Bogart began jumping and leaping around James, clearly riled up for the hunt but frustrated by the lack of direction.
Yardley muttered under her breath then gave vent to her feelings. "Just unclip him. Dammit. Give him the scent again and then get out of his goddamn way."
James did as she directed.
Finally, after another sniff, Bogart swirled around, long tail moving in slower loops as he sniffed and then ran on ahead, free now to find his way. Suddenly he paused and lifted his head. His panting ceased. Two seconds later, he wheeled and headed off into the brush where the culprit had been told to hide.
James ran after him, offering encouragement in a high-pitched rapid tone now that they both knew they had the scent.
Yardley didn't bother to follow. She knew the conclusion so well it wasn't necessary. She swore under her breath as she set her cap on her head and then folded her arms, one booted foot thrust forward so that her hips were cocked, to wait for her students to return.
Through sweat, determination, and by what her grandmother called "just plain cussedness," Yardley had made Harmonie Kennels one of the top breeding farms for K-9 service dogs on the East Coast. Teams were sent here for her rigorous training programs. Using her sterling reputation in the business, she insisted on having the final say-so in the pairing of her animals with their human partners.
She had put this team together because they shared similar natures. James had the same energetic yet tenacious quality as Bogart, and good instincts. Good instincts couldn't be discounted. Partners who trusted their instincts often solved cases using details that by-the-book partners missed. She was certain James and Bogart could become one of the finest K-9 teams she'd ever produced, but only if they learned to trust each other completely. Just now, they were acting like a couple who'd had the Big Fight. The bond between them had been disturbed and they were both the worse for it. That made her furious.
James and Bogart came back from their trial at a trot. The sight of the pair of healthy male specimens drew a half-smile of begrudging admiration from their coach. She pinched if off immediately and placed a fist on each hip. It was time to chew their asses.
James stopped before her, not at all winded. "Sorry. We're a little rusty."
Yardley ignored the gorgeous smile he slanted her way. "Rusty can let a suspect escape. Or get you killed."
He sobered instantly. "Yes, ma'am."
"How long have you and Bogart been off required training?"
"Four weeks, ma'am."
"Eight hours a week minimum, times four weeks. Well, hell. You've missed thirty-two hours of training. That's enough to ruin you as a team."
"Yes, ma'am. That's why I came out here first thing. To be assessed."
Yardley walked slowly around the pair, assessing the tension running through the young officer's body and the concern expressed by the way his canine companion was watching his partner's every twitch.
"You youngsters get a few takedowns under your belts and think you don't need to learn anything else. But without constant discipline and training, you're not K-9 officers. You're just a boy and his dog."
"We'll do better tomorrow, ma'am. I'll work him day and night between shifts."
"Did you not hear me? You're not fit for street duty."
Stung by her assessment, James had to bite back the comment that came to mind. It wasn't Bogart's fault he was rusty. It wasn't his … Hell. Maybe it was.
"Come with me."
They were both silent as they walked back to the main office. Hard as she could be, James was grateful for Yardley's close connection to the partners she paired up. Without it, Bogart might not have been found.
Aware that Bogart was missing, Yardley had paid special attention when she received a call from a young woman who said she had recently adopted a Belgian Malinois from a shelter. The caller said the dog was so well trained she thought he might have professional abilities. Yet when Yardley asked her to describe the dog, the young woman hesitated. That hesitation was enough to prick Yardley's curiosity. When pressed for details, for instance where exactly she had adopted the dog, she'd only say it was near Lake Gaston. When asked if the dog was tattooed or tagged, the caller had hung up. Even more suspicious. Following a hunch, she had called James.
They agreed. Why would the caller contact Harmonie Kennels unless she was aware of some connection to the dog in question? It could be a setup. Someone who'd steal a police dog might have a vendetta against the owner or the department. Worst-case scenario was the go-to mode of operation. The benefit of the doubt could get a law enforcement officer killed.
James and his sergeant had come up with a plan. On his own time, James would do some investigation in the general area of Lake Gaston, by pretending he was a civilian with a missing pet.
It was amazing what a local gas station or café owner knew or observed about her or his customers. One glance at the photo James carried of Bogart, and the owner of a café located on a farm road off Interstate 95 just east of Littleton gave him the location of a recent customer with a dog that fit the description. But, he added, she wasn't a local. Just visiting. Using one of the old 1950s cabins located on a cove on Lake Gaston. Sure enough, that's where he found Bogart, and Shay Appleton.
James found himself wondering what Shay was doing now.
"That's your problem right here."
James paused, looking guiltily at Yardley. "What?"
"Your mind just wandered. That single-minded obsession to do your best, it's missing today."
"Yes, ma'am. I was just thinking how lucky we were that Shay was the one to get custody of Bogart."
Yardley noticed that he called the woman by her first name but let that slide. "Did she know anything about handling a dog with Bogart's special talents and needs?"
"No, but she has good instincts. They developed a relationship very quickly." He told her about the incident in the woods the night he'd discovered Bogart was alive and then, the next day, how his partner had alerted him to the man's return. "Both times Bogart understood without prompting that she was in danger."
She regarded Bogart thoughtfully. "That's quite remarkable."
James grinned with pride. "Bogart has a sixth sense about such things."
"You need to keep that in mind." Yardley then bent down and gave the Malinois a big hug. "Good boy! Such a smart boy, too."
James waited patiently as Yardley lavished affection on his partner. Her voice became light and girlish when she dealt with the dogs. Then her smile would betray the sensuous woman behind the military posture. She was an enigma in a male-dominated field of K-9 law enforcement. Once in the armed services, she had left to train K-9s. Yet she commanded the respect of a general whenever she entered a room or came on the training field. It didn't hurt that she was one helluva good-looking woman.
Not that you could mention that around her. She was tall and lean but with curves in all the right places. She had eyes so black rumor was she was part Apache. But then there was that long dark red hair, almost mahogany, usually stuck under a fatigue cap. Her strong-boned face held a hint of sensuality most often disguised with a no-nonsense expression. Her friends called her Yard. Everyone else called her ma'am.
James wondered from time to time what sort of man would be able to get behind those defenses and claim the woman only rarely glimpsed, like now? So far, he'd seen every man who tried get shot down. He hoped he'd be around when that changed.
Yardley came to her feet, produced a ball from her pocket and threw it. Bogart was off like a missile, chasing it. "What happened with Ms. Appleton's boyfriend?"
"Her ex." James flexed his shoulders, revealing more than he knew. "I leaned on him a little."
"Can't she take care of herself?" Yardley's tone was that of a woman who wouldn't need a dog or a man's help to put anyone in his place.
That question had been on James's mind, too. "She was doing okay with Bogart around."
Yardley frowned. "You think she's still in danger?"
He retrieved a ball from his pocket as Bogart waited patiently for another toss. "Not really my business. She made that clear."
Yardley nodded. "Then she's got some grit. Good."
She took the ball from James and sent it sailing away. Bogart hustled after it as if it were a sirloin steak.
Yardley used the pause in conversation to think about what she should do next.