Page 39 of Beyond Her Reach (Bree Taggert #10)

Bree drove toward the farm, her heart aching for her nephew. “Please find the dog. Luke will never forgive himself if you don’t.”

In the passenger seat, Matt said, “I know. I feel terrible. I shouldn’t have left Turbo there.” He glanced at his phone screen. “The GPS app says he’s down by the creek.”

“That’s about two miles from the farm.”

“Hopefully, he’s found something not dangerous to occupy him until Luke and I get down there.”

Bree parked at the house. Matt headed for the back door to grab winter outerwear. The wind would make for a cold ride.

Lowering her window, she called, “Make sure Luke is dressed warmly enough.”

“Will do.” Matt turned. “You be careful.”

“I will.”

As he entered the house, Dana came out onto the porch carrying a brown paper bag and a thermos. She jogged to Bree’s SUV and handed over the bag. “I made a sandwich for Matt too, and made sure that Luke ate before going out in this weather.”

“Thanks.” Bree took the bag and opened it. The smell of leftover roasted turkey burst free. “What is it?”

“A turkey and mashed potato sub from last night’s leftovers. I would have added gravy, but I figured you’d be eating while you drove.” Sadly, Dana was correct.

The scents saturated Bree’s nose, and her stomach rumbled. “That smells incredible.”

“It’s as close to the Gobbler that I could make under the circumstances.

” The Gobbler from the Wawa convenience store chain was a famous hoagie made with all the trimmings of a Thanksgiving dinner stuffed into a torpedo roll.

Luke bought them weekly during the holiday season.

But at his age, he could burn the calories.

Dana shrugged. “You’ll probably skip dinner.

You miss too many meals when you’re working a big case.

” She offered Bree the thermos. “Cappuccino.” Her former partner had worked enough homicide investigations to understand the exhaustion, and to know it would likely get much worse each day until the case was solved or declared cold.

Bree set the thermos in her cup holder. “You’re the best.”

“I won’t argue with that.” Dana stepped back.

Bree bit into her sandwich as she drove toward Harrison’s place. Hopefully, Zucco would have made contact with the cleaner by the time Bree returned to the station.

The landscape was rural between her farm and Harrison’s mother’s place.

Bree cruised past forests and meadows. Mashed potatoes fell out of the roll and landed on her uniform pants.

Good thing they were dark. Setting the food aside, she fished in the bag for a napkin to mop up the mess.

A black-and-tan movement in the field to her left caught her attention.

She slowed the SUV and scanned the landscape. A dog loped across the tall grass.

Turbo?

Can’t be. Matt had said his GPS tag was at the creek, which was a couple of miles away. Could it be another dog that resembled him? She was no canine expert. There was only one way to find out.

She slowed the vehicle and lowered the window. “Turbo!”

The dog slowed and stopped. It turned its head, tongue lolling. Lean body. More tan than black, like him.

“Turbo!” she called again.

With an exuberant bark, he turned and ran toward her. Bree hesitated, her hand on the door handle. What if it wasn’t him? What if it was a random, strange dog with Belgian Malinois / German shepherd type markings? Her old fears brimmed in her throat. Her pulse accelerated.

The scars from her childhood mauling on her shoulder and ankle itched.

She knew the sensations were psychological, but the reminder stood firm.

The dog had crossed half of the meadow, barely a hundred feet away now.

His ears were forward, and she could feel his focus.

Fear prickled the back of her neck. Even if it was Turbo, could Bree manage him?

So far, only Matt had been able to handle the dog.

Stop it.

A strange dog wasn’t likely to come when she called, and Turbo had never shown any signs of random aggression.

Still, she had to force herself to open the door and get out of the SUV.

Facing the approaching canine, she froze.

What now? She didn’t have a leash. She didn’t know all his commands.

Even if she did, would he listen to her?

She tried to remember any of the times she’d watched Matt or Cady work with Turbo and other dogs.

Turbo loved his tennis balls. Bree didn’t have one of those.

But Cady used food as a reward for the rescues.

Bree broke off a small chunk of the hoagie and waited until he jumped over the roadside ditch, landing ten feet from her.

She tossed it onto the ground a few feet ahead.

Turbo came to an abrupt stop and scarfed the food in one gulp.

