Texas K-9 Unit Christmas: Holiday Hero

He used the end of a pen to lift it.

Not a hat. A ski mask. Black.

Henry whined again.

“Good job, boy,” Lucas murmured. This had to be the mask the perp had worn.

Lucas pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and dropped the mask into it. There’d be evidence on it. DNA. Clues as to who had attacked Emma.

Henry yanked against the lead. He still had the scent trail. God willing, the mask wouldn’t be the only thing they found.

“Seek!” Lucas commanded, and Henry scrambled to the top of the trash bin, jumped to the ground on the other side and took off running.

FOUR

Emma woke to darkness, her head pounding, her ribs aching. At first she didn’t know where she was. The pillow, the bed, the light seeping in through an open doorway—none of it was familiar. Somewhere in the distance, Christmas carols were playing, the faint music more creepy than comforting.

She tried to sit, but pain shot through her side, the stabbing agony stealing her breath. She touched her ribs. Cotton. Bandages. An IV in her hand.

The hospital.

Memories flooded in. The trip to the hospital. Bea arriving frazzled and worried. Doctors, nurses, X-rays.

A sputtering snore broke the room’s silence.

Emma glanced to the left, wincing as pain shot through her skull. Aunt Bea sat in a chair a few feet away, her head back, her mouth open. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her feet pressed firmly together. She wore her favorite blue suit and one of her Christmas brooches—a wreath made of green and ruby crystals. Emma had picked it up at an antiques store in Boston.

Bea’s purple-white hair was in rollers, and Emma wasn’t sure if she’d left the house in a hurry or if she’d simply forgotten that she’d put them in. Bea had been forgetting more and more lately. The doctor had warned Emma that the disease would progress that way.

Alzheimer’s.

She hated the name, hated what it was doing to the only woman who’d ever really cared about her.

Emma frowned. Her aunt should be tucked in her bed at home, not sitting in a chair in the hospital. She needed plenty of rest, plenty of good nutrition and plenty of patience. That was what the doctor had said, and Emma had vowed that she’d provide every one of those things. Bea had always been stubborn though, and after she’d arrived with a bag of clothes and toiletries for Emma, she’d insisted on staying until Emma fell asleep. Apparently Bea had fallen asleep, too.

“Bea?” she called out quietly.

Bea didn’t move.

“Bea? she said again.

Still nothing.

She shoved aside her blankets and stood, her legs wobbling. She tried to take a step forward, but the IV pole was on the other side of the bed.

Not one of her best moments, but she’d make it work. She scooted back across the bed, the pain in her ribs so sharp her breath caught. Sweat beaded her brow, her stomach rolled and Bea just kept snoring.

A shadow moved across the doorway, blocking the light as she finally managed to get to her feet again.

She froze, her blood running cold.

She’d been trying not to think about the attack, trying not to remember the dark shadow lunging toward her, the fear, the panic as she’d been dragged back into the diner.

“Who’s there?” she called, her voice wobbling.

“Lucas.” He stepped into the room, carrying the scent of balmy winter air with him. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Trying to wake Bea. She needs to go home.”

“And you need to be careful.” He urged her back onto the bed, his hands warm on her arms, his eyes deep green. “You don’t want to hurt yourself worse than you already are.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” she said, her cheeks hotter than they should have been. Because of Lucas?

Not possible.

Maybe she was feverish from the attack.

She touched her forehead, realized what she was doing and let her hand drop away.

“That bad, huh?” He settled onto the bed beside her, his long muscular legs encased in dark blue uniform slacks.

“It could be worse. I could be dead,” she murmured, looking at the wall, the floor, anything but his firm, muscular thighs.

“I’m glad you realize that, Emma.”

“What do you mean?” She met his eyes, felt something shiver to life inside of her. Memories of all they’d shared, maybe—long summer days spent hiking, biking, fishing. Long evenings spent on his parents’ front porch discussing life and goals and dreams.

“Henry and I lost his trail near a bus stop downtown. We were able to find his ski mask, but we couldn’t find him. Until we do, you’re going to have to take extra precautions.”

“He wanted money, Lucas. He didn’t find it. I’m sure he’s already looking for another victim.” That was what she’d told herself while the doctor stitched up the back of her head.

“He left your purse and wallet behind when he ran. Would someone who just wanted money do that?”

“Someone was banging on the door. It freaked him out.”

“I was the one banging, and he had plenty of time to pick up the purse when he ran past it.”

“He was probably too scared to stop.”

“I’ve been a police officer for a long time, Emma. I’ve worked hundreds of robberies, and I can tell you for sure, robbers don’t leave cash and wallets behind. Not if they can snag them during their escape.”

He was trying to make a point. The problem was, Emma’s head was pounding too hard for her to figure out what it was. “My brain isn’t functioning at full capacity, Lucas. What are you trying to get at?”

“He beat you up pretty badly, Em, for someone who was only after money.” He touched her cheek, his fingers trailing down a bruise that she knew was there.

“He kept insisting that I tell him where the money was. He hit me when I tried to run.” She eased to her feet, wanting to put some distance between them. She needed to think, needed to figure out exactly where he was going with his questions. “If money wasn’t his goal, then what was?”

“You?” He followed her across the room and stood so close that she could feel his warmth through the flannel pajamas Bea had brought for her. “I heard you broke up with your boyfriend a week before you left town.”