Trail of Evidence

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ONE (#ulink_2180763f-4bc8-5207-baf3-1bd30609230b)

Veterinarian Jonas Parker jerked from his slight doze and lay still in the recliner where he’d crashed only a few minutes earlier shortly after midnight. He’d spent the night treating a longtime client’s Doberman, who’d gotten hit by a car. A few lacerations and a couple of broken bones later, the dog now rested in the kennel at the office and Jonas had come home to get some much-needed rest. Only now he was hearing things. His ears honed in on the noises of his house and he frowned, wondering what had awakened him.

Silence echoed back at him.

Annoyance rushed through him. He’d just gotten relaxed enough to maybe fall asleep, and his house settling had disturbed him. He snorted. Earplugs might be a good investment. He closed his eyes and let out a low breath.

Crash.

Jonas shot into a sitting position as his blood pounded through his veins.

That wasn’t the house settling. Someone was in his house. Upstairs.

Felix! He had to get to Felix, his thirteen-year-old son. He froze, his thoughts scrambling. No. Wait. It was Saturday night. Felix was sleeping over at a friend’s. A flash of relief, then determination made his heart kick up speed.

Who was it? What did the intruder want? Money? Jewelry? Moving as silently as possible, Jonas rose from the recliner and stood, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides.

A weapon.

He needed to be able to defend himself.

Where was his phone? He had to call for help. And get out.

The stairs creaked. He stopped at the edge of the room.

To get to either the front door or the back, he would have to go through the kitchen. Which meant passing the stairs.

While his adrenaline pounded, Jonas thought hard. His cell phone was on the kitchen counter. He didn’t have a landline.

Soft footfalls on the steps reached his ears as though someone didn’t want to make a lot of noise, but wasn’t very skilled at being quiet.

Jonas grabbed the nearest thing he could use as a weapon from the built-in shelf. Felix’s track meet trophy, his son’s pride and joy. Hefting it in his left hand, he decided to bolt for the kitchen, grab his phone from the counter and keep going out the back door. He’d avoid a confrontation if at all possible but he needed to get help on the way.

Grab the phone, get out and call for help. A good plan. He slipped past the bottom of the steps, praying the darkness hid him from whoever was on them. In the kitchen, moonlight filtering from the window over the sink illuminated the way.

The floor creaked behind him.

A hard hand centered itself in the middle of his back and a hard shove propelled him into the kitchen table. Jonas bounced, stumbled and crashed into the refrigerator. Felix’s trophy tumbled from his fingers. Fury boiled through him and he spun, striking out, praying to hit something. He landed a hard fist on his attacker’s face.

A hiss of surprise and a curse reached his ears.

Jonas managed to grab the trophy once more. Then the feel of something hard and cold against his left cheek froze him. “I have a son,” he whispered. “He needs me.”

“Give me the phone.”

“What phone?” Jonas clutched the trophy, his mind racing.

“Give me the phone!”

The weapon moved, slipping from his cheek. Jonas brought the base of the heavy trophy up and moved sideways at the same time. He connected with the attacker’s stomach, heard a whoosh, then the gun clattering on the floor. The man cursed, swept his hand out and grabbed the gun. Jonas swung the trophy once more, connected. The intruder gave a harsh cry and bolted for the door.

Jonas panted and rose to go after him. Then thought of his son and stopped.

He grabbed his cell phone from the counter and dialed 911.

* * *

Brooke Clark pushed the laptop away and rubbed her gritty eyes. One in the morning and she was on her laptop? She needed to be sensible and get some sleep. But her adrenaline was still high even though her eyes longed to shut.

She’d just walked in the door an hour ago from a crime scene where Mercy, her very skilled K-9 golden retriever, had done her job well. She’d recovered some key evidence in a bank robbery and once testing was done on the glove, Brooke knew the DNA would put the criminal away.

Unfortunately, sleep would have to wait. She groaned, settled into the recliner and decided to keep working on the case that had caused her and her team no end of frustration.

Congressman Harland Jeffries continued to pound home the fact that his son’s murder still wasn’t solved. Late one night two months ago, someone had killed Michael Jeffries. Michael wasn’t just the congressman’s son, but was also a well-respected lawyer. The congressman had come upon the scene, his son on the ground, shot, and the murderer standing over Michael’s body. The killer had turned the gun on the congressman and shot him, leaving him for dead. Only Harland hadn’t died. He’d lived to tell the story and demand justice for his son. Unfortunately, darkness had prevented the congressman from seeing the murderer’s face, so the hunt was still on to find the person responsible.

She and the other members of the Capitol K-9 team wouldn’t be granted rest until the case was solved. Brooke loved her job, but frustration built at the lack of progress when it came to finding answers. She flipped the page in the file. Rosa Gomez, Congressman Jeffries’s housekeeper, was also connected to the case. Shortly before the shooting, Rosa had been found dead at the base of the cliffs in President’s Park. “Which hasn’t been technically proved to be murder. It could have been an accident,” she told Mercy. The dog yawned, then gave a low whine and nudged against her hand. The animal’s affection made her smile and run her hand over Mercy’s silky soft ears.

Mercy, her sweet—and super smart—golden retriever. Highly trained, Mercy and Brooke were partners in the elite Capitol K-9 Unit based in Washington, DC. Mercy specialized in retrieving evidence. Brooke sighed. She wished there were some evidence to be retrieved in either Michael Jeffries’s murder or Rosa Gomez’s death. “It’s all right, girl. Just because I’m up doesn’t mean you have to lose out on a good night’s sleep.” Mercy heaved a sigh and settled at Brooke’s feet. Then rose to pad to the door and back.

“You’re restless, too, huh?” Brooke got up from the recliner and went to open the door for Mercy. The dog bounded into the fenced yard, and Brooke stared out into the dark night. She shivered at the chill. March was a cold month in DC, and Brooke hadn’t grabbed her coat. She watched Mercy sniff and weave in and out of the bushes lining the fence. The trees beyond offered a sense of privacy and security, one of the reasons Brooke had purchased the home.

She pulled the door shut behind her and sat on the cement steps, wrapping her arms around her middle. Maybe the cold would revive some of her dead brain cells. Her thoughts were like a dog with a bone. She couldn’t keep her mind from gnawing on the Jeffries case.

Harland Jeffries was about to push Gavin, her captain, over the edge. Gavin was a good man, a professional in every sense of the word. Brooke respected how he had managed to hold on to his temper when it came to the congressman’s incessant demands on Gavin’s time. She stood. “Mercy, come.”

The dog bounded over to her and sat at her feet, ears perked. Brooke gave those ears a good rub and let the dog back into the house. Poor Gavin. He was really torn. She knew he was between a rock and a hard place. He had a lot of respect for the congressman. Harland had been a mentor to Gavin, and Gavin loved the man like a father. It was tearing him up not to be able to give him some answers.

She forced herself to head to bed. She’d count sheep if she had to. Or review the case notes while snuggling under the warm down comforter. Maybe then she’d doze off.

And maybe pigs would start flying.