She recognized the red collar and tags. Definitely him.

The green collar with the GPS chip was missing.

He raised his head and shifted complete attention to her.

His focus—and the intelligence in his eyes—was disconcerting.

He waited for a command, but it was clear by the rigidity of his posture that he wouldn’t wait long.

Bree tore off another piece. “Setzen.” Matt trained K-9s in German.

His butt slammed into the ground. She tossed him another piece. “Good boy.”

He vibrated with excitement, and for just a second, she thought absurdly, What if my deputies were this obedient and focused?

She stifled a nervous laugh as she opened the back door of the SUV. The dog leaped in effortlessly. She closed the door with a relieved exhale. You’re ridiculous. The dog had been nothing except friendly toward her. He was a pain in the butt, but he wasn’t vicious.

Bree went to the rear of the vehicle and found a section of nylon rope. Then she climbed into the driver’s seat.

“You stay back there.” She crossed her fingers that he would. She could tie the rope to his collar as a makeshift leash when she reached the station, but she couldn’t restrain him in the vehicle by the collar. An accident would break his neck.

She had no harness, so she would just have to hope for the best and be very careful not to let him out when she opened the vehicle door.

She split the remaining bit of sandwich with him, tossing his chunk over the seat.

He finished it, then sat, seemingly happy to look out the window.

He was miles from home. Dirt crusted his paws.

He’d definitely found some mud. Stickers, leaves, and twigs were stuck in his fur.

But Bree wasn’t comfortable enough with him to pluck them off.

“Looks like you had quite the adventure.”

Panting, he looked like he was smiling. Best day ever?

She tapped the steering wheel to call Matt. He and Luke needed to know she had the dog.

Matt answered. “What’s up?”

She spoke into the Bluetooth speaker. “I have Turbo.”

“What?” Matt exclaimed. “We’re halfway to the creek. I’m still picking up the GPS signal there.”

“The collar might be at the creek, but the dog is in the back of my SUV,” Bree said.

“Where was he?”

Bree looked ahead and spotted an overpass on the horizon. “I’m on Route 13, near the interstate overpass.”

“He must be exhausted.”

“You’d think, but no.” She snapped a quick picture with her phone and texted it to him.

Matt laughed. “Luke and I are about a mile away from the farm. We’re turning around.”

“I don’t have time to bring him back to the farm.”

“That’s Ok . Just take him to the station. I’d rather keep him with me for now. It’s the only way I’ll know where he is.”

“He is a handful.”

“We can put him in lockup.”

Bree laughed out loud as she pictured Turbo in the holding cell. The dog’s head shot up at the sound, and she lowered her voice.

“He wouldn’t be able to chew through the bars.” Matt sounded as if he were only half-kidding. “I’ll meet you at the station.”

“Turbo and I will be there.”

“Are you stopping for Harrison’s receipt?” Matt asked.

Bree checked her GPS. “Yes. I’m only a few minutes from the farm now. I was planning to run by the liquor store too.”

“Don’t leave him in the SUV too long. He might eat it,” Matt said, then he ended the call.

Bree pulled out onto the road, one eye on the dog in the rearview mirror. Turbo wagged his tail, peered over the seat, and gathered his muscles as if to leap into the passenger seat.

“No.” Bree gave him a firm command. “Sit.”

A depressed sigh heaved through his sleek body as he planted his butt again.

“Yes,” Bree mimicked Cady’s positive dog training cue. Cady usually followed up with a treat, but the sandwich was gone. Bree tried praise. “Good boy.”

He stretched out on the back seat, lowering his head and resting it between his paws. His big amber-brown eyes blinked up at her. He could look so innocent—right before he wreaked complete destruction.

The SUV approached the overpass. Bree spotted a vehicle pulled over, the hood up, on the road above.

The guardrail blocked most of the view, so she couldn’t see the make or model.

A piece of white cloth fluttered from the closed window.

She reached for her radio to call in the disabled vehicle.

As she passed underneath the overpass, something large and heavy dropped onto her SUV, denting the hood and breaking apart, chunks bouncing into the windshield.

A cinder block? Cracks spiderwebbed across the laminated glass.

The vehicle swerved.

With no control, Bree watched the ditch approach.