Page 16 of K-9 Guardians (New Mexico Guard Dogs #4)

Wyoming Double Jeopardy

by Juno Rushdan

Chapter One

It was another typical Thursday evening until it wasn’t. A fourteen-hour workday. Always the first one in. Always the last one out.

Gathering her things, she grabbed the fragrant bundle of flowers from a chair and then closed the door to her office. She glanced at the plaque on the door, engraved Assistant District Attorney, Melanie Indira Merritt.

“One day it won’t be assistant,” she muttered to herself. Her time would come.

Melanie had put in tremendous effort and had the keenest talent when it came to picking a jury, leading to her pristine victory record and earning her the nickname of The Closer .

Her previous boss had had a bad habit of taking credit for her work, but things were different at her position here in Laramie, Wyoming. This DA didn’t use her and didn’t try to sleep with her. More of a father figure, Gordon championed her successes, invited her into his home for meals with his wife, and helped make her transition to the Cowboy State a smooth one.

She walked down the hall of the third floor of the county courthouse where the prosecuting attorney’s offices took up the entire space and locked the inner door. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she’d missed dinner.

Adjusting the straps of her laptop case and purse on her shoulder, she glanced at her watch: 9:10 p.m. Too late for anything heavy. A Caesar salad waited for her in the fridge.

She pushed through the outer door into the attached covered parking garage. The muggy July wind had died down and cooled off. A light rain had started. In the Wyoming valley, where Laramie and Bison Ridge sat, surrounded by the mountains, the temperature in the summer evenings was often mild and pleasant, which beat a blustery winter breeze slicing through her.

She watched Darcy Rosenfeld pull out of her parking spot. The paralegal was great at helping her prepare for meetings and trials. The young woman was thorough, saving Melanie tons of time.

At the trash receptacle, Melanie stopped and took one last whiff of the bouquet of flowers cradled in her arm. Roses, freesia, sweet pea, peonies and hyacinth. Her favorites. They smelled divine, rich in summer colors that would brighten anyone’s day.

She read the card once more.

To M&M–no nuts,

This sucks. I hate it. I miss you. Miss the us that might’ve been. Please rethink this. Soon. Can’t wait forever.

Your Cowboy.

Melanie bit back a sad smile. Waylon was holding on to false hope that she would backtrack, go against common sense and a healthy instinct for professional self-preservation. At least he’d stopped calling, leaving enticing voicemail messages that tempted her willpower.

He needed to move on. They both did. But she was far too busy to find someone more suitable, who wasn’t a threat to her career.

She tossed the gorgeous bouquet into the trash bin.

Darcy pulled up and rolled down her passenger’s-side window. “I’d kill for Hank to buy me a bouquet like that,” she said, referring to her boyfriend, a sweet paralegal at a local firm. “Maybe I’ll drop a hint. Hey, even if the relationship is kaput, you should keep the flowers. Must’ve cost a fortune. Sure you don’t want to tell me who the cowboy is? It’ll be our secret.”

Sharing was how secrets ceased to exist. “Good night, Darcy. See you tomorrow.”

“Your cowboy, whoever he is, has excellent taste. Not only in flowers.” The grinning paralegal waved bye and drove off.

Waylon was definitely unlike any man Melanie had been with. A salt-of-the-earth straight shooter. Humble. Handsome despite his scars or perhaps because of them. Emotionally available.

A great lover.

And a crackerjack detective with the Laramie Police Department, constantly arresting dangerous criminals she had to prosecute.

Therein lay the complicated problem.

When it came to choosing the right guy, she was a horrible failure.

Loneliness crowded in on her, making her ache for something she couldn’t have. Not with Waylon. She reached into the trash bin and took out the flowers, against her better judgment. They’d die in a week on their own. No need for her to hurry their demise. Besides, Darcy was right. Waylon had paid a pretty penny for the huge bouquet. She’d never chuck a hundred dollar bill out the window because the wrong person had given it to her.

A yawn took hold. She needed to get home, eat and rest. So, she could rise and shine at the crack of dawn, go for a run, and do it all over again.

Yay, me.

Pulling her car keys from her purse, Melanie headed for her SUV, the lone vehicle remaining on the top level, tucked beside a concrete pillar. Her keys jangled in her hand and her high heels click-clacked across the pavement, echoing in the garage. Raindrops pitter-pattered on the roof of the building and asphalt on the street. She liked to park midway in the lot. Far enough to get in some extra steps on her pedometer. But not too far to make her uncomfortable at night in the public parking garage alone.

These past six months without Waylon, she was always alone.

Maybe time to get a pet. A fluffy, warm independent cat to cuddle. Too bad she was allergic.

