Primal Force (28 page)

“You gave up too much. When I finish this cut I'm going to show you how a handful of mousse, the right lipstick, and some mascara makes you good to go.”

“No makeup. No time for it.”

“Uh-huh.” Leila just kept snipping, shaping Sarah's mannish mullet into a softer feminine style.

Five minutes later Sarah was blinking at herself in the mirror. “Is that me?”

“It's you. Only better.” Leila held up three items. “For dress you use the same rosy lipstick for your mouth and cheeks. Dab it on the apples just like I showed you. For every day you use clear gloss to keep your lips soft and dab a little on your lids to give you a bit of shine. Apply mascara. Thirty seconds and you're good to go. It takes longer than that to pee. Now give me your cell phone so I can take a few photos for you to show one of those grocery store haircut places what the cut is supposed to look like.”

“It's a miracle.” Sarah kept staring at herself in Jori's passenger-side mirror on the drive back to WWP.

“You know,” Jori began conversationally. “There's another way to think about Yuki. He's not just there for Mike. He's there for your peace of mind, too. You've got backup. Let Mike fuss with her, brush her, feed her, play with her. That gives you time to do other things while Yuki keeps tabs.”

Sarah shrugged. “You really think it's safe to trust a dog with all that?”

“I could put you in touch with a couple of our other veterans' wives. They would be able tell you more than I can.”

Sarah touched the hair feathered out across her cheek. “I wouldn't know what to do with spare time.”

“Time you found out, maybe?” Jori chuckled. “But don't get too relaxed. We can't teach our dogs to cook a pot roast or tell a joke. And they'll never replace a good woman.”

As they rounded a corner, Sarah turned to gaze wistfully at the box store they were passing. “Seems a shame not have a new outfit to go with this haircut.”

Forty-five minutes later they entered the WWP building. Kelli, Jake, and Mike were drinking coffee and chatting.

“Well now, don't you look pretty.” Mike came to his feet on his braces and crutches, a big grin on his face for his wife. “Sarah, you look like a bride.”

“You're overdoing it, Mike.” Sarah took a friendly swat at her husband's arm. Her smile was as wide as sunshine.

Kelli winked at Jori. “Why don't you both come into my office for a moment?”

Within ten minutes, the Williamses were on their way home, Yuki happily stashed in the backseat of their truck.

Kelli came up to Jori. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I just took a chance. And I know what you're thinking. A little makeup and a decent haircut won't make her life any easier.”

Kelli grinned. “Then you for sure can't read my mind. I was thinking you pulled off a miracle. You've got a knack for dealing with people. Sometimes that's harder than working with the dogs. Good job.”

Jori basked in the glow of Kelli's praise all the way home.

It wasn't until she was alone that she allowed herself to even think of how lucky the Williamses were to have each other. Even with the burden of his disabilities.

Ten days and not a single message or phone call from Battise.

He'd warned her. But then he'd called and asked for her to come to Springdale.

She'd seen the real Battise. The lawman who set his own welfare aside to serve and protect others. And the troubled man who wanted desperately to hide his weaknesses. Seeing all that had made her want so much to be with this flesh-and-blood imperfect man. The trouble was, he didn't want to acknowledge that man.

Too bad. She was very much afraid she had fallen for him. Even with the dents and rust and mileage, he was more of a man than any other she'd ever known. So it might be hard, maybe close to impossible to be with him. But she was going to make him let her try.

“It beats the hell out of being alone.”

She was going to give him time, until Christmas Day. By then she might just dress up like that Dutch-girl elf he'd so admired in Eureka Springs, and show up on his doorstep. What would be the worst that could happen?

She knew him well enough to know he wouldn't turn her away if she started undressing. After that, well, one step at a time.

Argyle jumped up in her lap, purring and pawing, looking for the perfect spot.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Law was humming along to Johnny Cash's version of “I Won't Back Down” on the radio as he turned off High Sky Inn Road onto the paved strip of road that led to his cabin. It was raining and the forecast promised sleet then snow as the day wore on. Right now there was little to see beyond fine mist blowing in the beams of his headlights. Though the sky had shifted from navy blue to sullen gray, the hollows in the winding road were still pitch black. He'd worked a night shift at his desk. But he didn't mind. Two things had him smiling.

