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Rick had no answers. Second-guessing was futile, but Jeff was part of his team, so Jeff was his responsibility. Rick had decided to go to the San Ysidro border area the night before because the Sinaloa Cartel was rumored to be active there. Then he’d caught that boy trying to smuggle the kilo of marijuana across the border. Although Rick had never run drugs as a kid, it had struck too close to home, and he’d taken pity on the boy. He’d made arrangements to get him to Child Services instead of booking him. And that skirting of the law, even with the best of intentions, had taken considerably more time than arresting him would have. The result was Jeff and the Narcotics cops handling the incident without him.
Was his fixation on the Sinaloa Cartel all these years later—although they were no longer the SDPD’s biggest concern since the Los Zetas Cartel had risen to prominence—a contributing factor? Rick had to admit that, right or wrong, he couldn’t forgive or forget. Had his personal grudge caused him to make the wrong decision, and consequently a good cop, a young father, was fighting for his life?
And if it was an ambush, why? To send a message to the SDPD K-9 Unit because of the significant headway they’d made in shutting down the cartel’s usual smuggling routes? It was plausible.
When he reached his SUV, he let Sniff out to relieve himself and stretch his legs before they headed back to the police division. He watched Sniff favor his left rear leg as he ambled about. Lying down for long stretches wasn’t good for his partner. Watching Sniff, he considered next steps.
The unit needed to debrief, and he planned to have a one-on-one with Logan. He was almost certain that the Los Zetas Cartel was behind the trap. That made sense, since they were the ones who’d been impacted the most. Yet they were still the dominant force. The SDPD needed to take down their operations in San Diego.
Rick checked his watch. Logan should be back from the hospital by the time he got to the division.
Helping Sniff into the vehicle because he couldn’t make the jump on his own reminded him that he wanted to take him to the clinic for a checkup. And that got him thinking of the new veterinarian, Madison Long.
He’d treated her terribly. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it. It was just that he was angry, worried and—if he was rationalizing—he might as well add sleep deprived. He felt rotten about having questioned her competence. She had to be good at what she did. Jane and Don wouldn’t have brought her into the practice and entrusted her with the care of the SDPD canines if she wasn’t.
Rick wasn’t rude or ungrateful. His parents had raised him better than that. All the more reason for him to feel ashamed of the way he’d behaved. He knew he’d made a horrible impression, and couldn’t really blame her for being abrupt with him. He could come up with all the excuses he wanted, but the bottom line was that he’d been a jerk. The vet had saved Zeke, and he should’ve shown her all the gratitude in the world for that alone.
Then she’d voiced his own thoughts about Zeke’s having earned an early retirement. She was clearly a caring person. He wished he could have said yes, but Zeke wasn’t his dog. With Jeff in the hospital, he’d make the recommendation. The decision, however, was Logan’s. Something else he’d have to discuss with the captain. Had it been just that morning that he’d contemplated approaching him about retiring Sniff?
He and Logan had been talking about a renewal of the canines, planning for the future by bringing in some younger dogs. If they were going to be training, they might as well train a few young dogs at the same time. Those dogs would have to be checked over by the vet to ensure that they were physically sound...and that brought his thoughts full circle to the beautiful redhead.
It had been an emotional day, and he needed some sleep. That was all. Nothing more. He had to cancel his drug-awareness counseling session at the school, which he hated to do, but he just couldn’t take the time. That didn’t help his mood. It had turned out to be one of his worst days in recent memory.
He’d stop by the division, talk with Logan, find someone to cover his shift that night, set the wheels in motion for a debrief at oh-seven-hundred hours the next day, then go home, have a beer, get some sleep.
If he could shut his brain down long enough...
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_71cb4dc2-cab2-51b0-8a8e-ef71e72630ab)
AS IT TURNED OUT, Logan wasn’t back at the division when Rick got there. He’d apparently gone from the hospital straight to the scene of the shooting. Couldn’t blame him. Rick would’ve done that, too, if he hadn’t been with Zeke. In fact, he might just go there now, catch up with Logan at the scene.
“Where’re you going, Pitbull?” Shannon Clemens, the sole female officer in their unit and one of the most recent additions to their team, called out to him as he started to pack up his gear. “You just got here.” She made a sweeping motion around the mostly empty squad room. The few cops who were present had their eyes on him. “Everyone’s asking what we’re going to do about Jeff. About what happened to him.”
