Page 30 of Declan (Men of Clifton, Montana #53)

“Yeah,” Declan replied. “Just like I am. He took something from his car before he ran but I’m not sure what it was.”

Nevada assessed the scene; a narrow swath of footprints bordered by knee-high snowdrifts. “Okay. I’ll take the right flank,” he offered. “You stay left. Give Johnston one more chance. If he doesn’t come out, let Tank off the leash. The dog will cut through this like a blade.”

Declan agreed. The two men advanced, weapons at the ready, their voices carrying through the crisp air. When they’d closed in, Declan raised his voice. “Last warning, Johnston! Come out now or I let the dog go.” He looked at Nevada. The deputy gave a curt nod.

Declan knelt, unclipped the leash from Tank’s collar, still holding the handle tight in his grip. Just as he was about to unhook the leash, a shot rang out the instant Declan felt the bullet hit him. He fell back onto the snow.

“Declan? Are you alright? Are you hit?” Nevada squatted down beside him.

“He got me in the vest. Shit, that hurts.”

“I don’t know how you held onto Tank. Let that dog go,” Nevada straightened up and held his weapon out in front of him.

“Get him, Tank!” Declan ordered, then hissed in a breath at the pain and knew he’d have a hell of a bruise tomorrow. With a single bound, the dog tore down the snow-filled corridor, sending sparkling arcs of powder into the gray light.

Declan watched Nevada sprint after him, boots thudding through the drifts, but soon Tank vanished into the pines.

Declan got himself up and followed behind Nevada.

Every step, a pain ripped through his ribs.

Hell, he could have a broken or cracked rib.

The men halted, chests heaving, listening.

High-pitched yelps and a groan of pain cut through the winter stillness. Then another gun shot.

“If that son of a bitch shot my dog, he’s a dead man,” Declan snapped.

Pushing through boughs heavy with frost, they found Johnston sprawling in the snow, jabbing weak kicks at the snarling dog. Tank’s teeth were wrapped around his arm.

Declan cracked a grin. “He was warned.”

Nevada chuckled. “Let’s get him before Tank decides to have him for dinner.”

“You do know that’s assaulting an officer of the law?” Declan said, voice low and even.

“Get this fucking dog off me,” Johnston slurred, teeth chattering from more than just cold.

“Roll onto your stomach,” Nevada commanded, training his flashlight on Johnston.

“Get this dog off me,” Johnston repeated.

“I will, once we get the cuffs on you,” Declan snapped. “Roll over.”

Reluctantly, Johnston turned, flinching as Tank’s razor-sharp canines dug deeper into the flesh of his forearm, making blood appear.

The metallic click of Nevada’s handcuffs echoed through the clearing as he secured them around Johnston’s wrists.

Only when Declan yelled “Release!” did Tank finally loosen his vice-like grip, though the dog’s amber eyes remained locked on Johnston, muscles coiled beneath his glossy coat, ready to spring if the suspect made any sudden moves.

Declan followed behind Nevada, holding his hand over his ribcage, as he marched Johnston through the deep snow toward the cruisers parked at the road.

Nevada’s hand pressed firmly against Johnston’s scalp, forcing him to duck as he was guided into the cage-like backseat.

Meanwhile, Declan opened his own vehicle’s rear compartment, where Tank obediently leapt inside, panting heavily.

Declan’s fingers found the sweet spot behind Tank’s alert ears, then he got a bowl out and filled it with water for Tank.

“Good boy, Tank,” he murmured, as he offered a liver-flavored treat from his pocket, which the dog accepted with a gentle nibble and closed the door.

Declan sauntered over to Nevada’s cruiser, where the back door hung open and Nevada was deep in conversation with Johnston. As Johnston shot him a glare that could cut glass, Declan responded with a smug smirk.

“I’ve got you now. This time, you’re heading straight to prison. DUI, driving on a suspended license, fleeing from officers, resisting arrest, shooting a law enforcement officer, and assaulting a K-9. The judge won’t be able to save you from this one.”

“Fuck you, Cavanaugh,” Johnston barked, his voice dripping with venom.

“I don’t think he likes you, Declan,” Nevada chimed in, a grin playing on his lips.

“You wouldn’t either if he was fucking your wife,” Johnston snapped.

Nevada shot Declan a look, one eyebrow arching in curiosity. Declan simply shook his head, a hint of exasperation in his expression.

“I never touched her after she started dating you and you know it,” he declared firmly.

“Bullshit. Why do you think I hate you?” Johnston retorted, his words laden with bitterness.

“Because I’m better looking?” Declan replied with mock innocence, eliciting a chuckle from Nevada.

