He shook his head. He was thirty-four and jaded as hell by a life in law enforcement. He should’ve seen trouble coming. He should have bruises or cuts, something to prove he’d put up some sort of struggle. But he didn’t.
What women said after being roofied was true. He didn’t know what he’d said and done, agreed to or argued about. The lost hours were a complete blank, as smoothly opaque as polished black marble.
He scrubbed a hand up and down the back of his neck. He felt stupid. He felt violated. He felt he’d somehow let himself down. He didn’t like any of those feelings. Or the fact that the men and women he worked with in mutual respect were now eying him with suspicious gazes. As if he were no longer one of them, maybe even a traitor.
Damage control. He needed to do it, and fast. He wasn’t here just because he’d promised Carly he’d make certain her store was secure. He wanted to watch the place. Maybe something would jog loose in his memory of the night before if he sat here in the dark.
Finally, satisfied that the night was empty of threat, he reached for the leash he wore like a second belt around his waist.
Harley, breathing excitedly with the opportunity for fresh air, waited patiently for the leash to be attached to his collar.
Once out of the car, he sniffed around carefully on the ground but never lost eye contact with Noah for more than a few seconds at a time. He was in his harness. That meant they were working. Harley didn’t know whether this was the real thing or a test, with a whiff of accelerant or bomb-making component hidden anywhere, even in the wheel rim of their car. His handler was like that, hiding test strips in a drawer or waste basket right in the Fire Investigation offices. It really didn’t matter that Harley couldn’t make the distinction between a test and a real search for explosives. But Noah suspected that Harley detected the pheromone change of excitement in his handler’s scent and so knew when he’d done something important. Those were the moments the K-9 lived for.
Bright eyes shining in the darkness, Harley kept a close eye on Noah’s hands, waiting for a command to “Seek.” Instead, Noah said, “Free,” which was permission to take care of his doggy business.
Snuffling in the night the way his handler had drunk the details through his human eyes, Harley processed the scents of the grassy patch at the edge of the parking lot. The area was perfumed with cigarette butts, chewed gum, gas exhaust from the hundreds of cars that had passed, raccoon scat, and the faint scent of cheeseburger from a wrapper that had landed briefly before being blown away in the chill breeze. But overwhelming everything was the strong urine of other dogs. Male and female, young and old. One with a gastric infection that made Harley back up a step. Another fresh pile so rich in the remnants of prime rib and pork chops, he was tempted to sample.
He swerved his gaze toward Noah, who would be sure to stop him if he tried. He sneezed, blowing the temptation out of his nostrils. And moved on to find a place to squat.
As Harley finished, a flashlight winked in the darkness across the street. Noah’s pulse jumped and his body went rigid. Yes, there it was again, inside Flawless.
“Damn.” He spoke softly but it was enough to stop Harley from investigating whatever new odor had taken his doggy fancy. He came quickly to stand before Noah, ears forward and head straining up toward his handler.
Noah reached back to touch his pancake holster, nestled behind his right kidney at his back. Inside was his Sig P239. As an arson investigator, invested with arrest powers, he was allowed to carry at all times. It would be just too good if the arsonist had come back. More likely it was a B&E trying to pick up some easy loot to fence.
He gave Harley the command for “silence,” then crossed the street quickly on the opposite side, glad for the boarded-up plate-glass windows. While they prevented Noah from seeing inside, they also protected him from being spotted easily from the inside. He scanned the shadows before and behind him as he proceeded down the side street across from the shop, looking for any signs of a lookout.
After a moment of dawdling, while Harley marked a fireplug, Noah determined that his B&E was probably alone. And just as probably he was a novice at robbery, or desperate enough not to care that his flashlight was dancing all over the interior.
Noah gained the nearside sidewalk quickly and made the decision to go in at the rear, the way the culprit had most likely entered. Sure enough the door was standing ajar. He glanced back at the rear parking lot, one last time, and noticed a familiar Mazda in the only occupied space. Well, hell. Carly Harrington-Reese was inside.
He gathered up Harley’s leash and pulled out his own flashlight. Just in case she was of the kind of woman who carried, he knocked hard on the doorframe before entering and called out, “Police. Show yourself.”