Rick ran his fingers through his hair for what must have been the thousandth time that day, something he did when he was frustrated or overtired. “If I knew anything, I’d tell you. But I don’t. Not any more than you already know.” There’d been no updates since Jeff had gone back into the OR. He looked around, scanned the furious faces. They were all aware of what had gone down and praying for Jeff to pull through.
“The good news is Zeke’s going to be okay.” He could at least give them that much. “I’m going to try to catch Logan in the field.”
“You won’t get him there,” Shannon said. “I was just speaking with Dispatch. Jagger’s coming in,” she said. “But he plans to make a couple of stops first.”
She took a long look at Rick, so intense and appraising it made his skin itch. He was just about to ask, “What?” when she continued.
“You might not have been involved in the incident, but you look as though you could use some downtime. Why don’t you go home? Get some rest. We’ve got the debrief tomorrow morning anyway. I’d bet that both you and Logan will be in before it starts. You can see him then.”
Rick felt the need to act. To do something. But what Shannon said was true. He probably looked like hell—and she was just showing her concern. He finished stuffing everything in his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“You’re right, and thanks,” he said to Shannon, giving her shoulder a light pat as he walked by. “See you all tomorrow,” he said.
* * *
DESPITE A RESTLESS NIGHT, Rick couldn’t remember a single dream or nightmare, for which he was thankful. He’d believed the events of the day before would bring the nightmares back to haunt him, but he’d gotten a solid five hours of uninterrupted sleep. That wasn’t bad under the circumstances. He’d woken twenty minutes before his alarm was set to go off. Since then, he’d been lying wide-awake, listening to Sniff snoring softly on his own bed.
Rick folded his arms under his head and stared up at the ceiling. Why his thoughts kept veering back to the new vet he couldn’t say, especially when he had so much else to occupy him. Well, he supposed he did have an idea why. He was intrigued, and it was more than her looks. She’d gone toe-to-toe with him and in a manner of speaking had won. She’d gotten him out of the way, not backing down when he was at his belligerent worst. And she’d done her job. He thought of himself as a nice guy, a gentleman—thanks to the Stewarts and how they’d raised him—but he certainly hadn’t left Madison with that impression.
He knew exactly what his mother, Hillary, would have to say about his behavior. He smiled ruefully. He was twenty-nine years old and just short of six-three, and it was his mother, maybe five-four and a hundred and fifteen pounds, who could put the fear of God into him.
As he climbed out of bed and turned off his alarm, he resolved two things. He’d apologize to the veterinarian. Maybe even surprise her, stopping by the clinic to bring her a bunch of flowers or make some other conciliatory gesture. Second, he was well overdue for a visit with his family. He wasn’t shy about admitting that he missed his parents. He’d set that up today, too. Plan a get-together for the weekend, if Sophie and Daniel were available.
He didn’t accomplish either of those goals over the course of the day. Jeff hadn’t survived the night, and that had cast a pall over the debrief they had that morning.
Everyone was both grieving and fueled up to bring justice to those responsible. Rick had barely had time to take restroom breaks; it was insanely busy at the division. When he’d found a rare moment to check on Zeke’s condition, Heather, the clinic’s regular receptionist, advised him that Madison was unavailable but Zeke was doing well. She also informed him that Logan had already arranged for the unit’s admin, Beth, to stay in touch with her for regular progress reports. Rick’s opportunity to make casual contact with the veterinarian and attempt to redeem himself was lost.
The important thing was that Zeke was recovering, and the risk of infection was diminishing with the passage of time.
The division had set a plan in motion to track down the men responsible for killing Jeff, bring them to justice and, if everything worked out, take down the Los Zetas Cartel’s operations in California. It was a bold plan, not without risk, and would require cooperation from a number of policing entities on both sides of the border. Rick had volunteered to co-lead it with the captain of the SDPD’s Narcotics Task Force. That was the least he could do.
* * *
IT HAD BEEN one emergency after another at the clinic over the past three days since Zeke had arrived. Even her regular appointments had created challenges. Daisy was a perfect example, Madison thought, while she cleaned up after seeing the skittish little bull terrier. Daisy had been in for a routine checkup and her shots, but she’d been so nervous, she’d emptied her stomach and her bladder during the examination. Madison shook her head. She hadn’t managed to get out of the way quickly enough. As a result, she’d had to change, and one of the techs had to do a cleanup in examination room three.