“I’m not taking a breathalyzer.”

“You don’t have to. Your blood will be taken, and it will probably be amber in color. We also have you on the dashcam swerving all over the road and almost running me off it,” Declan stated.

“Too damn bad I didn’t.”

“Do you want to add threatening an officer to the list?” Nevada said as he folded his arms.

“Just take me in. I’m freezing.” Johnston turned away from them.

“You should have thought of that before you ran through knee-deep snow, jackass,” Declan said.

Nevada closed the door and walked with Declan back to his cruiser.

“You’ll have to go back to the office to book him, but I don’t think he’ll be out any time soon.” Nevada nodded at his vest. “Are you alright? Maybe you should go to the hospital and get checked out.”

“I’ll be fine. I have to find out what to do about his daughter.”

“He has a kid?” Nevada asked, shocked.

“Yeah, and he’s probably had her with him several times he’s been drunk. I hate to call CPS, but I don’t have a choice right now.”

“Child protective services will take care of her until they find a relative.”

“He has a sister. I’ll see what I can find out about her.”

“Alright. I’ll see you back at the office.

Why did he have to wait until we were just about off duty for the day?

Call Sam and let him know about this. Tell him you were hit.

I guarantee he’ll want you to go to the hospital.

You could have a cracked rib.” Nevada shook his head, then walked back to his cruiser, not expecting an answer.

Declan climbed into his cruiser, turned it around and followed Nevada back to the office. He hoped Johnston didn’t make bail, but he did feel sorry for Johnston’s little girl.

After booking Johnston, Declan sighed as he drove to the hospital. Nevada told him Sam would probably make him go, but he called Sam because if he didn’t Sam would be pissed. He was a damn good boss, but his deputies knew they had to follow protocol.

He parked in a designated spot at the hospital, let the SUV running, leaving the back windows down a little for Tank, then walked inside.

****

Elise perched on a low, chrome-framed bench in the airport lounge, fingers drumming a restless rhythm against her knee.

Morning light, pale and diffused by the swirling snow outside, filtered through frost-veined windows and danced across the glossy floor.

Overhead, departure screens flickered between red “Delayed” alerts and hopeful her flight, was finally on schedule.

Engines rumbled faintly beyond the paneled glass, a distant promise that the storm had passed… for now.

“Stop fidgeting,” her mother said, settling onto the adjacent seat. She tucked a caramel-hued scarf around her throat and pressed a comforting hand to Elise’s trembling arm. A half-empty coffee cup steamed in her other hand, sending spirals of cinnamon-scented warmth into the cool air.

“I can’t. I’m so nervous.” Elise’s voice was barely more than a breath, lost amid the murmur of rolling suitcases and soft PA announcements. She stared at the runway, where steel-winged birds gleamed in the pale light. “What if he doesn’t want me back?”

Her mother’s gaze was steady. “For God’s sake, Elise, didn’t he say he’d be there, waiting for you if you decided to return to him?”

Elise swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Yes, but…” She closed her eyes, as though she could will away her doubts. “What if he changed his mind?”

“He loves you. He wouldn’t change his mind,” her mother insisted, voice gentle but firm. She glanced at the bustling crowd of travelers, families bundled in parkas, businesspeople absorbed in laptops. “I’m sure he’s missed you as much as you’ve missed him. Why don’t you call or text?”

Elise shook her head. “We agreed not to. It would only make things harder.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I know I hurt him, Mom.”

Her mother’s fingers tightened on hers. “He knew the risks when he asked you to go.”

“He did,” Elise whispered, “but you should have seen the pain in his eyes when I told him I was leaving.”

“Your love will carry you both through that pain,” her mother replied, voice warm. “You’re hurting, too.”

“I miss him so much.” The words felt like ice on her tongue. “I love ballet, I always will, but he means more than anything.” She glanced away; cheeks flushed. “Did I tell you he invited me to a friend’s wedding?”

“No,” her mother said softly.

“He asked me to be his date. I let him down.”

Her mother frowned. “It couldn’t be helped. But you came back here, which proves where you belong, in Clifton, with Declan. Your father and I can’t wait to meet him.”

Elise managed a small smile. “I know you’ll love him, too.” She pressed her hands to her face, heart pounding. “I’m so scared.”

Beneath the hush of the lounge, the gate agent’s voice crackled over the PA; “Flight Two forty-seven to Kalispell is now boarding.” Mother and daughter rose together, arms wrapping around each other in a fierce hug.

“I’ll call when I land,” Elise whispered. “I might need you to pick me up again.”