Page 3 of K-9 Guardians (New Mexico Guard Dogs #4)

There wasn’t anything she could do to take the pain out of his eyes.

But the internal drive she fed more often than not—the one that’d led her to Socorro—told her this was how she bought back her right to be here instead of a dark hole where she was referred to as a number instead of by her name. How she got rid of the guilt slowly eating away at her from the inside.

Scarlett dragged her finger from the bottom of her tablet screen up to review the file that hit her inbox a few minutes ago. Eva Roday’s murder file.

Reaching for a steady breath, she tried to take in the overwhelming amount of information stuffed into one document. The detective who’d investigated the ATF agent’s death had done a good job interviewing everyone in her life. Every detail seemed to jump out. Including the fact her ten-year-old son, Julien, had been left behind after her death. Her mouth dried. “Give me the basics.”

“Agent Roday—Eva—was found with a blade similar to the one the ME pulled out of Adam this morning in the morgue.” King settled that lean frame against the counter across from her in the too-small galley kitchen, a mug of fresh coffee in hand.

He needed it from the look of him. Dark circles had deepened past exhaustion and straight into night of the living dead. He’d run his hands through his hair one too many times, breaking up the careful sections of curls. The DEA agent with the eyes of steel turned out to be human after all.

“Six inches, serrated, with a patterned carbon fiber handle. No fingerprints left on the blade or the handle, but the medical examiner did manage to pull DNA off one of the blade’s teeth. Problem is, they have nothing to compare it to.”

Scarlett lost her grip on composure as the first crime scene photo filled her tablet screen. The spike in her heart rate could’ve been heard from across the room, she was sure of it, and she couldn’t help but look up at King for confirmation. She tightened her hands around the edge of the screen. Pressure led to nausea, and a surge of acid tried choking her from within.

Patterned tile—new from the looks of it—supported the body as a pool of blood slipped out from the wound in the woman’s chest. Cotton pajamas soaked up a lot of it. Not a suit. Nothing to suggest Eva Roday had been in the field during her murder. No. Whoever had done this came into her home. Located her badge, positioned it over the agent’s chest and plunged the blade straight through. “She was found in her own home. Who called it in?”

“Her son. Julien,” King said. “He’s ten.”

His voice did that. Caught on names. She’d noticed it earlier, and Scarlett couldn’t help but imagine him doing the same with hers. Not with her last name as everyone addressed her. As Scarlett.

King crossed one ankle over the other. So relaxed in this place, somewhere he’d never even stepped before. That confidence bled off of him and settled deep in her bones. “The detective who caught the case didn’t get a whole lot out of him that night. Medics couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him, but...”

“You think he was there. That he saw what the killer did to his mother.” Her heart constricted at the thought. There were some things in this world no one should ever have to see. Least of all the person you loved most in the world taken from you so brutally.

“Police found him beneath a pile of towels on the couch not five feet from where they found Eva’s body. The killer would’ve done his research before stepping foot inside an ATF agent’s house. He would’ve known she had a kid, and the son of a bitch went there anyway.” King stared down into his coffee mug. The drop in his voice told her he was trying for detached—same as she was—but there was no amount of distance that could calm the rage boiling in that tone. “They thought Julien might’ve been injured, given the amount of blood on him, but none of it came back as his.”

“He tried to save his mother?” Scarlett kept scrolling. To drain the dread growing in the pit of her stomach. To give herself something to do. A distraction. It didn’t help. Because beside the agent’s body was a too-small handprint. Made with blood.

“Yeah. He did.” King set down the mug. There was no point trying to force it down when you couldn’t physically stomach the aftermath of a case like this. Something he had to live with every day working for the DEA, she imagined. “Julien has been nonverbal ever since that night. He can’t or won’t tell police what he saw, if he noticed anything specific about the killer or the order of events. He’s been seeing a child psychologist for the past two months, speech therapists, you name it. They all say the same thing. He understands his mom isn’t coming back. He knows he can help police find her killer, but there isn’t anyone in this world who can make him speak up until he’s ready.”

“Trauma-induced mutism.” Scarlett made a note straight into the investigation file to read up on the symptom. Because it was something to do. A possible way she could help should she have to sit down with Julien. “It says here Agent Roday wasn’t married. I don’t see any beneficiaries for her life insurance or bank accounts listed other than Julien. Do you know anything about his father? Where he might be or if there were any hard feelings between him and the victim?”

King’s expression hardened in an instant. “They hadn’t had any contact in over a decade. He didn’t even know Julien existed until Eva was killed and he was questioned by DC police. The detective cleared him of any involvement seeing as how the father was on assignment two hundred miles away. I’d say he’s not pertinent to this investigation.”