Despite days like this, Madison loved her job, and she loved the groundbreaking research she was doing at the San Diego Animal Rehabilitation Center.
She was very excited and confident about the progress she and the center’s team were making in the area of platelet-rich plasma therapy. The opportunity to participate in the PRP research and what it would mean for tens of thousands of injured animals had been the key reason for her move to San Diego from El Paso, Texas, where she was raised and where her father still lived.
She’d done her homework before making the move, of course. The San Diego rehab center was the best and most advanced in the country in her area of interest. They also had the necessary funding, an essential consideration since the research was costly. In addition, they gave her free rein with her secondary interest—advanced aqua therapy. The opportunity had been compelling enough for her to leave her father, the only family she had.
She took a moment to think of Patrick Long, Supreme Court judge and the best father anyone could hope for. He’d started his career as a crown prosecutor, had gone into private practice and had been ultimately called to the bench. Since her mother had died of ovarian cancer when Madison was a toddler, it was just the two of them. As a kid, she’d shadowed her father and spent many hours with him at his office and even in the courtroom.
She missed him. Much more than she’d expected.
But her career meant a lot to her. A professional drive and a desire to make a difference were values her father had instilled in her from an early age. And those factors had resulted in her move to San Diego and the Mission Bay Veterinary Clinic.
Through her father, she’d gained a tremendous respect for police officers, and the dangerous and often thankless work they did. She’d also had enough exposure to police dogs to know their jobs weren’t any easier and often more dangerous than that of their handlers.
When she’d joined Mission Bay, Madison had learned that they provided care for the SDPD’s canines, and she’d expressed keen interest in working with them. It hadn’t taken long to prove herself to Jane and Don, the clinic’s owners. She’d been thrilled when in addition to her other duties she’d been entrusted with the care of the SDPD’s dogs.
Zeke was the first police dog she’d treated for an injury sustained in the line of duty. It had hit her hard emotionally, and she was gratified that she’d been able to help him.
She’d checked on Zeke first thing in the morning. He was still groggy from his medication, but she was pleased with his progress and had reduced his dosage. There was no sign of infection, which was a huge relief. If all went well, she thought he’d be an excellent candidate for a trial of the PRP therapy.
She put on a clean lab coat, brushed her hair and braided it. She wanted to have another quick look at Zeke before her next appointment to ensure that he was doing okay with the lower dosage. As she did, she thought of the cop—Rick—who’d brought Zeke in. Too bad he didn’t have a personality. A guy like him probably got by on looks alone, and didn’t care how rude and unfriendly he was. Well, that wasn’t her type. She appreciated appearance as much as anyone, but what really mattered to her was a man’s inner qualities—what was inside. Rick seemed to have more than his fair share on the outside, but a major deficit in the personality department.
In the months she’d been at Mission Bay, she’d met most of the K-9 Unit officers and their dogs. Being single, Madison accepted the amiable flirting from the officers. And being human, she wasn’t immune to the attention from the mostly good-looking cops. She didn’t take any of it seriously. If she allowed herself to be shallow for just a moment, she had to admit that Rick was the most attractive of the group. But based on what she’d seen of him, there wasn’t going to be any flirting.
Which was probably for the best. He made her feel uneasy.
Then, why was she even thinking about him? And why Rick rather than one of the supernice cops who were gracious and pleasant? She knew a lot of women were attracted to a rogue. She’d always scoffed at that, but maybe she wasn’t immune to it, either. She laughed at herself. She really needed to get more of a social life if her thoughts were turning in that direction.
Satisfied that Zeke was fine, she left the recovery area. Her next appointment was with one of the few SDPD K-9 cops she hadn’t met yet, K-9 Unit sergeant Enrique Vasquez or Pitbull. She rolled her eyes at his alias. His canine partner’s name was Sniff. She smiled at the cute name for a narcotics dog. The cop evidently had a sense of humor. Sniff hadn’t come to the clinic for nearly seven months, certainly not during the time she’d been there.
Madison checked her watch. Of course she had to meet a new client on a day she was behind schedule. She happened to be a stickler for organization and effective time management. She didn’t like to keep clients waiting, nor did she want to make a poor first impression, but she needed to review Sniff’s patient file first.
Sniff was the only Labrador in the SDPD’s K-9 Unit. If she wasn’t mistaken, Sniff’s handler, Enrique, was the cop Heather gushed about—classically tall, dark and handsome.
