Law turned off the radio. So Faded Blue Eyes was telling him the truth. Too bad he couldn’t have been in on that.
He glanced over at Samantha, dozing peacefully on the seat. Since the major meltdown in Eureka Springs, he’d been feeling stronger. The daytime flashbacks were all but gone. Even the night terrors had lessened in frequency and intensity. He supposed he had Sam’s diligence to let him know that was true. That didn’t mean the worse attacks were gone forever. No one could promise that. Still, he couldn’t very well go back on patrol with a doodle as backup. He had a decision to make.
He’d given it some thought. He didn’t want another K-9 assignment. Something had changed with the loss of Scud. He couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d thought it was anger and grief and guilt making him reject the thought. It was those things. They didn’t, however, entirely explain the reason he didn’t want to have another K-9 partner. Something inside him just felt … different.
Images of Jori kept him company when he did feel—what did she call it? The blue devils. A sissy name for what he dealt with but, strangely enough, the name helped. Several counselors he’d dealt with in the early days had suggested he visualize pleasant memories to counteract flashbacks. They’d never worked for him. Perhaps because he had so few. Until lately.
Imagining himself lying next to Jori, naked and sated from making love, gave him peace of mind, and a hard-on. Oh well, nothing was perfect.
He glanced at his cell as it vibrated. Jori. This would be her fifth call of the morning, after a week of asked-for silence. She probably wanted to talk about the news, and ask him about Tice.
He didn’t have anything for her yet. Until he did, he wasn’t going to risk talking with her. It would be their final conversation. He wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t at all ready to let go of the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Still, he knew how to sacrifice for the greater good. That good, being her. He’d be a burden. She deserved better. He wanted her to have the best. That wasn’t him.
He grunted. Guess he’d learned not to be so selfish, after all.
Except he wasn’t ready for that final conversation.
He turned off the blacktop onto the gravel drive leading up to his cabin. The sight of a strange truck in his yard didn’t alarm him. He’d been avoiding reporters for two weeks. He’d just have thought the news of Tice’s imminent arrest would have outstripped a two-week-old story about a one-legged police officer.
His headlights gave him the first clue.
Missouri license plates. Not a reporter.
Law rolled to a stop fifty feet short. All his senses on alert. He lived in the woods for privacy. But that same privacy had liabilities. Whoever drove that truck would have heard him coming long before he saw that he had company. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a few advantages. The obvious advertisement painted on the side of his vehicle: STATE TROOPER. Being the law had its uses. Even with perps.
His headlights on bright to illuminate the area ahead, he waited a few seconds to see if anyone would exit the truck, or his front door. When that didn’t happen, he reached back to release the safety on his holster then eased out of his cruiser, leaving the door open as a shield.
His guest might be some innocent civilian. Whoever it was, he was about to scare the bejabbers out of his uninvited guest.
“State police. Show yourself.” At that moment he heard Sam’s low growl and swung around. But it was too late.
“Stop right there, Battise. Don’t make me shoot you.”
He couldn’t see the face of the man who’d been lying in wait for him. The guy had used the bright shaft of a high-beam flashlight to momentarily blind him. But he did recognize the voice.
“Pecker.”
“Turn around real slow. You know the drill.”
Law didn’t move, hand still on his holstered weapon, though he could not make out the barrel of Becker’s drawn weapon in the light. “You’re one of the fugitives, are you?”
“You don’t want to test me, Battise. I’m cold and getting wetter by the second. I want to talk to you. That’s all I came for. Talk. Now turn around. Hands on the back of your neck.”
Law turned around slowly. He’d have another opportunity.
“Kick your door shut. I don’t want to have to shoot your mutt.”
“No. She’ll freeze out here.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do about that?”
“Let me call her. I’ll put the leash on her. You’ve seen her. She’s harmless. Sam! Heel, girl.”
Even as the words left his lips Law hated saying them. Every K-9 he’d ever partnered with would have had Becker already on the ground and subdued without his command. It was an innate instinct in most dogs, even pets, to defend the pack. Sam was growling. But she lacked the bite drive of a German shepherd or Malinois. He wouldn’t risk her going for Becker and getting shot.