“Okay. Well, it’s been two months.” Scarlett mapped out a quick order of to-dos. “If he got custody of Julien, there’s a chance we might be able to reinterview the boy—”

“No.” That single word was a bark from across the kitchen. Aimed directly for her. King seemed to catch himself. The tendons along his neck and shoulders dropped away from his ears, but there was no hiding the truth. Protectiveness. He cared about Agent Roday’s son. “I already told you Julien isn’t talking. He’s in a better place now. He’s made friends at schools. His nightmares are becoming less frequent. Bringing all of this up might undo that, and I don’t want to take that chance.”

Her chin wobbled slightly, out of her control. It wasn’t the aggression that’d caught her off guard. She lived and operated with an entire team of testosterone on the brink of blowing up in her face. She was trained to neutralize any threat—physical or digital—but King’s intensity felt personal. As though she’d hit some kind of button he’d tried to hide away. “I understand.”

“Good.” He dumped his still-hot coffee into the sink and headed for the corridor that ran parallel to the kitchen. “I have copies of Eva’s files. The last few cases she was working right before she died. I’ve been through them a thousand times, but there might be something in there you can pick up on.”

“I wasn’t finished.” Scarlett lowered her tablet to her side as King slowed to a halt. The intensity she’d witnessed had simmered. Still there, but not burning out of control as before. Replaced with a kind of isolation, a loneliness she recognized every time she caught a reflection of herself in the bathroom mirror. “I understand why you wouldn’t want to re-traumatize a ten-year-old boy by interviewing him about his mother’s murder, but if you want me to help you find whoever killed Agent Roday and who killed your partner, you’re going to have to be honest with me. Otherwise, your deal with Socorro ends here.”

King didn’t look at her, didn’t even seem to breathe.

“Every time you talk about Agent Roday, you call her by her first name. Which means you knew her as more than a colleague you were teamed up with ten years ago.” The pieces were starting to fit together. His personal investigation into the cartel that started two months ago, why he wanted to see his partner’s body at the morgue for himself. Why he wouldn’t want Scarlett or anyone else stepping foot near Julien. “And based off of your defensiveness about her son, how old he is and how well you seem to know him, I’m guessing there’s a good reason for that.”

The fight seeped from King’s arms and shoulders. “I didn’t lie before. Eva was called into analyze a device we found during one of the DEA’s cartel raids on Sangre por Sangre. We worked well together in the field. She was smart as hell, to the point I tried to recruit her to work for us. Told her the cartel would roll over the second we brought her on, but she was happy in DC with the ATF. Had a whole life there, but the truth was there was something about her I wanted more of.”

Scarlett braced herself against the obvious grief he’d held on to after all these years. Not just from Agent Roday’s death, but from losing her in the first place ten years ago.

“Once our case was finished, we went out to celebrate with a couple drinks. One thing led to another, and in the morning, she was gone. Back to DC.” A scoff escaped up his throat. “No goodbyes. No note. Nothing. I reached out a couple times but never heard anything from her again. Until two months ago when a ten-year-old boy who looks exactly like her shows up on my doorstep with a social worker in tow. She tells me Eva is dead and that I’m responsible for Julien now. That I’m his father.”

Her blood pressure spiked. “You had no idea?”

“None at all.” Life breathed into his rigid frame as King turned to face her. Devastation—so familiar and gutting—carved into his handsome face. “Listen, I know you’re just trying to do the thing that makes the most sense. Talking to the only witness who was there the night of Eva’s murder is standard protocol, but that little boy is finally coming to terms with having his entire world ripped away from him.”

He took a step toward her. “And I won’t let you or anyone else mess with that. He’s my son, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to protect him.”

H IS SON .

He wasn’t sure he’d ever said the words out loud. Not in passing. Not even to Julien. Pathetic, wasn’t it? His entire world had shifted in the course of weeks, but he hadn’t even been able to put a name as to why. Until today.

King checked his smartwatch for the dozenth time. They weren’t getting anywhere with Eva’s investigation file. They sure as hell couldn’t prove Munoz was even remotely connected to her murder or to Adam’s today. And now he had mere minutes before he had to be back in Albuquerque for school pickup.

This was his life now. He’d gone from pulling all-nighters and chasing every lead until he had nothing left, to cutting his days short in time to make sure Julien would see a familiar face when he got home. It was an adjustment. One King was still trying to get used to. It wasn’t about him anymore. Hell, none of this was. It was about giving his son a future free of fear, of suffering and maybe a little bit of justice in the process.