One, he'd be taking his physical the following morning. After he passed it, he'd be fully reinstated and ready for active duty.

Two, the morning's headline news story was fresh in his mind.

NORTHWEST ARKANSAS DRUG SWEEP ARRESTS DOZENS.

Even as he started to go over in his thoughts the details of the earlier newscast, the radio station news came on.

“The Central Arkansas Drug Task Force, assisted by other local, state, and federal agencies carrying warrants, arrested sixty-seven people in the early hours of this morning. Warrants were issued as part of a sweeping federal investigation into corruption and drug trafficking. Several additional people were arrested in Missouri and Oklahoma. The Arkansas arrests include four law enforcement officers who are accused of accepting bribes to watch over drug shipments crossing state lines. Further arrests are expected. The major surprise of the drug bust is Harold Tice, majority shareholder and CEO of Tice Industries. Mr. Tice, sequestered in his home, is expected to turn himself in at the courthouse later today. Three other men and a woman are still at large as of this newscast. Their names will be released at a task force news conference scheduled for eight a.m.”

Law turned off the radio. So Faded Blue Eyes was telling him the truth. Too bad he couldn't have been in on that.

He glanced over at Samantha, dozing peacefully on the seat. Since the major meltdown in Eureka Springs, he'd been feeling stronger. The daytime flashbacks were all but gone. Even the night terrors had lessened in frequency and intensity. He supposed he had Sam's diligence to let him know that was true. That didn't mean the worse attacks were gone forever. No one could promise that. Still, he couldn't very well go back on patrol with a doodle as backup. He had a decision to make.

He'd given it some thought. He didn't want another K-9 assignment. Something had changed with the loss of Scud. He couldn't put his finger on it. He'd thought it was anger and grief and guilt making him reject the thought. It was those things. They didn't, however, entirely explain the reason he didn't want to have another K-9 partner. Something inside him just felt … different.

Images of Jori kept him company when he did feel—what did she call it? The blue devils. A sissy name for what he dealt with but, strangely enough, the name helped. Several counselors he'd dealt with in the early days had suggested he visualize pleasant memories to counteract flashbacks. They'd never worked for him. Perhaps because he had so few. Until lately.

Imagining himself lying next to Jori, naked and sated from making love, gave him peace of mind, and a hard-on. Oh well, nothing was perfect.

He glanced at his cell as it vibrated. Jori. This would be her fifth call of the morning, after a week of asked-for silence. She probably wanted to talk about the news, and ask him about Tice.

He didn't have anything for her yet. Until he did, he wasn't going to risk talking with her. It would be their final conversation. He wasn't ready for that. Wasn't at all ready to let go of the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Still, he knew how to sacrifice for the greater good. That good, being her. He'd be a burden. She deserved better. He wanted her to have the best. That wasn't him.

He grunted. Guess he'd learned not to be so selfish, after all.

Except he wasn't ready for that final conversation.

He turned off the blacktop onto the gravel drive leading up to his cabin. The sight of a strange truck in his yard didn't alarm him. He'd been avoiding reporters for two weeks. He'd just have thought the news of Tice's imminent arrest would have outstripped a two-week-old story about a one-legged police officer.

His headlights gave him the first clue.

Missouri license plates. Not a reporter.

Law rolled to a stop fifty feet short. All his senses on alert. He lived in the woods for privacy. But that same privacy had liabilities. Whoever drove that truck would have heard him coming long before he saw that he had company. That didn't mean he didn't have a few advantages. The obvious advertisement painted on the side of his vehicle:
STATE TROOPER
. Being the law had its uses. Even with perps.

His headlights on bright to illuminate the area ahead, he waited a few seconds to see if anyone would exit the truck, or his front door. When that didn't happen, he reached back to release the safety on his holster then eased out of his cruiser, leaving the door open as a shield.

