Page 2
Story: K-9 Justice
And yet she hadn’t been able to save one of her own.
Tears blurred her vision as she checked the rearview mirror. The crime scene was long behind her, but the weight of loss clung tight.
Dr. Nafessa Piel had been one of the first contractors Ivy had taken on. The work she and her operatives had engaged in came with casualties, mostly in the form of physical injury in the field. Bullet wounds, concussions, stab wounds. The cartels didn’t fight fair, and they certainly didn’t have any remorse for doing whatever it took to achieve their mission. Dr. Piel had been there right from the beginning. Ready to send contractors back into battle, a little more worn, but stronger.
Socorro Security was supposed to save the world.
Who was going to save its operatives now?
Ivy accelerated toward Albuquerque, letting the hour tick by without much thought. There was no point in heading back to headquarters now. She didn’t have answers for the team, but from the soft ping of her cell phone every few minutes, that didn’t stop them from trying to get them. She turned her entire focus on the mental map directing her to Fairview MemorialPark just as the air conditioner was beginning to penetrate through her slacks and blazer.
The cemetery wasn’t large in any sense of the word, but it had been constructed in that unique Mexican-inspired architecture of sandstone monuments, bare patches of dirt and white grave markers. Light stuccos and black metal rods made up the columns standing guard over the souls forever resting inside. Ivy parked along the side of the road, gazing through the gate. She’d never come here before.
There hadn’t been a need until now.
Ivy shut off her phone, disabling any kind of GPS. Though it wouldn’t be hard for her security consultant to track her down if Scarlett put her mind to it. That was what Ivy paid her for. Only it hadn’t saved Dr. Piel when they’d needed that skill the most, had it? Whoever’d killed their physician had known Socorro would find her. That had been his plan all along.
She shouldered out of the vehicle and rounded the hood. Slipping her hand into her blazer pocket, Ivy felt for the pocketknife she’d carried since leaving home at seventeen. The one that had saved her life when it mattered. She navigated through the gate and around the first few headstones. Once-pristine landscaping—dying grass, interestingly enough—spread out in front of her and made her search easier. A slope arched from her left, creating a slight hill with hundreds of markers, some a century old, staring back at her.
Seven from the right. Two back.
Ivy pulled the pocketknife and set it on top of the headstone of a name she’d never been able to forget. The third victim of her last investigation. The one that had led them straight to her killer. “It’s time for us to finish this.”
* * *
Carson Lang waswaiting for her.
Tucked into the corner of the apartment in one of the well-loved chairs. Out of sight. Clear line to the front door. Just in case he had to make a quick escape.
He hadn’t bothered with the lights. Too exposed. Shadows hid the minute details of a woman who escaped here more than she wanted others to know. A knitting project—half-finished—splayed across the side table, her most recent read beneath it. This one a psychological thriller. Seemed she didn’t get enough real-life mind games and danger in her work. She had to seek them out in fiction. It all added up to a woman who took charge of her circumstances. Who didn’t wait for permission to take action or walk a straight line to get what she wanted, but there were softer sides to her, too. Ones she’d tried to hide her whole life. To prove she was worthy. That she wouldn’t fail. That she’d climbed free of her past.
The scar directly over his right kidney testified to her softer side.
He didn’t have to learn what kind of woman Ivy Bardot was by being in her personal space. He’d been watching her for a long time.
The front-door dead bolt flipped. The door cracked. Slower than he expected. Her outline maneuvered inside and closed the door behind her. Blocking his exit. A strong inhalation crossed the space between them. A distraction for him to focus on as she unholstered her sidearm.
She was good.
“Don’t bother with the lights.” He could practically feel the battle-ready tension ripple down her frame from here.
“It will look more suspicious if I keep them off.” Her voice erased years of doubt, secrets and violence in a single sentence. Hell, he’d missed it. That connection to the outside world. A place where he’d once thrived with her at his side. “Not tomention it’ll be harder to shoot you for breaking into one of my safe houses.”
“You’re the one who called me, remember?” He held up the pocketknife in front of the window to his right. Just enough light for her to register it. A piece of her he’d known had taken everything for her to leave on top of that gravestone and walk away.
Ivy set her bag on the entryway table beside the door, moving slower than he knew she wanted to go into the living room. Gun still in hand, she reached beneath the lampshade on the opposite end table. The entire space burst with brightness, and it took too long for his vision to adjust.
Except he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Under the wrong circumstances the perps they’d apprehended had made that very same mistake, only for an entirely different reason. Her guard was up, based on the way she was scanning the rest of the apartment with those intense eyes that seemed to know far more than she let on at any given moment.
Something had changed.
Something had gone wrong.
She crossed the room and retrieved the pocketknife. As though she physically needed it in her possession. “I had no other choice. Where’s my dog?”
Of course, that would be her most pressing question in this little exchange. It always was when they managed to debrief every few months.
“Max is downstairs in the SUV.” The German shepherd had been a parting gift before he’d gone undercover. One that had ended up saving his life a couple of times. “Couldn’t risk her drawing attention.”