He scanned through Eva’s file for the thousandth time. Nothing had changed. No light bulb moments or new leads. He wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping to uncover with Scarlett’s help. Just...something.

King scrubbed his face. They were out of time. He checked his watch again.

“You keep doing that,” she said.

Scarlett was everything he’d expected from a Socorro operative, but at the same time nothing like he’d imagined. She’d read through the investigation file without so much as a change in expression, which made King wonder what horrors she’d seen to make this case seem like basic training. The woman hadn’t slowed down for a minute, charging through page after page. Photo after photo. Hadn’t even stopped to eat. She was dedicated. He’d give her that. Either that, or a straight up workaholic.

“Checking your watch,” she went on. “Either you’ve got some place to be, or I’m not living up to your ideals of a good partner.”

“School pickup.” He shoved to stand.

The conference room they’d taken over looked like the aftermath of a back to school warehouse sale. Note cards, highlighters, reports discarded across the oversize table. Felt like he was back in college cramming for an exam in a class he hadn’t shown up to all semester.

Drug cases were simple. The crap they pulled off of street corners could be traced. Find the exact combination of poison and trace it back to a dealer. Force the dealer to flip on the supplier, then do it over and over again until there wasn’t anyone left. The cartel would fall the same way, but homicide?

Ivy Bardot had been right. He didn’t know how to do this.

King grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “If I leave now, I’ll only be five minutes late. Which is better than my fifteen to thirty minutes late most days.”

Scarlett shoved straight out of her chair and stretched. Her shirt slipped free from the front of her cargo pants as she reached overhead. A dark line cut across her abdomen. Jagged. As wide as a pencil eraser, but before King had a chance to follow it to the end, she was pushing her chair back under the table. “I’ll drive you.”

“Not sure if you know this, but DEA agents are trained and licensed to operate motor vehicles,” he said.

“Did you forget I’m the one who brought you out here?” Scarlett gathered the file spread across the table back into a single stack, crisscrossed in sections for easy access.

Oh, hell. He’d left his SUV back at the morgue. And he didn’t have time to get it. King threaded his arms into his jacket. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Then let’s go. I just have to make a quick stop.” Her smile flashed wide, and an instant jolt shifted in his gut. There was something light and genuine about that smile that didn’t make sense in their line of work. Something she should’ve lost a long time ago.

She took the lead through the maze until they landed at a nondescript door. “Brace yourself. Meeting the twins for the first time can be a little overwhelming.”

“The twins?” King didn’t get an answer before Scarlett shoved through the door. A low howl jogged his nerves as all hell broke loose. Two dark-haired Dobermans sprinted straight at him, teeth bared.

“Sit.” One word from Scarlett, and the dogs pulled up short, planting their butts on the tile. Bright pink tongues licked at sharp teeth ready to sink into whatever could fit in their mouths, and King had no trouble imagining his arm made a good chew toy in their eyes.

King eased his hand over his sidearm, keeping an eye on the devils. “What is happening? Are these monsters yours?”

“This is Gruber and his sister Hans.” Scarlett crouched, putting her face between theirs, but King couldn’t help but notice while the Dobermans kissed at her face and neck, they kept their gazes solely on him. She scratched behind their ears. “They’re defensive K9s. Any hint of a threat to me or the people in this building, they respond with force.”

“What you’re saying is, it’s their job to eat people.” King suddenly had the urge to unholster his weapon, but doing so might be seen as an act of aggression.

“Yeah.” Scarlett stood, and the Dobermans fell in line on either side of her. “I’m their trainer, so don’t piss me off.”

His throat dried. A minute later, they wound their way to the elevator after a series of lefts and rights King lost track of halfway, all the while keeping his distance from Jekyll and Hyde. Truth be told, he couldn’t tell which way was up in this place.

“How does anyone manage to navigate through the building? It all looks the same,” he asked.

“I designed it that way in case of a breach.” They stepped into the elevator car and faced off with their reflections as the doors closed. “Disorienting the enemy can be useful in times of war. That, and a few other security measures I built in.”

His stomach launched higher in his chest as gravity lost its hold during their descent into the garage. King had the instinct to reach out for Scarlett’s shoulder to steady himself, but grabbing a coworker—in any field—could land him facedown with a knee in his back. Not to mention a couple flesh wounds. He closed his eyes and breathed through the disorientation. He needed a distraction. “I take it you served.”

“Army. Security specialist.” Her voice echoed off the walls of the elevator car. Steady, reassuring. If something were to happen right now, she’d be the one to know what to do. “Twelve years, three tours and partridge in a pear tree.”

Impressive. Twelve years, though. Meant she hadn’t served a full twenty and gotten her retirement like most of the vets he worked with in the DEA.