Madison remembered what Heather had told her about this particular cop. He and Sniff patrolled the most hazardous part of the border between San Diego and Tijuana to thwart the cartel-related drug trafficking that occurred there. Heather had gone on at some length about Enrique’s looks and charm when she’d handed her the file, until finally Madison had laughingly told her to stop. Heather had claimed he was the best looking in the unit, which she considered unlikely after having met Zeke’s handler, Rick. In any case, Enrique would have to be more pleasant and better mannered than Rick had been, she thought as she rounded the corner to the reception area.
And she came to an abrupt halt.
Enrique Vasquez might have had his back to her, talking to one of the techs, but from what she could see, Heather had not been exaggerating about his looks. He was tall, with broad shoulders that narrowed to a lean waist and a trim backside. Realizing where her gaze—and her thoughts—had drifted, she pulled both away. He wore a baseball cap and must’ve been off duty, as he was wearing street clothes. He rested one hand comfortably on his dog’s head, which showed a caring that appealed to her soft heart. When the cop raised his other hand to push back his ball cap, impressive biceps bunched under his short-sleeved shirt. “Wow,” she breathed before she could catch herself. When he did it again, she focused on the way he moved rather than his physique. There was something familiar about him.
She felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder and heard a soft voice next to her ear. “I told you!”
It was just Madison’s luck that she’d let her guard down when Heather was coming out of the back storage area.
“Yeah, well, I’m late and I’d better get going.”
Heather placed a hand on her arm. “I’ll let him know you’ll be with him in a minute. Come join us when you’re ready.”
Madison was about to protest, but recognized that a minute or two to get herself in a more professional frame of mind wouldn’t make much of a difference, time-wise. She was already worried about her first impression on a new client because of being late. A little later wouldn’t matter, but if she was tongue-tied and scatterbrained when she met him, she’d embarrass herself. So she let Heather precede her.
* * *
“HEY, ENRIQUE,” HEATHER greeted Rick in a pleasant singsong voice.
He waved goodbye to the tech, who’d been grilling him about his chances of becoming a police officer, and turned his attention to the receptionist. He generally didn’t like to be called by his full given name—it reminded him too much of his childhood in Mexico—but Heather preferred it, and he’d stopped trying to dissuade her.
“I’m sorry we’ve kept you waiting. Madison had a bit of a...an incident with a patient and had to clean up. She’ll see you and Sniff any minute now.” Her face sobered. “I’m so very sorry to hear about Jeff. Please give his family our condolences.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” It hadn’t gotten easier to deal with Jeff’s death, despite the passage of several days.
“What have you got there?” She gestured to the duffel he’d rested on the floor beside his feet.
Rick felt the heat rise to his face. “Just stuff,” he mumbled. “So I understand Madison’s taking over from Jane for our dogs.”
“Uh-huh,” Heather responded. She walked around the reception desk to return to her station.
Rick leaned on the counter. He wasn’t at all perturbed about Madison’s being late. It gave him a chance to question Heather about the new vet. Heather obviously didn’t realize he and Madison had already met. There was no reason she would have, he reminded himself. Unless the part-time receptionist had told Heather he’d been in, she’d have no way of knowing that he was the one who’d brought Zeke. Even though he’d called about Zeke a few times, Heather must have assumed he was checking up on one of the unit’s dogs. Her not knowing gave him the advantage. “Has Madison worked with police dogs before?” he began.
Heather sat down behind her desk. “You know, I’m not sure. She moved here a few months ago from Texas. She must have some experience. They wouldn’t have assigned her to care for the SDPD’s canines if she wasn’t qualified. Logan wouldn’t have approved, either,” she added. “You’d have to ask Madison about her experience.”
“Is she good?” He’d concluded that she was, based on what she’d done for Zeke, but he was curious about what Heather had to say. Working with Madison would give her a different point of view. The more he’d thought about it, the more he recognized the skill and calm resolve it must have taken to save Zeke. He was anxious to see him, after Sniff’s examination.
Before Heather had a chance to answer, he heard soft footsteps behind him.
“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” Heather motioned toward the hallway. “Here’s Madison now.”