Tears blurred her vision as she checked the rearview mirror. The crime scene was long behind her, but the weight of loss clung tight.
Dr. Nafessa Piel had been one of the first contractors Ivy had taken on. The work she and her operatives had engaged in came with casualties, mostly in the form of physical injury in the field. Bullet wounds, concussions, stab wounds. The cartels didn’t fight fair, and they certainly didn’t have any remorse for doing whatever it took to achieve their mission. Dr. Piel had been there right from the beginning. Ready to send contractors back into battle, a little more worn, but stronger.
Socorro Security was supposed to save the world.
Who was going to save its operatives now?
Ivy accelerated toward Albuquerque, letting the hour tick by without much thought. There was no point in heading back to headquarters now. She didn’t have answers for the team, but from the soft ping of her cell phone every few minutes, that didn’t stop them from trying to get them. She turned her entire focus on the mental map directing her to Fairview MemorialPark just as the air conditioner was beginning to penetrate through her slacks and blazer.
The cemetery wasn’t large in any sense of the word, but it had been constructed in that unique Mexican-inspired architecture of sandstone monuments, bare patches of dirt and white grave markers. Light stuccos and black metal rods made up the columns standing guard over the souls forever resting inside. Ivy parked along the side of the road, gazing through the gate. She’d never come here before.
There hadn’t been a need until now.
Ivy shut off her phone, disabling any kind of GPS. Though it wouldn’t be hard for her security consultant to track her down if Scarlett put her mind to it. That was what Ivy paid her for. Only it hadn’t saved Dr. Piel when they’d needed that skill the most, had it? Whoever’d killed their physician had known Socorro would find her. That had been his plan all along.
She shouldered out of the vehicle and rounded the hood. Slipping her hand into her blazer pocket, Ivy felt for the pocketknife she’d carried since leaving home at seventeen. The one that had saved her life when it mattered. She navigated through the gate and around the first few headstones. Once-pristine landscaping—dying grass, interestingly enough—spread out in front of her and made her search easier. A slope arched from her left, creating a slight hill with hundreds of markers, some a century old, staring back at her.
Seven from the right. Two back.
Ivy pulled the pocketknife and set it on top of the headstone of a name she’d never been able to forget. The third victim of her last investigation. The one that had led them straight to her killer. “It’s time for us to finish this.”
* * *
Carson Lang waswaiting for her.
Tucked into the corner of the apartment in one of the well-loved chairs. Out of sight. Clear line to the front door. Just in case he had to make a quick escape.
He hadn’t bothered with the lights. Too exposed. Shadows hid the minute details of a woman who escaped here more than she wanted others to know. A knitting project—half-finished—splayed across the side table, her most recent read beneath it. This one a psychological thriller. Seemed she didn’t get enough real-life mind games and danger in her work. She had to seek them out in fiction. It all added up to a woman who took charge of her circumstances. Who didn’t wait for permission to take action or walk a straight line to get what she wanted, but there were softer sides to her, too. Ones she’d tried to hide her whole life. To prove she was worthy. That she wouldn’t fail. That she’d climbed free of her past.
The scar directly over his right kidney testified to her softer side.
He didn’t have to learn what kind of woman Ivy Bardot was by being in her personal space. He’d been watching her for a long time.
The front-door dead bolt flipped. The door cracked. Slower than he expected. Her outline maneuvered inside and closed the door behind her. Blocking his exit. A strong inhalation crossed the space between them. A distraction for him to focus on as she unholstered her sidearm.
She was good.
“Don’t bother with the lights.” He could practically feel the battle-ready tension ripple down her frame from here.
“It will look more suspicious if I keep them off.” Her voice erased years of doubt, secrets and violence in a single sentence. Hell, he’d missed it. That connection to the outside world. A place where he’d once thrived with her at his side. “Not tomention it’ll be harder to shoot you for breaking into one of my safe houses.”
“You’re the one who called me, remember?” He held up the pocketknife in front of the window to his right. Just enough light for her to register it. A piece of her he’d known had taken everything for her to leave on top of that gravestone and walk away.
Ivy set her bag on the entryway table beside the door, moving slower than he knew she wanted to go into the living room. Gun still in hand, she reached beneath the lampshade on the opposite end table. The entire space burst with brightness, and it took too long for his vision to adjust.
Except he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Under the wrong circumstances the perps they’d apprehended had made that very same mistake, only for an entirely different reason. Her guard was up, based on the way she was scanning the rest of the apartment with those intense eyes that seemed to know far more than she let on at any given moment.
Something had changed.
Something had gone wrong.
She crossed the room and retrieved the pocketknife. As though she physically needed it in her possession. “I had no other choice. Where’s my dog?”
Of course, that would be her most pressing question in this little exchange. It always was when they managed to debrief every few months.
“Max is downstairs in the SUV.” The German shepherd had been a parting gift before he’d gone undercover. One that had ended up saving his life a couple of times. “Couldn’t risk her drawing attention.”
Table of Contents
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