The nausea receded as the elevator landed in the garage. He pried his eyes open before taking that first step from the car after Scarlett. The scent of gasoline infiltrated his lungs and hauled him back into the moment. He’d gone all day without eating. Any longer and his blood sugar would get the best of him. “Is that where you got the scar?”

Scarlett pulled up short, and the Dobermans followed suit. A hint of betrayal contorted her expression. Just for a moment before she wiped her face of emotion. “Don’t ask me about the scar, Agent Elsher. Not ever.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, heading for the nearest SUV. The alarm chirped as they approached, and she got behind the steering wheel without waiting for him to catch up. The dogs climbed over her lap and went straight for the cargo area at the back. As though they’d done it a thousand times before.

Every interaction they’d had since he tackled her in the morgue opposed her reaction a few seconds ago. King made his way to the passenger seat and buckled in as she navigated through the garage.

Picketers rushed to his side of the vehicle. Neon signs written with barely legible handwriting and exclamation points. Yells filtered through the tinted glass. Blinding desert sun enveloped them as they left the safety of Socorro’s headquarters, and suddenly he felt as though he’d screwed it all up. Just as he had those first couple weeks after Julien came to live with him. “I’m sorry. It was none of my business. It won’t happen again.”

The seconds ticked off one after another as they carved through the dry landscape, and King couldn’t help but wish they could go back to how it’d been before he opened his mouth. “So does this mean we’re going to be all awkward and standoffish with each other from now on?”

A whisper of that smile he’d witnessed in the conference room made an appearance and released the pressure strangling his insides. “Probably. Guess it’s a good thing this arrangement is temporary.”

He’d missed this over the past few days. Having someone to bicker with. When it came right down to it, working drug cases and chasing down leads took a toll. The things he’d seen in the field would stay with him forever, but being able to joke and laugh systematically released the darkness that accrued inside. Something he never wanted his son to see.

Adam had given him that for a while. Now King wasn’t sure what would happen.

“Why Socorro?” he asked.

Scarlett checked the rearview mirror. “What do you mean?”

“The cartel dumped my partner’s remains outside of your headquarters. Why not at his home or the DEA?” He pried his phone from his jacket pocket. Sixteen missed calls. A handful from his superior, the rest from Adam’s wife.

She deserved answers. She deserved to know the truth. He’d convinced the medical examiner he should be the one to notify Adam’s family of his death, but he’d been so caught up in going back through Eva’s case looking for a connection, he’d managed to put it off as long as possible. King wasn’t sure if the same applied to the DEA. If the media got hold of the story and broke the news first, he’d never be able to face Adam’s wife and kids again.

His thumb hovered over the screen. One tap. That was all it would take to give her the relief she needed.

“I’ve been wondering that myself,” Scarlett said. “You haven’t told the family your partner was murdered.”

“I’ve tried at least a dozen times, but there’s not really a Hallmark card for that, is there? Nothing I could say that would make this any better.” King pocketed his phone. He would do it. He’d make the call. But now wasn’t the time. Not until he could assure her he’d gotten justice for Adam. Though he was sure his wasn’t the only number she’d dialed the past few hours after not getting an answer from her husband. “‘Sorry, I got your husband killed. My thoughts are with you.’”

“Just keep it simple. And mean what you say. It makes all the difference.” Scarlett turned that intense green gaze on him.

“You have to deliver a lot of bad news in your line of work?” It was a stupid question and completely on the line of procrastination. He couldn’t avoid the call forever. At this point, he was just making excuses.

“No, but I’ve been on the receiving end more times than I can count.” Scarlett maneuvered through the neighborhood surrounding his son’s elementary school as though she’d been here before. “We’re here. Where is your son waiting?”

King sat up straighter in his seat, all thoughts of his partner’s family draining as he searched for his own. Checking the time, he confirmed they weren’t much later than his normal arrival. There were still a couple kids hanging around on the playground equipment soaking up a few more minutes with friends. Parents waiting in vehicles too. “He’s supposed to be at the corner. Probably went into the office to wait. I’ll be right back.”

He shouldered out of the vehicle and jogged to the double glass doors beside the kindergarten area. The first layer of doors opened without issue, but he had to be buzzed into the office. He waited until the administrator unlocked the barrier. “Hi, I’m here to pick up Julien Roday. I’m his dad, King Elsher.”

“Oh. There must’ve been some kind of mix-up on your end,” she said. “Julien was checked out a couple hours ago.”

No. That wasn’t right. “Checked out? By who?”

The administrator collected the clipboard from her desk and handed it off. “By his mother.”