He had been as intimidated as any police academy rookie when he’d been told he was being sent to Harmonie for three weeks to learn how to use an explosives detection dog. Harley was trained. It was all on him to prove that he had what it took to be the handler of such a gifted canine.
He could still remember his first impression of the owner, Yardley Summers. Tall, flame-haired, and gorgeous, but as intimidating as a drill sergeant, she’d looked him up and down and then turned away, leaving him feeling inadequate. That feeling quickly turned into determination to prove her wrong in her assessment. He’d worked twice as hard, drilled after classes, kept Harley by his side 24-7 until it felt like they were joined at the hip. Harley liked him. And he liked the goofball German Shepherd who never saw a scrap of food he didn’t like. Of course, he’d been trained not to eat anything that didn’t come from his handler. But that snatched burger wouldn’t be the last of Harley’s indiscretions where food was concerned. It didn’t matter if it was kibble, French fries, or a bit of birthday cake. Harley was a see-food, eat-food dog.
Noah smiled as he watched Harley sneak up on a flock of mourning doves arrayed on the lawn and then charge, scattering them into flight with panicky wingbeats. Harley never caught one. Noah suspected it was because he had no idea what to do with one if he did. Harley didn’t see the birds as food. That was a good thing.
Noah smiled as a gray bird fluttered to the ground near him. “Good morning, dove.” That’s what his son Andy called the birds: Good Morning Doves. He never corrected the boy.
The thought of Andy pinched off his smile. He didn’t like one bit having to send his son and parents out of town because of trouble he had brought, however involuntarily, on the family.
He’d talked with his father on the drive over to the dog park. They’d arrived at Padre Island the night before and settled in. In fact, his father was up preparing for the first day of fishing, while Andy slept in. His father told him to stop worrying. Andy was safe. He needed to handle his business and find the bastard who wanted him dead.
That was his dad, a man who knew how to motivate with soft words.
Noah felt a sensation like his heart being squeezed. He loved his parents, and Andy was his world.
He felt guilty each time he had to ask his folks to perform duties that were really his responsibility as a parent. But his job required him to be places and do things, sometimes with five minutes’ notice. He was a single parent, no matter how much he tried to spread himself out to cover that gap in his son’s life. But he wouldn’t change things if he could.
Out of all the regrets in his life, and there were a few, he had one solid victory on his side. He hadn’t tried to hold on when his ex-wife, Jillian, walked out on them the day before Andy turned three months old.
Andy didn’t remember his mother. Noah hadn’t tried to preserve her memory for his son. His parents weren’t happy with that decision, in the beginning. But what could he say to his child? Love and revere your mother’s memory though she made me buy custody of you and then never bothered to contact us again?
He wouldn’t put that burden on a young child.
When Andy was older, and asked, he would tell his son as much of the truth as he understood it. Phrases like “borderline personality disorder with abandonment issues” had no place in a preschooler’s vocabulary.
He wasn’t certain this was the right way to handle things. Maybe his own leftover anger and disappointment and sense of failure affected his decision. But there was one thing he did believe with conviction. His first and most important job as a father was to protect and nurture his child. To his final breath.
As Harley came sprinting back his way, Noah gave the hand sign for “stop.” Harley braked so hard, momentum sent his rear end swinging around to meet his front. But the dog dug in his claws and quickly righted himself and sat.
Noah fed Harley a treat, then sent him off with “Release!” Harley shot away, this time toward the abandoned Agility section.
As he followed his dog, the phone he’d borrowed from his sister rang. He’d given the number to the arson department, in case he was needed.
“You left incriminating evidence,” Merle Durvan began without preamble. “We’ve matched a set of your left-hand fingerprints to those lifted from the wall above the electrical socket where we found the WeMo. You braced yourself on the wall to plug it in.”
Noah frowned. “If I were committing arson, I wouldn’t leave prints any rookie investigator would look for.”
“Looking at it as a suicide attempt, I’m prepared to accept that you weren’t concerned about leaving evidence.”
Noah tamped down a spurt of anger. “You’ve decided I did this.”
“I’m not paid to have an opinion. Just collect evidence and put it together into a probable cause to press charges.”
“You coming to arrest me?”