Operation Reunion Page 18

  “All right, my boy,” she crooned, “you know what to do. You watch, all right? Watch and warn.”

  The dog was on his feet instantly. In that split second he went from attentive, clever dog to...something else. Kayla couldn’t describe it, exactly, but there was no doubt the animal understood the command. On alert, she supposed.

  And she had to admit, it made her feel safer.

  Chapter 27

  “We should have gotten a dog,” Kayla said.

  Dane looked up from one of the magazines Hayley had bought—the latest issue of a trade magazine that was actually sitting at home on his desk unread. He usually read their main articles online, but he liked to have the print version for those occasions when he didn’t have a connection or when his phone wouldn’t do because the article had charts or graphs or other details he needed to see full size.

  Odd. He usually would have felt unsettled by now, disconnected from the world he spent so much time in. Yet he felt no desire to check email, and no urge to check his online feeds. Nothing like a good old life and death crisis to push the online world down on your priority list.

  Nothing like having your real world crumble to make the online world seem trivial.

  Kayla was petting Cutter, who was curled up peacefully beside her on the bed farthest from the door. She’d spoken idly, he realized; in fact, she looked almost lulled by the dog’s presence. He found it unexpectedly comforting himself. He’d had dogs as a kid but never any even remotely like this one.

  And they had talked about it before, after she’d moved into the little house and he’d ended up practically living there himself. It would have been cozy, them and a four-legged kid. Like this moment had been, until she’d spoken. They had always been that way, happy just being under the same roof, even if they each were occupied with their own pursuits.

  The memory wasn’t soothing; it jabbed at him.

  “Right,” he said. “Then we could have fought over custody.”

  He saw her wince. Cutter’s head came up sharply.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Kayla said. “I gave you your past tense.”

  She had, he realized. “Should have” not “should.” No wonder he’d snapped back.

  He had the grace to acknowledge the unfairness of that. He couldn’t make such a point of it being over between them and then get in a mood about it when she acknowledged that point. Couldn’t hold that it was okay for him to use the past tense when talking about them, then get upset if she did.

  “Fine,” he said and pretended to go back to the magazine.

  He should be grateful, shouldn’t he? That she was accepting, that she wasn’t making a scene or making it even harder with weeping and wailing?

  But that wasn’t Kayla’s way. It never had been. Her dogged determination wouldn’t allow such time and energy wasters. She’d wept her soul dry when her parents had been killed, but he could count the number of times he’d seen her cry in the ten years since on his fingers, maybe plus a toe or two.

  And usually on Chad’s birthday, he reminded himself. On the anniversary of her parents’ deaths she was quietly solemn, but on Chad’s birthday she wept.

  That stiffened his resolve.

  Cutter let out a long-suffering sigh, as if he’d understood perfectly that they were again at a contretemps.

  He’d done as Hayley had instructed—taken him out and repeated his own earlier circuit of the property. The dog had paused now and then, sniffing the air, and twice had veered off on his own to point his nose toward the woods around the motel. Dane had watched as the animal seemed to scan the trees and then the parking area, as if placing things in his mind.

  The mysteries of the canine brain, he had thought at the time. This one’s, at least. More on a whim than anything, he had let Cutter take the lead and take his time. And oddly, the dog had stopped in the same place he had—under the bathroom window of their unit.

  How did he know? Scent again?

  The dog looked up at the window, then around, for all the world as if he were judging how someone would approach that window from the trees.

  At that point Dane had shaken his head and picked up the pace; when you started attributing human qualities to a dog, even a very smart one, it was time for some rest.

  Yet rest, or at least sleep, eluded him. It was still afternoon, and he’d never been one for going to bed during the day.

  Unless it was with Kayla.

  Pain slammed into his gut, at odds with parts lower, which responded fiercely to just the thought. The memories of long, lazy weekend afternoons when they’d decided nothing on any agenda was more important than what they were doing, when they’d made love, rested, laughed, eaten and then started the cycle all over again.

  Cutter’s sudden movement jerked him out of the painful reverie. The dog got up, jumped to the floor and raced to the front window, his ears back, head down and a low, menacing rumble coming from his throat. Just his reaction sent Dane’s adrenaline surging, and he wished he had some kind of a weapon. Not that he knew the first thing about guns, but even a baseball bat would be nice. He’d have to do something about that if this went on much longer.

  So he did the only thing he could, he walked over to the window and peered through the crack in the drapes. He saw the man who had checked them into the room sweeping the walkway that ran in front of all the rooms. He’d apparently worked his way down here to the end.

  “What is it?” Kayla’s voice was a whisper.

  “The manager,” he said, reaching down to reassure Cutter, although he wasn’t sure the dog would take his word that this man he didn’t know was safe. But the animal shifted his gaze to him, looking as if he were evaluating Dane’s ability to properly assess the potential threat.

  Apparently Cutter found enough to satisfy him, and he stood down. Odd that that was the phrase that popped into his head, but it was the only one that seemed to fit.

  “I wonder if he’ll remember the guy,” Kayla said.

  “If he comes around again? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Hayley seems to think he can read minds.”

