Madison breathed.
As she cruised downtown Desert Valley, Madison was not sure which restaurant had hired Kate. Not that there were many choices. There was the Cactus Café, a sandwich outfit and a new hot-dog shop that promised to open soon. No sushi place or Korean barbecue, unfortunately.
Stepping from the car, she decided to do some research for the story she’d been assigned while she tried to locate her sister. It was time to start interviewing the local business owners. At the other end of the street, she saw a police car pull to the curb. James Harrison stepped out, long, lean legs, powerful shoulders, a serious expression on his face and Hawk by his side. She might have assumed James always looked serious, but she’d seen his smile and the sparkle in those incredible eyes before he heard what her profession was. Don’t bother dreaming about those eyes, she chided herself.
He obviously had some megachip on his shoulder about reporters. Fine. When she was occupied in her extracurricular snooping, she’d go around him, find sources other than the handsome Harrison and his sarcastic colleague Ken Bucks. She about-faced and headed in the other direction to keep her distance.
Her stroll took her past the Brides and Belles bridal salon. All that white lace and beadwork on the display dresses made her queasy. Marriage was packaged up in pretty bows and baubles, but her parents’ marriage had been a living torment that ended in murder.
He beat her, Uncle Ray had told them. Your father terrorized your mother until it escalated to murder. The death of his sister left Ray with a burning need to deliver justice and save his nieces from growing up with a killer.
A killer. The gentle, smiling father who smelled of aftershave and was devoted to his girls. Daddy to them, murderer of their mother. The incongruity made her dizzy, and ten years of trying to understand it hadn’t made it any more comprehensible.
It was a half hour before opening time, but she spotted two cars in the lot