Kansas City Confessions. Julie MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
trying to break in? Had the perp seen her? With his hackles rising beneath the collar of his coat, Trent pushed to his feet, noting where the new snow had been swept away—around the locked back door and down the sidewalk into the trees. He’d qualify that as weird. The scenario fit some kind of cover-up.
“Katie?” There’d better not be an answer. He raised his voice, praying the woods were quiet because the Rinaldis were safely home, asleep in their beds. “Tyler?”
His nape itched with the sensation of being watched, and Trent casually turned his light down along the path between the trees. Was that a rustle of movement in the low brush? Or merely the wind stirring the branches of a pine tree? The lamps along the sidewalk created circles of light that made it impossible to see far into the woods. With his ears attuned to any unusual sound in the cold night air, he moved along the cleared walk down toward the frozen creek at the bottom of the hill. “KCPD! You in the trees, show yourself.”
His deep voice filled the air without an answer.
“Katie?” His gloved fingers brushed against the phone in his pocket. Maybe he should just call her. But the hour was late and Tyler would be in bed and a phone ringing at this hour would probably cause more alarm than reassurance. Besides, if she wouldn’t give him any kind of explanation when she called him, he doubted she’d be any more forthcoming when he called her. He’d give this search a few more minutes until he could say good-night to the suspicions that put him on guard and go home to get some decent shut-eye himself.
When he reached the little arched bridge that crossed the creek, weird took a disquieting turn into what the hell? Trent stopped in the middle of the bridge, looking down at both sides—the one that had been deliberately cleared from the back door of the theater down to this point, and the two inches of snow on the sidewalk beyond the creek marked by a clear set of tracks. There were two skid marks through the snow, as if someone had slipped on the bridge and fallen, then a trail of footsteps leading up the hill on the opposite side. One set of tracks. Man-size. More than that, the distance between the steps lengthened, as though whoever had left the trail had decided he needed to run. A man in a hurry—running from something or to something or because of something. A student in a hurry to get to his dorm or car? Or a man running away from campus security and a cop who might be curious about why he’d want to erase his trail?
Where had this guy gone, anyway? The snow was coming down heavily enough that those tracks should be nothing but a bunch of divots in the icy surface if they’d been there when classes had been dismissed or Tyler’s rehearsal had ended. These were deep. These were recent. These were—
Trent spun when he heard the noise crashing through the drifts and underbrush toward him. He’d pulled up his coat and had his hand on the butt of his gun when a blur of tan and white shot out between the trees and darted around his legs. “What the...?”
Four legs. Black nose. Long tail.
After one more scan to make sure the dog was the only thing coming at him, Trent laughed and eased the insulated nylon back over his holster. “Hey, pup. See anybody but me out here tonight?”
The dog danced around him, whining with a mixture of caution and excitement. Apparently, Spot here was the only set of eyes that had been watching him through the trees. The poor thing wore no collar and needed a good brushing to clean the twigs and cockleburs from his dark gold fur. Feeling a tug of remembrance for the dogs his family had always had growing up, Trent held out his hand in a fist, encouraging the dog to get familiar with his scent. “You’ve been out here awhile, haven’t you, little guy?”
Of course, standing six foot five made most critters like this seem little, and once the dog stopped his manic movements and focused on the scent of his gloved hand, Trent knelt to erase some of the towering distance between them and make himself look a little less intimidating. When he opened his hand, the dog inspected the palm side, too, no doubt looking for food, judging by the bumpy lines of his rib cage visible on either side of his skinny flanks. The stray wanted to be friendly, but when Trent reached out to pet him, the dog jumped away, diving through a snowdrift. But as if deciding the big, scary man who had no food on him was more inviting than the chest-deep cold and wet, he came charging back to the sidewalk, shaking the snow off his skinny frame before sitting down and staring up at Trent.
“What are you saying to me?” Trent laughed again when the dog tilted his head to one side, as though making an effort to understand him. “I’m Trent Dixon, KCPD. I’d like to ask you a few questions.” The more he talked, the more the dog seemed to quiet. He thumbed over his shoulder toward the auditorium. “You know what happened here? Have you seen a curvy brunette and a little boy about yea high?” When he raised his hand to gesture to Tyler’s height, the dog’s dark brown eyes followed the movement. Interesting. Maybe he’d had a little training before running away or getting tossed out onto the street. Or maybe the dog was just smart enough to know where a friendly snack usually came from. “Your feet aren’t big enough to make those tracks on the other side of the bridge. And I’m guessing you spend a lot of time around here. What do you know that I don’t?”
The dog scooted forward a couple inches and butted his nose against Trent’s knee. When he got up close like that, Trent could see that the dog was shivering. With his stomach doing a compassionate flip-flop, he decided there was only one thing he could do. Katie Rinaldi might not need rescuing tonight, but this knee-high bag of bones did.
“Easy, boy. That’s it. I’m your big buddy now.” Extending one hand for the dog to sniff, Trent petted him around the jowls and ears with the other. When the dog started licking his glove, desperate for something to eat, he grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. Other than jumping to his feet, the dog showed no signs of fear or aggression. Maybe the mutt had made friends with enough college students that he didn’t view people as a threat.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you in,” Trent teased, standing and lifting the dog into his arms. Craving either warmth or companionship, the dog snuggled in, resting his head over Trent’s arm and letting himself be carried up the hill to Trent’s truck. “I’ll get you warmed up and get some food in you. Maybe you’ll be willing to tell me what you saw or heard then.”
The dog was perfectly cooperative as Trent loaded him into the cab of his truck and pulled an old blanket and an energy bar from his emergency kit behind the seat. “It’s mostly granola and peanut butter but...okay.”
Taking the bar as soon as it was offered, the dog made quick work of the protein snack. “Tomorrow I’ll get you to the vet for a checkup and have her scan to see if there’s an ID chip in you.” He got a whiff of the dog’s wet, matted fur when he leaned over to wrap the blanket around him. “Maybe they can give you a bath, too.”
Trent shook his head as the dog settled into the passenger seat, making himself at home. “This is temporary, you know,” Trent reminded him, starting the engine and cranking up the heat. “I’m a cop, remember? I’ll have to report you.”
Stinky McPooch raised his head and looked at Trent, as though translating the conversation into dogspeak. His pink tongue darted out to lick his nose and muzzle and he whined a response that sounded a little like a protest.
“Don’t try to sweet-talk your way out of this. You owe me some answers. So what’s your story? No warm place for the night? Anybody looking for you?” The dog tilted his head and an ear flopped over, giving his face a sad expression. Trent turned on the wipers and shifted the truck into gear before driving toward the street. “Sorry to hear that. I’m a bachelor on my own, too. You can call me Trent or Detective. What should I call you?” When he stopped at the exit to the parking lot, Trent reached over the console to pet him. Pushing his head into the caress of Trent’s hand, the dog whimpered in a doggy version of a purr. “All right, then, Mr. Pup.” He pulled onto the street. There wasn’t much traffic this time of night, so it was safe enough to take his eyes off the road to glance at his furry prisoner. “Did you see anything suspicious at the theater tonight?”
The dog barked, right on cue.
When Trent moved both hands to the steering wheel, the mutt