  “I wouldn’t bet against it,” Dane said, still watching as the man with the broom finished and started walking back toward the office.

  They settled back into quiet, Kayla returning to the bed and Dane to the chair beside the small table. Cutter seemed to hesitate between them for a moment. Dane’s gaze flicked from the dog to Kayla, who needed the comforting the dog seemed to bring.

  He was wondering how to indicate to the dog he should go to her when Cutter made up his own mind in that direction and returned to his earlier position beside her. Giving her the companionship and comfort Dane could no longer give her.

  Well, he could, technically. But he knew too well what would happen if he lay down on that bed with her. All his determination, all his good intentions would be seared away. The passion that ignited so quickly between them had never faded, but deep down he knew that if he gave into that fierce urge now, it would make it that much harder, that much more painful to disengage all over again.

  Kayla at last stretched out, put her head on a pillow and closed her eyes. After what she’d been through, he was amazed she’d kept going as long as she had. It wasn’t long before he sensed she’d gone to sleep; he knew her so well, knew when the tension of her body changed, relaxed, when her breaths became deeper, more regular.

  Cutter stayed there, his head coming up occasionally as he heard something. But whatever he heard, he apparently decided it wasn’t a threat and put his head back down. He didn’t, however, close his eyes. Dane wondered idly if dogs ever had trouble sleeping.

  Perversely, now his own restless mind declared itself willing to shut off, and his eyes were more than happy about the idea of sleep. But now was when he couldn’t, if for no other reason than he had to be awake to make sure Kayla was all right. She seemed to have suffered no serious aftereffects of the smoke, but Quinn had explained how with smoke inhalation
damage sometimes took time to develop as the lungs reacted to the insult.

  Then, of course, there was the fact that someone had tried to kill her.

  He stayed in the not terrifically comfortable chair, fighting the urge to go lie down beside her. He tried to make himself stay awake, listening to her steady and apparently unimpaired breathing. But the long night and the stress of actually being suspected of the attack on her were catching up to him, and more than once he caught himself jolting awake.

  It got harder. The room was getting warmer as the summer sun was now hitting the front of the building, and he weighed the dangers of opening a window against the dangers of him falling asleep. It wasn’t worth it, he thought, and regretted the lack of air-conditioning in the room, although he accepted the practicality of not retrofitting this older place with it when simply doing just that, opening a window, would provide all the cool air necessary most of the year in this climate.

  He shifted position, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, so that if he dozed off he’d fall forward and wake himself up. It worked until his brain seemed to learn to balance even when asleep.

  Maybe he should just get up and stay on his feet, he thought. If he kept walking, he’d have to stay awake. He’d have to be quiet or wake up Kayla, but—

  A movement from the bed drew his weary gaze. Cutter was moving toward the edge of the bed, inching his way without actually getting on his feet. He slid off to the floor, as if he were being careful not to wake Kayla. He didn’t seem alarmed or attuned to anything outside, so Dane waited to see if perhaps Cutter would go to the door to indicate he needed outside.

  Instead, the dog came over to him and nudged his hand with his nose in apparent greeting. Then he plopped down at Dane’s feet, as if he’d merely decided that now that Kayla was at last asleep, Dane was his job.

  “If only you could keep me awake,” Dane said to him quietly.

  Cutter’s head twisted to meet his gaze, and for an instant in the dog’s dark eyes Dane saw something that looked amazingly like understanding. Dane nearly laughed at himself; he was getting as bad as Hayley and Quinn.

  He reached down, scratching behind that right ear until the dog sighed happily. Now that was normal, he thought. Utterly doglike, as Hayley had said. He settled back in the chair, awake for the moment. He picked up the magazine but soon realized that was a mistake as his eyes began to fight to close again.

  Maybe a cold shower, he thought. That might help. Might help more than just having trouble staying awake. He pondered the idea.

  A tug on the leg of his jeans jerked him awake. He didn’t know how long he’d been out, but nothing had changed. The room was still too warm, the sun was still pouring around the edges of the curtains he’d closed in an attempt to foster the idea of cool darkness and Kayla was still asleep, still breathing evenly.

  The only difference was the dog at his feet. The dog who had just tugged on the bottom of his jeans but now that he was awake had put his head down once more.

  If only you could keep me awake...

  His own words echoed in his head. And so did the memory of that moment when Cutter had given him that look that had seemed so full of an almost human understanding.

  Maybe he’d been taught that, that “guard” meant someone else had to be awake, too. Could dogs learn something like that? His old Lilah had been a retriever, and she’d had her own skills that, to someone not used to them, could seem amazing in a dog. At least that was the answer he came up with. It had been in Lilah’s blood, in her genes, that retriever nature.

  Another memory hit him hard. The day he’d finally had to say goodbye to the dear old friend who had been there for him almost his entire life. He’d been seventeen, far too old to cry, and yet it had overwhelmed him. He’d retreated to the tree where he and Kayla had often sat, liking the feeling of being above the fuss below. She had found him there, and she, only she of everyone he knew, said and did the right thing. Which was nothing except simply taking his hand and holding it.

