Texas K-9 Unit Christmas: Holiday Hero. Shirlee McCoy
was what he asked for when he grabbed her.”
“He might have been trying to make her think that’s what he wanted. Maybe, he thought she’d be more likely to cooperate with whatever he had planned if she believed he was only after cash.”
“I hope you’re wrong about that, Austin.” But he had the nagging feeling that there was more to the crime than simple theft. A thief would have grabbed the purse and run. Emma’s attacker had left it on the ground.
“Me, too. We’ve just got one group of criminals off the streets of Sagebrush. I’d rather not think we’ve got another wacko to track down.”
“One way or another, the sooner we get this guy, the happier I’ll be. Come on, Henry.” He led his partner to the purse. “Seek!”
Henry snuffled the ground, then ran into the diner and back out again. He circled the purse, took off toward Emma’s car. He stopped there, barking once before raising his head and sniffing the air. The parking lot was cut off from the busier street around the front. Buildings loomed to either side, their shadows creating dense, impenetrable darkness. Not a place he’d want his mother or sisters wandering around this late at night, that was for sure.
Henry stiffened, his muscles taut beneath thick black fur.
One more bark and he was off, racing across the parking lot and into the narrow alley between the diner and a bank. Lucas ran a couple of feet behind him, the lead loose, his eyes scanning the darkness as he followed. They’d been doing this together for two years. In that time Henry had never steered him wrong. He wouldn’t this time, either. Lucas was as sure of that as he was that he was following the path a criminal had taken.
The alley emptied out onto Morris, the road dark and quiet, the air heavy with rain. The moisture was an advantage, the scent trail easier to follow because of it. The moon hung low, its yellow glow dimmed by thin cloud cover.
They crossed two intersections, moving into a more vibrant section of the city. Well-lit buildings stood side by side, their storefronts decorated for Christmas. A bookstore, a coffee shop, a department store—Lucas had spent his childhood wandering through downtown Sagebrush visiting the local businesses. They were like old family, familiar and comforting.
Henry turned left at the corner of Broadway and Main, his pace slowing as he moved past a group of pedestrians. He crossed the sidewalk, nose to the ground, ears alert, oblivious, it seemed, to everything but the scent he was following.
They walked through another intersection, sticking to the main thoroughfare. No side streets. No trips into local business. The person they were trailing had known exactly where he was heading, and he hadn’t veered from the course he’d been set on.
Henry jerked forward, running into an alley and barking frantically. Someone scrambled through the darkness in front of them.
“Police! Freeze!” Lucas called, pulling his flashlight and catching the suspect in its beam.
A kid. Skinny. Dirty. Long hair hanging limp to his shoulders.
“I said freeze!” Lucas repeated, and the kid froze, his hands shooting into the air.
“Don’t let the dog go, man! Don’t let him go.”
“Down on the ground. Hands where I can see them!”
“I ain’t done nothing,” the man protested, but he dropped onto the ground, his arms and legs spread out. He knew the drill and didn’t say another word as Lucas patted him down, snapped cuffs onto his wrists.
He called in for transport, eyeing the skinny, pockmarked young man. Hollow cheeks, bad skin, narrow shoulders that were all bone. He looked like a meth user and probably was one.
“What’s your name?” Lucas asked as he pulled the kid to his feet.
“Justin Forsythe, and I’m telling you, I ain’t guilty of nothin’.”
“Then why are you hiding in an alley?”
“I’m not hiding. I’m sleeping. Or I was trying to. Until people started running through here.”
His words made the hair on the back of Lucas’s neck stand up. “What people?”
“You and some other guy.” The kid’s expression changed from fear to calculation. “He’s probably the one you’re looking for. You should let me go so you can find him.”
Henry sniffed the guy’s shoes, then the ground. Hackles raised, eyes on the far end of the alley, he looked as if he was ready to go again.
“What did the guy look like?” Lucas pressed for more information.
“Can’t tell you. I just heard him running through my alley. Looked out of my bed. I think he threw something on his way past, though.”
“Yeah?” Lucas flashed the light around the alley. Too much junk to make heads or tails of what might have been thrown, but Henry would know if one of the items belonged to the perp.
A patrol car pulled up at the mouth of the alley, and an officer climbed out. Lucas let him deal with the kid. He had bigger fish to fry.
He tightened his hold on Henry’s lead, letting the dog crisscross the narrow alley. Henry froze about a foot from a Dumpster that blocked the alley’s exit and whined excitedly.
“What is it, Hen...?” Lucas’s voice trailed off. A knit hat lay on the ground.
He used the end of a pen to lift it.
Not a hat. A ski mask. Black.
Henry whined again.
“Good job, boy,” Lucas murmured. This had to be the mask the perp had worn.
Lucas pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and dropped the mask into it. There’d be evidence on it. DNA. Clues as to who had attacked Emma.
Henry yanked against the lead. He still had the scent trail. God willing, the mask wouldn’t be the only thing they found.
“Seek!” Lucas commanded, and Henry scrambled to the top of the trash bin, jumped to the ground on the other side and took off running.
FOUR
Emma woke to darkness, her head pounding, her ribs aching. At first she didn’t know where she was. The pillow, the bed, the light seeping in through an open doorway—none of it was familiar. Somewhere in the distance, Christmas carols were playing, the faint music more creepy than comforting.
She tried to sit, but pain shot through her side, the stabbing agony stealing her breath. She touched her ribs. Cotton. Bandages. An IV in her hand.
The hospital.
Memories flooded in. The trip to the hospital. Bea arriving frazzled and worried. Doctors, nurses, X-rays.
A sputtering snore broke the room’s silence.
Emma glanced to the left, wincing as pain shot through her skull. Aunt Bea sat in a chair a few feet away, her head back, her mouth open. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her feet pressed firmly together. She wore her favorite blue suit and one of her Christmas brooches—a wreath made of green and ruby crystals. Emma had picked it up at an antiques store in Boston.
Bea’s purple-white hair was in rollers, and Emma wasn’t sure if she’d left the house in a hurry or if she’d simply forgotten that she’d put them in. Bea had been forgetting more and more lately. The doctor had warned Emma that the disease would progress that way.
Alzheimer’s.
She hated the name, hated what it was doing to the only woman who’d ever really cared about her.
Emma frowned. Her aunt should be tucked in her bed at home, not sitting in a chair in the hospital. She needed plenty of rest, plenty of good nutrition and plenty of patience. That was what the doctor had said, and Emma had vowed that she’d provide every one of those