Rookie K-9 Unit Christmas: Surviving Christmas

Freya barked to accompany her muttered, “Hello?”

“Zoe?”

“Yes.” Coming alert, she raised on one elbow.

“It’s me again. Sean Murphy. Sorry to bother you, but you did tell me to call if I needed anything.”

Instant worry for her college chum infused her. “Of course. What’s wrong? You sound awful. Have you had another PTSD flashback?”

“It’s worse than that.”

Her dark eyes narrowed, and she raked stray tendrils of long brown hair away from her face with her free hand. “How can it be worse? It’s not Patrick again, is it?”

“He’s okay, so far. There’s nobody here I can trust, and I really need help. Somebody’s trying to kill me.”

“What?” How could she express doubt without jeopardizing their seasoned friendship? “Are you sure? I mean, you told me you’d been a little confused since your medical discharge.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he countered. “I had the same misgivings. I’ve been awake for hours since this happened, trying to figure it out. Two guys broke into my apartment, and I fought with one of them.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Of course. You know how it is in a big city. If the prowlers had succeeded in shooting me, I’d have gotten more attention.”

“The men were armed?”

“Yes. One is now sporting a broken wrist, I hope. I disarmed him and he ran. So did his partner.”

Zoe paused to choose her words carefully. “Okay. You had a break-in. What makes you think these guys had murder on their minds?”

“I heard them say they were there to kill me.” He hesitated, then added, “I know I wasn’t hallucinating because of what happened next. When I hit one on his gun hand, the other fired and left a bullet in the ceiling. The cops took all the evidence. Since nothing was stolen and nobody got shot, they acted like they didn’t hold out much hope to catch the guys.”

“Unless the ballistics match another case,” she said. “Do you think these assailants might have been old friends of Sandra’s?” Zoe hated to bring up his late wife but felt compelled to ask. After all, the woman had overdosed while her innocent son was floundering in the deep end of a swimming pool.

“I can’t see why drug dealers would have it in for me,” Sean said. “Their business was with Sandra.”

“Agreed. So, how can I help you?”

“You can get me into that service dog program you mentioned when I was first discharged. I need to get my emotions under better control if I intend to survive more real life attacks.”

“Okay. I’ll see the director, Ellen Foxcroft, and put your name on her waiting list.”

“That’s not enough. Not after last night.”

Zoe could tell from his tone that he was approaching an emotional crossroad and wished they were face-to-face so she could judge his condition more accurately. “Are you and Patrick out of danger now?”

“Temporarily. I threw some clothes and stuff into the pickup, and I’ve been driving around, thinking, ever since the police left. I can’t take him back to the apartment. Whoever came after me last night may try again.”

“What about going to your in-laws? They have plenty of room for both of you, don’t they?”

“I’d rather hole up in a cardboard box on the street than rely on them,” Sean said. “The Shepherds were so concerned with excusing Sandra’s addiction and transferring blame, they laid it all on me.”

“Okay. Tell you what,” Zoe said, hoping her growing concern was masked, “why don’t you come on down to Desert Valley to visit me? I was going to head back to Mesa soon, but there’s no hurry. I don’t start my new assignment until after the first of the year, and the Desert Valley PD can use a few substitute cops here while their regulars take holiday time off.”

“What good will a few weeks do me?”

“It’ll give you a chance to chill out, for one thing. Besides, once Ellen meets you and Patrick and realizes how special your needs are, maybe she’ll make an exception and work you in.”

The quiet on the other end of the line troubled her. The Sean Murphy she’d met in college was nothing like this traumatized widower. Coming home from combat with PTSD was bad enough without having to face the death of his spouse and near loss of his only child.

“All right,” Sean finally said.

She almost cheered. Instead, she said, “I’m looking forward to it. And to meeting Patrick.”

Silence again. Then, “He’s not himself yet. He may never be. Doctors keep reminding me there are no guarantees.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Anger tinged his reply. “Of course it does.”

“No,” Zoe told him tenderly. “It doesn’t. He’s your son and you love him. That’s enough for me.”

Although Sean’s goodbye was terse, she could tell he was touched by her total acceptance. She didn’t have to see the boy to know he merited a good life with the parent who was willing to sacrifice anything to help him. Everyone deserved a fighting chance at happiness.

Even babies who are born with fatal birth defects, she added, blinking rapidly. She had not wept for her nameless baby brother since she was five years old and a stranger had come to take him away. Mama had cried then, but Daddy had stood dry-eyed, staring at the tiny, imperfect bundle wrapped in the blue blanket.

That was the last time Zoe had been permitted to talk about the absent baby. It was as if he had never been born, which was apparently exactly what her parents had wanted.

The sense of injustice and concern for the helpless had begun then and had built throughout her formative years, perhaps even directing her path into law enforcement. She didn’t trust easily, but she did have a soft heart for the downtrodden.

Like Patrick. And like his daddy.

* * *

Sean’s next stop was the bank, where he withdrew all but a few dollars of his savings via the drive-through window. If there was any chance he was being tracked or followed, cash would be a necessity.

And speaking of being followed...

A black SUV seemed to be dogging them. It was back several car lengths, yet changed lanes whenever he did. His hands tightened on the wheel. His little boy was strapped in, of course, but that didn’t mean it would be safe to take evasive action, particularly if excessive speed was involved. Where were the cops when you needed them?

Sean whipped around a corner, determined to find a patrol car or police station. He checked his mirrors. The SUV was gone. Had he merely imagined it trailing them? Imagined was the key, wasn’t it? His mind was good at seeing enemies around every corner and behind every door, the way they’d been in Afghanistan. His body had come home, but part of his mind was still over there, still caught up in the fighting.

He couldn’t afford to show signs of instability. If the authorities concluded he was an unfit parent, they might take Patrick away. Worse, with no other close relatives available, they might place him with his negligent maternal grandparents.

The only thing that mattered to Sean was his own assurance that Patrick was absolutely safe with him. If he’d thought otherwise, he’d have stepped back and voluntarily relinquished custody.

Glancing in the rearview mirror at his curly haired look-alike strapped into the narrower backseat he smiled. “You getting hungry, buddy?”

Patrick nodded.