  He’d known she would never tell, never taunt or tease him with his unmanly reaction to the loss of his childhood companion, and so he had let it out, tears and all.

  And on his eighteenth birthday, she had told him that was the moment when she knew just how much she loved him. “Wait,” he’d said, “I thought you said you liked how I was strong and stood up to Rod that time.”

  “I did.”

  “So do you want the strong type or the sensitive type?”

  She had given him a look that seemed wise beyond her sixteen years. “Yes,” she said.

  He’d laughed. “Don’t you think that’s asking a lot?”

  “Aren’t I lucky I found it?”

  The aches of regret and loss filled him now. Here he was, in a room alone with the woman he’d loved from that day forward. He’d experimented a little in college, as much because he felt he should as anything, but nothing had lasted. They all seemed lacking somehow.

  And nothing had ever been able to erase the thought of the girl back home, who was, as she’d promised she would, growing up so that they could begin their life together.

  As he watched her sleep, he drifted into memories, too tired now to fight them off. They floated through his mind, each with its own special pain attached. The first time he’d seen her, up in that tree. The day of her sixteenth birthday, when he’d stolen a minute to give Kayla her first real kiss. The day she turned eighteen and he’d driven home from college just to see her for a few hours on her special day, then turned around and driven back. The day she’d arrived at the same school herself, chosen mainly because he was there. The agony of waiting because he knew she wasn’t ready, and then she turned twenty-one and had practically demanded he make love to her. And all the sweet, wonderful years since, when he’d counted himself more than lucky to have found the love of his life so early in that life.

  He closed his eyes, knowing he had glossed over the horrible night that happened just days after she turned sixteen and the days of dealing with the aftermath. He didn’t need to think about them again; they were etched so deeply into his mind he would never be free of them. Besides, if there was anything that could weaken his resolve, it was thinking again about what she’d been through.

  He must have slipped too close to sleep because Cutter tugged on the leg of his jeans again. He snapped back to wakefulness and stared at the dog for a long moment.

  “You really do get it, don’t you?” he said softly, reaching out to lay his hand on the dark head.

  The dog nudged his hand with his nose and swiped his fingers with his tongue. And as if satisfied he was awake and alert again, Cutter settled his chin back down on his front paws.

  Dane shook his head half in wonder, half in disbelief and leaned back in the chair. His body was protesting the long stretch of sitting, but he was afraid he’d wake Kayla up if he moved around too much. Which reminded him of the careful way Cutter had slipped off the bed, as if he had the same fear but knew right now Dane needed his help more.

  Damn, I’m tired. He’s a dog.

  But whatever the dog’s intent, it worked. He was awake again. And belatedly he realized sunlight was no longer streaming around the edges of the curtains, and the room wasn’t quite as warm. How long had he been lost in that reverie anyway? He reached for his cell phone to check the time, and as if the movement had triggered it, the phone vibrated on the table beside the chair; he’d turned off the ringer when Kayla had first gone to sleep. He grabbed it now before the buzz could wake her. Who was calling?

  Quinn and nearly 3:00 a.m., he noted, answering both his questions at once.

  He got up and walked into the bathroom before he answered.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Kayla’s sleeping. I’m trying not to.”

  “Cutter can help you with that,” Quinn said.

  Dane’s brows rose. “So he did mean to do it.”

  Quinn chuckled, obviously needing no further explanat
ion. “That dog rarely does anything he doesn’t mean to do.”

  Dane leaned against the sink, smiling wryly to himself. “I’m getting that feeling.”

  “Everything quiet?”

  “So far.”

  “Good.”

  Dane sensed this was more than just a status check. “Something happen?”

  “Somebody showed up at the house.”

  Dane straightened up. “At Kayla’s house?”

  “Yes. Teague was watching the place, just in case. Just after dark he saw somebody in a black watch cap sneaking through the side yard. He couldn’t see him well enough to make an ID, but the moment Teague got out of the car he took off running back through the trees.”

  “You think it was Chad?”

  “Don’t know. Could have been a curious neighbor.”

  “But why would he run?”

  “Good question. Teague’s pretty fast, almost had him, but the guy darted down a few side yards and then out into open forest. He knew where he was going.”

  “So a local,” Dane said.

  “Seems that way.”

  “Or somebody who once was. Like Chad.”

  “Yes. And somebody also called the hospital to ask after Kayla but refused to say who he was.”

  Dane tensed. “To ask how she was or to find out if she was still there?”

  “Both. Thankfully when he wouldn’t identify himself, they didn’t tell him anything. Said he got a little insistent, though. Enough so that they made a note of the number he was calling from.”

  He knew Foxworth and their capabilities better now, so he merely said, “And?”

  “Landline listed to Franklin Warren.”

  “Rod’s dad?”

  “Any reason you can think of he’d be involved?”

  “Zero. He barely knew Kayla. And he’s in a wheelchair, so it surely wasn’t him running away.”

  “What about Rod himself? Would he call?”

  Dane frowned. “He’s not a friend, not after that day I told you about. Kayla doesn’t like him and neither do I, so I don’t know why he’d call. But if he did, he’d have no reason not to say who he was. Unless he really was involved.”