Capitol K-9 Unit Christmas: Protecting Virginia

It did.

The houses were large, well maintained and expensive. Lights shone from porches and highlighted security signs posted in several yards.

“That would almost be too easy, wouldn’t it? Look at some security footage, get a license plate number, find our guy?” he murmured more to himself than to Dylan.

“We can’t assume the guy was driving his own car, but if we could get a tag number on whatever he was driving?” Dylan smiled through the darkness. “We’ll have something to go on.”

“Did Gavin mention whether or not Morris sent the clothes we found this afternoon to the evidence lab?”

“Not to me, but if they were sent, it might be weeks before you hear anything. If they can find some DNA, there might be a match in the system.”

“Finding one will take even more time that Virginia might not have. The perp is bold. He entered the house while she was sleeping, and he had a gun.”

“Did he fire it?”

“Hit the side of the house. The bullet should be lodged in the siding.”

“We might get some ballistic evidence from it.”

“You mean Morris might,” John said. “He’s the local PD who’s handling the case.”

“I know who he is. Gavin told me to steer clear of the guy.”

“Guess Morris isn’t all that happy with my involvement.”

“From what Gavin said, he’s on his way, and he’s not happy. Said you needed to stop stepping on his toes or things could get ugly.”

“Should I sit back and watch a woman be terrorized?” John asked, allowing Samson to nose the ground, follow whatever scent he could to the east.

“As a fellow member of the Capitol K-9 Unit, I’m going to have to say yes. Because that’s the official protocol.”

“What would you say as my friend?”

“You know what I’d say, John. Do what you have to do to keep Virginia safe.”

“I guess you know which way I’m going to go,” John responded, because he couldn’t sit back and watch crimes be committed, he couldn’t back off and wait for help to arrive when he could be the one doing the helping. It was the way he’d been raised. His father, grandfather, brother, had all been police officers. They’d all given their lives for their jobs, sacrificing everything to see justice done.

“I guess I do.”

Samson stopped at a crossroad, circled twice, then sat on his haunches. He’d lost the trail. Not surprising. He was trained in apprehension and guard duty. Scent trail wasn’t his forte, though he’d done some training in that, as well.

“Good try, champ,” John said, scratching the dog behind the ears and offering the praise he deserved.

“The perp is heading toward downtown,” Dylan said, his gaze focused on the road that led out of the community. “If we had a description of the vehicle, I could call it in, get some officers looking for it.”

“Anyone who confronts the guy is going to have to be careful. He isn’t afraid to use his weapon.”

Dylan scowled. “That’s not news that fills me with warm fuzzy feelings.”

“I wasn’t too thrilled, either.”

“You’d be even less thrilled if you were lying in a hospital bed.”

“True, but I don’t think the guy was aiming for me. I think he was just trying to get me to back off.”

“So, he’s playing games?”

That was the feeling John had, so he nodded. “That’s the impression that I’m getting.”

He’d dealt with plenty of criminals. He’d had a few occasions when he’d been certain he was looking evil in the face. He was trained to understand the way felons would respond in a variety of situations, and he had a reputation for being good at staying a step ahead of the bad guys.

Sometimes, though, crimes weren’t about what could be gained. They weren’t about revenge or jealousy or passion. Sometimes they were a fantasy being played out, a game whose rules only the perpetrator knew.

He thought this was one of those times.

If he was right, the perp’s next move couldn’t be predicted. How he’d act or react couldn’t be ascertained.

The best thing they could do was find him quickly and get him off the street; because until he was locked away, Virginia wouldn’t be safe.

* * *

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Virginia mentally counted houses with Christmas lights while she waited for Officer Morris to finish typing whatever it was he was typing into his tablet.

Six. Seven. Eight.

She hadn’t learned much about what had happened at Laurel’s place, but she could say for sure that John had a good view of the neighborhood from his kitchen window—houses, streets, the city beyond, all of it covered with a layer of ice that sparkled with reflected light.

It would be a mess for the commute in the morning, but right then, it was lovely. So were the Christmas lights hung from eaves and wound around columns and pillars. Several trees were decorated for the holiday. Most of them with soft blue or white lights. Very elegant and lovely, but that was the type of community they were in.

Nine. Ten. Eleven.

Officer Morris continued to type, and Virginia continued to count, because it was easier to do that than think about the gunshot she’d heard. No one had been injured. That’s what Officer Morris had told her, but she hadn’t heard from John, and she was worried.

Because worrying was something she excelled at. Apparently so was counting.

Dealing with emergencies? Not so much.

She almost hadn’t opened the door when Officer Morris knocked. She’d been too afraid of who might be on the other side.

“Okay,” Officer Morris said. “The report is filled out. We’re good to go. How about we walk you back to your place, take a look around? Aside from a cut screen and busted window lock, I didn’t see anything that looked out of place, but it would be best for you to take a look before I leave.”

Her place.

Right.

She kept thinking of it as Laurel’s or Kevin’s or the Johnsons’, but it belonged to her, and she had to go home to it. At least for the next few days.