Cornered In Conard County. Rachel Lee

take him out, he’ll know what to do even if he doesn’t hear the word.”

      “Meaning?” She began to feel confused.

      “If you tell him to guard, he will. And he won’t always need an attack command to protect you. He’s capable of evaluating a threat that gets too close. This is for when something is a little farther away and he might not see it as a threat to you immediately.”

      “Ah, okay.” Now she was beginning to understand.

      He patted her shoulder with his padded mitt. “It’s about to all come together. I’m going to walk away about twenty feet. You’re going to give the guard command. Then I’m going to turn around and point a toy gun at you. Pay attention to what happens as I approach you.”

      Okay, she thought. She could do this. “Flash, guard,” she said. She felt the dog shift a little beside her but didn’t look down at him.

      About twenty paces away, Cadell turned around. He held a gun in right hand, but it was pointed down. Flash didn’t stir a muscle. Step by step Cadell approached. At ten feet he raised the gun and pointed it at her. Flash didn’t need another command. He took off like a shot and bit into the padding on Cadell’s right forearm.

      “My God,” Dory whispered. She’d had no idea. The dog clung to that threatening arm and wouldn’t let go even as Cadell tried to shake him off and whirled in circles, lifting Flash’s feet from the ground.

      “Stop him,” Cadell finally said.

      “Flash, release,” Dory ordered, remembering the command he had taught her to make the dog drop his toy. Flash obeyed immediately, looking at her. “Heel.”

      He trotted over to her, looking quite pleased with himself.

      “Now the reward,” Cadell said.

      Which was the yellow tennis ball. She told him he was a good boy as she gave him the ball. Flash chewed on it a few times, then dropped it at her feet, begging for her to throw it, so she did. He raced happily after it.

      “It’s just that simple,” Cadell said, watching her as much as he watched the dog. “A few more steps, a couple of days of practice and he’ll do anything for you.”

      She squatted, encouraging Flash to come back to her. “How do I let him know it’s okay not to be on guard?”

      “Throw his ball. That means playtime.”

      So simple, she thought. And so amazingly complex all at the same time. Beautiful, too, she thought as she hugged the Malinois. The dog already made her feel safer. What’s more, he made her feel as if she weren’t quite as alone.

      * * *

      AFTER DORY LEFT with Betty, Cadell spent the afternoon working with two more officers who were training to become handlers. What they needed was more complex than what Dory needed, and the training was going to take a little longer. Simple fact was, while a civilian could get in some trouble for a misbehaving dog, a cop could have his career ruined. Or the department could be sued. Plus, these guys went into a wider variety of situations, situations that required tracking, rescuing and so on. Dory wouldn’t need all those skills.

      When he finished that up, he ate a quick dinner, then headed into the sheriff’s office to do his shortened shift. On training days, he worked as a deputy for no more than four hours.

      Before he left, he took time to feed the ostriches their very expensive feed and open up their pen so they had more room for roaming. Neither of them appeared appreciative.

      He and his dog Dasher, also a Malinois, drove into town in his official vehicle and parked near the office. Inside, they found the place quietly humming. Another placid night in Conard County, evidently. He was surprised sometimes how much he enjoyed the relief from the much higher activity level of Seattle. Must be getting old, he thought with an inward smile. Yeah, like thirty-five was ancient.

      Dasher settled beside his desk, tucked his nose between his paws and just watched. Since nothing seemed to be happening, he used the computer on his desk to look up the story of Dory Lake and her brother. He felt no qualms about discovering what he could from public records about that incident. He wasn’t snooping, but he’d be learning what she had faced and would get a much better threat assessment than Dory’s, which seemed to be somewhere between terror and dismissal.

      He wasn’t surprised to find a twenty-five-year-old case still accessible. The basic police report would be available for many years to come in case George Lake ever got into trouble again. It was nice, however, to find it had all been digitized. Newspaper archives were also ready and waiting.

      So Dory, just turned seven, had been found screaming in the middle of the street at nearly 2:00 a.m. Neighbors had come running and called the police, who arrived in time to catch George Lake trying to flee the scene. Open-and-shut as far as George was concerned. He’d wiped the murder weapon, but he was far too drenched in blood to claim innocence. For some reason, not clearly explained, he’d been offered a plea bargain for twenty-five years. Drugs appeared to be involved, and the father had been abusive. He guessed the prosecutor couldn’t pull together enough to uphold a first-degree murder charge, so George had accepted a bargain down to twenty-five. Without a trial, there was very little in the record to explain any of this.

      But what stuck with him was a newspaper account. Apparently, when Dory had stopped screaming, the only words she had said for nearly a year were red paint.

      God. He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, seeing it all too clearly. The child had been well and truly traumatized. There was even a mention of hysterical blindness, a conversion disorder, but that hadn’t lasted as long as her refusal to speak.

      She’d been taken in by her godparents and raised by them, so no additional trauma from foster care, but what difference did that make after what she’d seen? No one, at least in these files, knew exactly how much she had seen, but it was clearly enough to be shrieking in the middle of the road and rendered dumb for nearly a year.

      Except for red paint.

      He’d seen a lot of bad stuff during his career, but the thought of little Dory in the middle of the street...well, the story was enough to break his heart.

      As for her mixture of feelings about George...well, that was settled in his mind when he read that Dory had received the entire—very large—insurance payout and all the rest of the property. George might be feeling cheated. In fact, Cadell was inclined to believe he was. He’d lost his entire inheritance because he’d been convicted of killing his parents. He might be thinking he could get some of that back. Make Dory pay him to leave her alone.

      Or maybe worse. Because it occurred to him that if Dory died, her only heir would be her brother...and if he weren’t linked to her death...

      Hell. He switched over to the reports menu and tried to shake the ugly feelings.

      Being a cop had made him a much more suspicious man by nature. Sometimes he had to pull himself back and take a colder view, stifle his feelings and use his brain.

      But his gut was telling him this wasn’t good at all.

      * * *

      DORY WAS ALL excited about Flash when she saw Betty again that afternoon. “I feel like a kid at Christmas,” she confided. “That dog is wonderful. I fell in love instantly.”

      Betty laughed and poured the coffee. “I knew a dog was a good idea. He’ll brighten your days even if you never need him.”

      “I need him already,” Dory admitted. “I’m so used to living in a world that exists only on my computer I’d forgotten a few other things might be nice. A friend like you, a dog like Flash.”

      “A man like Cadell,” Betty remarked casually.

      It took a second for Dory to catch on. “Betty! Are you trying to matchmake?”

      “Never.” Betty grinned at her. “I just meant you should give him a chance to be a friend. He’s been in