She pressed the button on her fob—the horn beeped and the lights flashed—unlocking the SUV, and dropped the keys in her suit pocket.

Footsteps shuffled somewhere behind her. The nape of her neck prickled as she wheeled around toward the sound.

No one. Not a soul in sight.

She listened.

Silence, other than the rain.

She scanned the nearly empty upper floor, searching for anyone lurking, any sinister shadows in dark corners, but she didn’t see anything of concern. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Was her mind playing tricks on her? Served her right for working herself to the bone every day.

Dismissing it as fatigue, she started for her SUV. She walked with care, trying to lessen the clatter of her heels.

More footsteps—the sound whispering beneath the noise of her shoes.

Unease slid down her spine. She stopped and surveyed her surroundings again with even more vigilance.

This was a small town, where everyone knew everyone. None of the dangers of a big city, like random muggings, drug addicts driven to desperation. Crime still existed. Usually of a higher order.

Looking around, she didn’t see anyone.

The lot was well lit, the street below quiet. The sheriff’s office was in the same building on the first floor, and she was well acquainted with everyone in the department. An attendant was in the booth on the main level until ten. She was fine.

Perfectly safe.

Still...

Tension gnawed at the base of her spine.

Trust your instincts. That’s what her parents and self-defense classes had taught her.

She tightened her grip on the leather straps of her bags. Digging in her purse for her cell phone just in case, she quickened her pace to her SUV. Her pulse picked up. Sweat trickled in a cold line down her back. Almost there.

Almost.

Movement out of the corner of her eye snatched her attention. She whirled back around.

A man lunged from behind a concrete pillar and rushed toward her. Dressed in dark clothing. Wearing a full-face helmet. Dark-tinted visor. Something long and metallic in his hand.

A crowbar!

Her heart seized. She stumbled backward.

He plowed into her, shoving her up against her vehicle. The flowers tumbled from her arm. He raised the steel bar and swung. She ducked, narrowly missing the blow intended for her skull that crashed against the roof instead.

Melanie punched his stomach and rammed her knee up into his groin. With a grunt, he doubled over and staggered away. She jerked sideways and ran. But he snatched the back of her suit jacket, stopping her.

“Help! Help me!”

Grabbing the laptop case’s strap, she swung the bag, using it as an improvised weapon. She slammed it down against his arm, freeing herself of his grip. But her purse slipped off and fell. Another swing with all her strength knocked the crowbar from his other hand and it clattered to the concrete floor. She kicked the steel bar, sending it skittering under the SUV. Then she slung the laptop case up at his head.

He lurched back, his arms flailing.

She dropped the bag and took off running, cursing her stupid heels and the tightness of her skirt. Taking the ramp would lead to the attendant’s booth and the sheriff’s office. But her assailant was faster and stronger. He could easily overtake her on the way down two stories. Same problem with the stairs.

Keys jangled in her pocket. Avoiding the ramp and staircase, she bolted back toward the building.

Footsteps thundered after her. Melanie flung the exterior door open and ducked inside. She dared to look back. Through the glass panel, she spotted him. He was up and running straight for her.

She raced for the interior door to the office space and snatched the keys from her pocket.

Faster, faster! Run faster!

The keys slipped from her fingers, hitting the carpet. She dashed back and grabbed them. With shaking hands, she fumbled for the right one.

Hinges squeaked behind her. She cast a terrified glance over her shoulder. He stormed through the outer door leading from the garage. She shoved the key into the dead bolt and unlocked the frameless glass door.

He was closing in, charging toward her like an angry bull.

Oh, God!

She pulled the key free, darted inside and flipped the latch on the dead bolt just as he raced up to the door. Now there was a locked barrier between them.

He yanked on the handle, making the glass vibrate.

What did he want ?

Unable to get inside, he slapped the door. She backed away, watching him. He tilted his head to the side and studied the door from top to bottom.

The eerie movement sent a chill over her skin.

Then he smashed his head against the door. Once. Twice. Under the force of the helmet, the glass splintered.

Melanie’s heart clenched. She had to get to a phone. Call for help. Once the sheriff’s department got the message, a deputy could get to her in less than two minutes.

Unless that man reached her first.

The cracked webbing of the door spread. Panic zipped through her veins hot as an electric current, driving her to move.

Melanie spun around and ran. Not to her office. If he knew who she was, and this wasn’t some random attack, then he’d expect her to head there.

But where to go? None of the office doors locked.

Her pulse skittered. Her legs shook. Her mind raced even as time slowed to a crawl.

The glass shattered. He was coming. He was behind her, erasing the distance between them at a frightening rate.