“Great. Thank...” Rick looked over his shoulder, and whatever else he was going to say escaped him. He felt his mouth go dry. Sure, he’d met her before, but he must not have been seeing clearly at the time. He certainly hadn’t been thinking clearly. He’d remembered her as attractive but not drop-dead gorgeous. She was wearing a lab coat again, a blue one this time, yet her curves were evident. Today, she had her hair in a thick braid, hanging over one shoulder. Even braided, the mass of it hung well down toward her waist. Instead of greeting him, she stood still, her lips slightly parted, shock on her face. It was almost as if she hadn’t been expecting him—or had forgotten that she’d met him.
He took a step forward, Sniff trailing him, and smiled. “Are you ready for us?”
She gave a slight shake of her head, not so much to indicate no, but almost as if clearing her mind of whatever had preoccupied her. Before she could say anything, Heather filled the silence.
“Madison, this is Sergeant Enrique Vasquez, aka Pitbull, and his canine partner, Sniff.”
“Officer Rick,” Madison said with frost in her voice, and Rick’s smile faded. Apparently, she wasn’t inclined to let bygones be bygones.
“You’ve met?” Heather asked, obviously confused.
“Yes,” they responded in unison.
Heather glanced from one stern face to the other and backed up. “Okay, then. I’ll just get back to work.”
Madison gave Rick one more long, hard look before stepping forward and bending down to greet Sniff. Her features softened; the dog’s good nature must have won her over. By the time she straightened and extended a hand to Rick, the reserve had returned.
“As you know, I’m Madison Long,” she said in a perfunctory manner, putting the emphasis on know, and flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Follow me, please.”
Rick tapped his thigh, and had Sniff heeling next to him as he followed her. Madison’s braid swung across her back with each step she took. Glancing at Heather, he saw her bemused expression and wondered what had caused it. Then he noticed the duffel he’d forgotten and rushed back to grab it before joining Madison.
“How’s Zeke?” was the first thing he asked when they were in the examination room.
“He’s coming along nicely.”
“That’s terrific. Can I see him when we’re done here?”
“Of course,” she said, gathering everything she needed for Sniff’s exam.
She was being professional and courteous, but there was a distinct remoteness in her voice and demeanor. Conscious of the duffel in his right hand, he wondered how smart an idea that was. “The unit’s retiring Zeke,” he offered as an olive branch.
Her hands stilled and she gave him a contemplative look before nodding, but her cool formality remained as she opened a cabinet to get additional supplies. There was something...out of character about her expression. The lines bracketing her mouth were a dead giveaway that she laughed more than she frowned. He shifted the duffel from one hand to the other, then placed it on a chair in the corner of the room. “Look, I’m sorry for the way I acted when we first met.”
She turned back to him, and he saw the surprise on her face.
“It was a hell of a day. Zeke being hurt wasn’t all of it.”
“I heard on the news that an officer was shot...and that he passed away... I’m sorry...” Her voice rang with sincerity and compassion.
“Yeah. Jeff didn’t make it.” Rick broke eye contact, reached down and stroked Sniff’s back. The grief was still too raw. The dog raised his head, tongue lolling, adoration in his eyes that never failed to melt Rick’s heart.
“What will happen to Zeke?” Madison interrupted his thoughts.
Rick’s eyes lifted to hers and he could see she was moved, too. The fact that she seemed to care about Jeff and about Zeke said a lot about her. “Jeff’s family—his wife and son—want to keep Zeke. Zeke mattered to Jeff and is therefore important to his family.” He cleared his throat with a small cough and changed the subject to a more practical matter. “SDPD will pick up the cost of Zeke’s treatment and rehabilitation. Whatever it takes, just do what’s best for him. We’ll help the family with some retraining so Zeke can adapt to being a pet. Jeff was a good cop...a good man. He’ll be missed and not just by his family.”
“I’m so sorry,” Madison repeated in a whisper, and briefly rested a hand on his forearm.
“Thanks.” The sense of loss and futility, the sudden rush of emotion, was threatening to strangle Rick. He coughed again to try to cover up his feelings, but the sorrow was backing up in his throat. He grabbed his duffel and held it out to her. “We got off on the wrong foot the other day. I brought you something. Sort of a peace offering.”
Her gaze slid from his eyes to the black, well-worn bag and back. “You’re giving me a used gym bag?”
His nervous, amused laughter burst forth. He wasn’t usually this awkward around women. But then he generally didn’t start out from such a deficit. “No. Of course not!” He chuckled and fumbled with the zipper before placing the bag on the chair and unzipping it. He reached in and handed her a brightly wrapped bunch of flowers. “These are for you.”
