Rookie K-9 Unit Christmas: Surviving Christmas. Lenora Worth
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“Their business was with Sandra.”
“Agreed. So, how can I help you?”
“You can get me into that service dog program you mentioned when I was first discharged. I need to get my emotions under better control if I intend to survive more real life attacks.”
“Okay. I’ll see the director, Ellen Foxcroft, and put your name on her waiting list.”
“That’s not enough. Not after last night.”
Zoe could tell from his tone that he was approaching an emotional crossroad and wished they were face-to-face so she could judge his condition more accurately. “Are you and Patrick out of danger now?”
“Temporarily. I threw some clothes and stuff into the pickup, and I’ve been driving around, thinking, ever since the police left. I can’t take him back to the apartment. Whoever came after me last night may try again.”
“What about going to your in-laws? They have plenty of room for both of you, don’t they?”
“I’d rather hole up in a cardboard box on the street than rely on them,” Sean said. “The Shepherds were so concerned with excusing Sandra’s addiction and transferring blame, they laid it all on me.”
“Okay. Tell you what,” Zoe said, hoping her growing concern was masked, “why don’t you come on down to Desert Valley to visit me? I was going to head back to Mesa soon, but there’s no hurry. I don’t start my new assignment until after the first of the year, and the Desert Valley PD can use a few substitute cops here while their regulars take holiday time off.”
“What good will a few weeks do me?”
“It’ll give you a chance to chill out, for one thing. Besides, once Ellen meets you and Patrick and realizes how special your needs are, maybe she’ll make an exception and work you in.”
The quiet on the other end of the line troubled her. The Sean Murphy she’d met in college was nothing like this traumatized widower. Coming home from combat with PTSD was bad enough without having to face the death of his spouse and near loss of his only child.
“All right,” Sean finally said.
She almost cheered. Instead, she said, “I’m looking forward to it. And to meeting Patrick.”
Silence again. Then, “He’s not himself yet. He may never be. Doctors keep reminding me there are no guarantees.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Anger tinged his reply. “Of course it does.”
“No,” Zoe told him tenderly. “It doesn’t. He’s your son and you love him. That’s enough for me.”
Although Sean’s goodbye was terse, she could tell he was touched by her total acceptance. She didn’t have to see the boy to know he merited a good life with the parent who was willing to sacrifice anything to help him. Everyone deserved a fighting chance at happiness.
Even babies who are born with fatal birth defects, she added, blinking rapidly. She had not wept for her nameless baby brother since she was five years old and a stranger had come to take him away. Mama had cried then, but Daddy had stood dry-eyed, staring at the tiny, imperfect bundle wrapped in the blue blanket.
That was the last time Zoe had been permitted to talk about the absent baby. It was as if he had never been born, which was apparently exactly what her parents had wanted.
The sense of injustice and concern for the helpless had begun then and had built throughout her formative years, perhaps even directing her path into law enforcement. She didn’t trust easily, but she did have a soft heart for the downtrodden.
Like Patrick. And like his daddy.
* * *
Sean’s next stop was the bank, where he withdrew all but a few dollars of his savings via the drive-through window. If there was any chance he was being tracked or followed, cash would be a necessity.
And speaking of being followed...
A black SUV seemed to be dogging them. It was back several car lengths, yet changed lanes whenever he did. His hands tightened on the wheel. His little boy was strapped in, of course, but that didn’t mean it would be safe to take evasive action, particularly if excessive speed was involved. Where were the cops when you needed them?
Sean whipped around a corner, determined to find a patrol car or police station. He checked his mirrors. The SUV was gone. Had he merely imagined it trailing them? Imagined was the key, wasn’t it? His mind was good at seeing enemies around every corner and behind every door, the way they’d been in Afghanistan. His body had come home, but part of his mind was still over there, still caught up in the fighting.
He couldn’t afford to show signs of instability. If the authorities concluded he was an unfit parent, they might take Patrick away. Worse, with no other close relatives available, they might place him with his negligent maternal grandparents.
The only thing that mattered to Sean was his own assurance that Patrick was absolutely safe with him. If he’d thought otherwise, he’d have stepped back and voluntarily relinquished custody.
Glancing in the rearview mirror at his curly haired look-alike strapped into the narrower backseat he smiled. “You getting hungry, buddy?”
Patrick nodded.
“How about a quick burger? You like those, don’t you?”
Another nod.
“Sorry,” Sean said, urging speech the way the therapist had. “I don’t quite understand you. Can you say yes or no?”
The little boy looked back at his daddy with eyes as blue as the sky, smiled and said, “No.”
“Did you just make a joke?” Sean’s eyes misted.
Patrick’s grin spread as he said, “Yes,” and Sean was so excited by the possibility he almost let his pickup truck drift to the curb.
In moments, however, his pulse returned to normal. Patrick began to chant, “Yes, no, yes, no,” as if neither word meant anything to him.
Monitoring the traffic behind him, Sean picked up some fast food, then headed for the highway that would take him southwest to Desert Valley. He might not have an abundance of friends willing to stand with him, but at least he had one.
He’d checked his side-and rearview mirrors repeatedly and had seen no sign of the SUV that had worried him before. Nevertheless, the sooner he reached Zoe Trent, the better.
* * *
“Sean’s an old college friend who just got out of the army on a medical discharge,” Zoe told lead K-9 unit trainer Sophie Williams. “I was hoping you could have a word with Ellen Foxcroft and see if she can work him in to the therapy dog program.”
“And leave who else out?” Sophie was scowling.
Zoe knew her position as a rookie K-9 officer from Sophie’s most recent graduating class gave her very little influence. Nevertheless, she had to keep trying. “Maybe, since I’ve offered to hang around DVPD until after the holidays and sub, I could volunteer my services to you in my downtime and we could squeeze in an extra student and dog. There’s no place else I need to be, and I don’t have to report to work with Freya until after the first of the year.”
Looking for moral support, Zoe laid her hand on the Belgian Tervuren’s head and scratched behind her silky, erect ears. Fellow students had teased her about being assigned to a dog whose fur almost matched her own dark brown hair. That was fine with her.
“All right. I’ll speak to Ellen for you,” Sophie said.
Zoe thought she’d better give Sophie a little more information about Sean, including that he and his son would be staying with her. She explained about the PTSD. “And he’s a widower. His wife overdosed while she was supposed to be watching their son, Patrick.