She darted to the left, down a walkway. Her heel caught on the carpet. She tripped and fell hard, scraping her bare leg. Climbing to her feet, a shoe came off. She surged forward, leaving the heel behind, and scanned the open cubicles where legal assistants, witness advocates and interns worked. With only half walls dividing the section, hiding there, virtually out in the open, wasn’t a possibility.

No time to hide. She had to call 9-1-1. Reaching over the half wall, she grabbed the receiver. Stabbed the number nine.

The next thing she knew he was on her.

Strong hands flung her against the back wall and clamped around her throat. Melanie struggled and bucked to break free. Tried to throw another knee in that tender spot that would hurt him most.

But he turned at an angle, wedging one of his legs between her thighs. The stench of tobacco registered in her brain. She punched his forearms, hitting solid muscle, not making his grip budge in the least. Ice formed in her chest. She fought to get him off her. Every cell in her body strained with effort.

He had her, his hands locked in a viselike grip around her neck. She tried to scream. No air. Her lungs burned.

Fingers dug into her skin, pressing down on her windpipe, filling her with bone-deep fear. It felt as though her heart was being squeezed in a fist. He slammed her head into the wall. The stunning blow shook her hands loose from his arms. He did it again.

Pain exploded in the back of her skull, blurring her vision. Tears stung her eyes. Much more of that and he’d knock her unconscious.

Melanie prayed he wasn’t wearing steel-toed boots and thrust her remaining heel down onto his foot. He flinched.

His feet were vulnerable.

She stabbed the pointed heel down again with far more force. His hands loosened and he reared back a step. She kicked his shin, aiming the heel at bone and then launched her foot into his groin.

Turning, she fled. But she didn’t make it far.

He pounced, tackling her to the floor. They wrestled, each struggling to gain the advantage. She threw an elbow into his throat.

Melanie scrambled up from the floor. And so did her attacker.

He grabbed her and threw her into the wall. His gloved hands seized her throat again. He maneuvered his lower half, pressing his knees between hers, protecting himself. His grip on her tightened, shutting off her airway.

A scream was strangled and died in her throat. She wanted to ram the heel of her palm up into his nose to break it the way she’d been taught in self-defense class, but the helmet protected his face.

His face.

If she could see him, identify him, scratch him, claw his eyes, get his DNA under her nails in the event of a worst-case scenario in which she didn’t make it out of this alive, that would be something.

A fierce sense of determination rushed through her veins. No matter what, she was going to take this guy down. Regardless of the personal cost.

Melanie resisted the instinct to pry his hands from her throat and reached for the visor. She shoved it, but the face shield didn’t move. Like it had been glued shut.

One of his hands released the pressure against her windpipe. She sucked in a ragged breath.

A fist blasted into her jaw, knocking the air from her lungs. She reeled from the blow, but if he didn’t like her messing with his face shield, then she had to get it up.

She scraped and clawed at the visor, prying her nails into the seam. Breaking several gel tips down to the nail bed, she forced a sliver of the dark-tinted shield up. He slammed another fist into her.

Agony left her dazed, struggling to stay on her feet.

Letting her go, the man spun away, lowering his head and adjusting the visor while she pressed herself against the wall, hauled in desperate breaths through the gut-wrenching pain and felt around for something, anything, to help her get out of this nightmare.

Her fingers grazed cold metal.

A fire extinguisher.

She unhooked it from the wall and swung the extinguisher like a baseball bat, smashing it into his head. He spun, thrown off balance. Not giving him a chance to recover, she rammed the butt of the extinguisher into his gut. She hit him again and again, this time over the back of the head, wanting to crack the helmet open.

He dropped to his knees and pitched forward, putting a hand to the floor to steady himself. She pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher, breaking the tamper seal, pointed the nozzle at him and squeezed the handle, spraying him with the extinguishing agent.

The man coughed and grunted.

Melanie spun on her heel and ran to the district attorney’s office at the far end of the hall. She slammed the door shut behind her. Dropped the extinguisher. Grabbed a chair. Jammed the sturdy back under the lever door handle.

The next best thing to a lock.

But was it enough?

She hurried to the desk. Shoved it across the room with items on the top clattering to the floor. Pushed it against the door as a barricade.

Dread clogged her throat. She wiped moisture from her nose with the back of her trembling hand. Her face throbbed where he’d hit her and her heart hammered against her ribs. She picked up the extinguisher and clutched it to her chest. Something inside her needed to keep the makeshift weapon close.

She searched the floor and saw the landline phone.

On quivering legs, she stumbled to it, dropped to the floor in a shaking, terrified puddle and picked up the receiver.

Blood was on her hands, on the phone. Her blood.

Pressing her back to the desk, digging the heels of her feet into the carpet, pushing against it with all her weight to prevent him from getting inside the room, she dialed for help.

“This is 9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”