His guest might be some innocent civilian. Whoever it was, he was about to scare the bejabbers out of his uninvited guest.

“State police. Show yourself.” At that moment he heard Sam's low growl and swung around. But it was too late.

“Stop right there, Battise. Don't make me shoot you.”

He couldn't see the face of the man who'd been lying in wait for him. The guy had used the bright shaft of a high-beam flashlight to momentarily blind him. But he did recognize the voice.

“Pecker.”

“Turn around real slow. You know the drill.”

Law didn't move, hand still on his holstered weapon, though he could not make out the barrel of Becker's drawn weapon in the light. “You're one of the fugitives, are you?”

“You don't want to test me, Battise. I'm cold and getting wetter by the second. I want to talk to you. That's all I came for. Talk. Now turn around. Hands on the back of your neck.”

Law turned around slowly. He'd have another opportunity.

“Kick your door shut. I don't want to have to shoot your mutt.”

“No. She'll freeze out here.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do about that?”

“Let me call her. I'll put the leash on her. You've seen her. She's harmless. Sam! Heel, girl.”

Even as the words left his lips Law hated saying them. Every K-9 he'd ever partnered with would have had Becker already on the ground and subdued without his command. It was an innate instinct in most dogs, even pets, to defend the pack. Sam was growling. But she lacked the bite drive of a German shepherd or Malinois. He wouldn't risk her going for Becker and getting shot.

Sam leaped out of the car, head low. “Sam, heel.” Her gaze still on Becker, she moved to Law and bounced up on his chest to check him out.

Law looked down. “Good girl. Down. Heel. Now I'm going to attach her leash, Becker. Don't get squirrelly on me while I reach in my pocket.”

“Use one hand. And move slowly so I can see everything.” Becker watched Law attach Sam's leash. “Now move away the hell from the cruiser. Three easy side steps. That's right. Take off your rig. Use only your left hand. No, fuck. You're left-handed, aren't you? Right hand. That's right. Now extend the belt out the full length of your arm. Drop it and take three steps forward. Two more. Nice and easy.”

Becker moved in behind Law, careful to maintain his distance. “Now head for the house. I'm only going to warn you once. Make a move of any kind and I'll shoot you and your dog.”

The rain was already changing to ice. Law could feel it freezing on his face and on the ground. It caused his prosthetic foot to slide ever so slightly on the gravel as he resumed the walk toward his cabin. He had to concentrate not to slip. Becker wouldn't get far if this kept up. Winter in the Ozarks could be as dangerous and sudden as anywhere in the Lower Forty-Eight. Mountain roads and ice did not mix well. Add in the winds that whipped through the narrow hollows at fifty-plus miles an hour and the roads became deadly.

They reached the porch, Law six feet ahead. He thought about pushing through the door and taking his chances that he'd make it to the hearth and the loaded pistol he kept in the stack of firewood before Becker got to him. Lousy odds.

Once inside, Becker lowered his gun. But he didn't holster it. “Now, this is better. Been freezing my nuts off waiting for you.”

Law turned around slowly. “What's this about?”

“I need to get out of Arkansas.”

“I can't help you.”

“Oh, I think you can. And you will want to when you hear what I've got to say. Now get down on your knees.”

“I can't do that. Prosthesis.”

“I saw that video of you chasing the robber. You two were rolling around on the ground like a couple of puppies. You'll find a way.” He raised his weapon. “Now. If you touch the knife strapped to your leg I will shoot you.”

“In the back? That's a damn cowardly thing to do.”

“I'll shoot your dog.”

Law stiffened. Not Sam's fault she didn't have a killer instinct. “Let me sit in a chair.”

“Okay. But slow. I swear, one move and I'll plug that curly bag of bones and tag you, too.”

Law made his way to the kitchen table, hands still behind his head. He could judge by Becker's footsteps that he was staying far enough away to have a clear shot if he moved to attack. But Becker sounded exhausted. He'd probably spent hours in the cold and dark. That would make him distractible, but also unpredictable. He wasn't about to underestimate a longtime trooper like Becker.