Task Force Bride. Julie Miller
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what I meant.”
She hurried to retrieve the small parcel still sitting there, never giving him a chance to apologize.
“I know what you...” The box toppled off the trunk of her car before her fingers ever touched it. It landed flat on the ground, came to a complete rest, then wobbled on the asphalt. The thing rocked back and forth, moving several inches, as though it had sprouted feet and was slinking away. “That’s weird.”
When she went to pick it up, Pike latched onto her arm and pulled her back. “Hold on. Is that box from the wedding?”
“No.” She quickly moved away, hugging an arm around her waist and clutching her collar together at the neck. “My father had it when I came home.”
Pike let her go and squatted down to get a closer look at the package. Loosely taped. Plain brown wrapping. Moving away like a drunken snail. Something was wrong here. “Gift from your dad?”
“He handed it to me. Said he picked it up outside my door. I’m not sure where it came from.”
Pike read Hope’s name and this address scribbled directly onto the brown paper. “You got any friends who are into practical jokes? Maybe it’s full of Mexican jumping beans.”
But Hope wasn’t laughing. “I thought it might be from my brother overseas. He’s in the Marines. But there’s no APO address, country of origin or customs label, either.”
“There’s no cancelation stamp, period. This didn’t come through the mail. If your dad didn’t bring it, then someone left it here.” Pulling his gloves from his hip pocket, Pike rose to his feet. “Let me get Hans out to check it before you open it.”
“That’s not necessary. I...”
But Pike was already heading to his truck. He pulled Hans’s leash from the front seat before opening the back door. “Hey, big guy. Want to go to work?”
The familiar whines of anticipation were as clear as a verbal yes. Pike rubbed his hands around the German shepherd’s jowls and neck, reinforcing their bond and cueing his intention before he clipped the work leash to the harness between Hans’s shoulders. Pike rotated the dog’s collar so his brass badge hung in front of his deep chest. Then he patted the tan fur twice and issued the command to exit the truck.
Jogging at a pace that gave Hans a chance to stretch his muscles, Pike took him in a circle around the perimeter of the parking lot before he tugged on the lead and slowed the dog to put his sensitive black nose to work. “Find it, boy. Such!”
Working in methodical steps along the building’s south brick wall and around Hope’s car, Pike let Hans sniff the ground and vehicle. This was a game for the dog. In addition to his security work, he’d been trained to search for certain particular scents, and once he found one and sat to indicate his discovery, he’d be rewarded with a game of tug-of-war with his favorite toy. If Pike led him straight to the box, Hans might not identify it as anything suspicious because he hadn’t had the chance to track the scent first.
“There he goes.” Hans’s rudderlike tail wagged with excitement as he zeroed in on the trunk of the car. His breathing quickened and his nose stayed down as he picked up the trail of the mysterious package. “Find, it, Hansie,” Pike encouraged, repeating the command in German. “Such!”
His black nose hovered over the package, touched the ground beside it. He whined at a high pitch, then jumped back as the package moved again. Hans was panting heavily now, more worked up with excitement than with the duration of the search.
“What is it, boy?” The dog lifted his dark brown eyes to Pike and sat. “He’s not hitting on it like he does when there are drugs or explosives inside.” The dog’s high-pitched squeal indicated a degree of discomfort or uncertainty. “This is something different. I don’t think it’s anything dangerous or he’d let us know, but I’m damn curious to open it.”
After tossing Hans his toy, and giving him a few seconds of play time to reward him for completing his job, Pike pulled his utility knife from his belt and flipped it open. “I’m going to go ahead and open it. Unless you want to?”
With a cautious hand, Pike slit open the packing tape and peeled off the outer wrapping. As he set the paper aside, he turned his ear to a clicking noise coming from the tottering box. He leaned closer. Not clicking. Chattering. Shuffling, maybe. Oh, man. Was there something alive in there? Forgetting caution and feeling pity for whatever poor creature had been trapped inside, he sliced through the cardboard and pulled open the flap.
“Whoa.” Pike landed on his backside as he jerked away from the bugs tumbling out through the opening in the box. Hans barked at Pike’s surprise as the insects poured out, scurrying across the asphalt, seeking their freedom. Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. Cockroaches. Crickets. Centipedes. Creepies and crawlies he couldn’t identify. “What sick son of a...?”
He scrambled to his feet and backed toward Hope, positioning himself between her and the swarm of shock and terror. “Don’t come over here. You don’t need to see this... Hope?” Pike spun around, desperate for a glimpse of prim-looking glasses and tied-up hair. “Hope!”
She was gone.
Chapter Three
“Hope? Hope!”
“Get back here, girl! You runnin’ from me?”
Hope bolted the door behind her and scrambled up the stairs, desperate to put some distance between her and that huge, horrible monster.
The bugs were gross, a sick joke—maybe even from her dad. Probably meant to scare her into thinking she needed a man here. Maybe he’d even hoped she’d open the box inside her shop or apartment and then she’d hire him to exterminate every last one of them. Never. A bug she could step on.
But the dog...
“Hope?” The pounding on the door pushed her across the landing, past the double door leading to a loft storage area and straight to the restored antique door to her apartment. She dropped her keys when a thundering bark joined the pounding. “Are you in there? Are you okay?”
Knowing she was acting on blind panic, but feeling just as helpless to stop it, she scooped up the fallen keys and unlocked the door.
“Hope? Answer me!” Wood splintered around the lock below as she pushed open the door and ran straight to her kitchen. “Go, boy! Voran! Hope?”
She yelped when she heard the galloping up the stairs, the long legs running her down. The rapid drumbeat filled up her ears and she could barely catch her breath. She swiped away the foolish tears that stung her eyes and reached for the biggest weapon she could find.
Pulling a carving knife from the butcher block on the counter, Hope swung around into the open dining and living area to meet the beast at her front door. A man in black filled up the opening, but he was just the imposing backdrop to the real threat.
Gripping the knife in both hands, Hope prepared to defend herself. Far better than she had done twenty years ago. This time, she was no little girl. This time, she wasn’t weak from starvation. This time, she was armed.
She heard the growl. Saw the rush of movement. Screamed.
“Hans! Platz!”
The charging dog halted as if he’d jerked to the end of an invisible chain and plopped back onto his haunches. He slowly walked his feet forward until he was lying down beside the black military-grade boots of the man in the doorway. Hope didn’t believe that relaxed posture for a moment. The dog was breathing just as hard as she was, and those big, midnight-brown eyes still had her in his sights.
“Miss Lockhart?” The man raised one hand in a placating motion, then stooped down to clip a leash to the harness the dog wore. He dropped his voice to a deep, husky pitch. “Hope?”
Something short-circuited in her brain, cutting off the instinctive fight-or-flight response long enough