Back to Life. Linda O. Johnston

visited him at the hospital, just talked to him, too. The guy’s one tough bird. Most of the bullets hit his vest, but one got him above it, in the neck. Don’t know how, but it managed not to do a whole lot of damage. He’ll be sore for a while, but he’ll be okay.”

      A cheer erupted throughout the room, and Skye joined in. She was as pleased as anyone that Owens would survive. Maybe more than most. She knew exactly how the bullet failed to do permanent damage, but she wasn’t about to mention it.

      “Let’s not forget about Danver,” Captain Franks said, pouring icy water onto their brief celebration. A low, grief-filled rumble ensued.

      “When’s the funeral?” called someone.

      “Next week. We need enough time to make sure everyone who wants to get here can make it.” The captain’s voice rasped now, and Skye again felt tears rush to her eyes.

      She’d done what she had to and made dying at least a little easier for Danver.

      But it still hurt, and she hardly even knew him.

      “Anyone spotted Marinaro?” someone else shouted. The rumble turned into a roar of fury.

      “Not yet,” the captain admitted. He looked as enraged as everyone else in the crowded room. “But we’ll get him.”

      Shouts of agreement echoed off the walls.

      For a short while, the captain went over what was being done to track the suspect. A special team was being formed to follow up on any leads—assuming some came in.

      The person who’d called in with the initial tip that had led them to the warehouse had apparently disappeared. It wasn’t clear whether she’d fled in fear…or whether Marinaro had found her first.

      Soon, the meeting adjourned, and rows of uniformed officers filed out, rumbling and swatting each other on the arms, obviously glad to be alive despite their anger about their fallen comrade.

      “You on duty this evening?” Ron asked as they waited for the others in their row to leave. “I am—I’m patrolling downtown.”

      “No, soon as I finish my report Bella and I are through for the day.” She needed to rest. This meeting had made Skye feel…well, helpless—as if she’d initiated something important, yet left it undone.

      It wasn’t up to Bella and her to locate Marinaro now, yet she itched to find the suspect and bring him down.

      “You okay, Skye?” Ron asked.

      “Just fine,” she said. “I was only thinking of what the captain said, and wondering how, with all of us around like that, Marinaro was able to get away.”

      “You’re not the only one,” Ron said, straightening in his uniform.

      They’d reached the end of their row. Ron edged out first, but as Skye and Bella started to leave, their way was suddenly blocked.

      SWAT Officer Greg Blanding stood there, his shaved head emphasizing the breadth of his slightly misshapen nose. “Skye, hope you don’t mind, but I have a special request for you.”

      And when he told her what it was, she worked hard to maintain a straight face and nonchalant air despite the inappropriate cartwheels her insides had started to turn.

      “Sure,” she said. “I’m just happy Officer Owens survived. And I’d be glad to visit him in the hospital.”

      Chapter 3

      “Want me to come with you, Skye?” Ron asked as they walked out of the roll call room door with Bella.

      “Hey, Gollar, joining us for dinner?” one of the other guys called, punching his shoulder good-naturedly. “Your turn to buy.”

      “Yeah, yeah. Like you need it.” Ron grinned at the taller and rounder cop.

      The other guy was also smiling. “I’ll let you try to beat me up one of these days.” He went on ahead.

      “I’ll be fine on my own,” Skye told Ron. “It looks like you have things to do.”

      “If you’re sure…”

      “Enjoy your dinner.”

      “Right. And you enjoy your handiwork.” Ron looked a little wistful. He was a good guy, with a deep sense of right and wrong. Too bad he had to save lives the ordinary way.

      Skye led Bella back toward the area in the station that contained their cubicle. She didn’t have the time, or the inclination, to break for a meal. She was thinking too much about her impending visit to Trevor Owens’s hospital room.

      But she couldn’t go immediately, and not just because she had to finish the report detailing her perspective on what happened yesterday. She had research to do. She couldn’t exactly ask Owens what he was thinking when she brought him back from the dead or what made him so determined to survive. But she could arm herself with at least a little knowledge before going to see him.

      “Come on, Bella.” She led her companion out to the parklike fenced-in training area. The weather was Southern California perfect. The sun was shining, and it smelled…well, green and a little salty from the nearby Pacific.

      She let Bella run for a few minutes but she stayed still, conserving her energy. They were soon joined by three more members of the ABPD K-9 unit, guys with young, eager German shepherds who engaged Bella in roughhousing while Skye and her fellow humans cheered them on.

      “You were at that warehouse yesterday.” Ken Vesco was a by-the-book cop, an African-American who was friendly with Skye despite chiding her now and then about not treating Bella enough like a dog. “I wish to hell they’d called me back on duty, but Bandit and I had already worked ten hours.”

      “I doubt there was more you or any of the other guys could have done,” Skye said. She’d been the only K-9 handler there at the time. “Bella picked up the scent in the warehouse, but by the time she followed it outside to the parking lot the suspect was already gone.”

      “The bastard shot two cops,” Curt Tritt said through uneven, gritted teeth. His dog was Storm.

      “I want to be in on it when there’s something else to go on,” tall, thin Manny Igoa added. “Rusty and I’ll help bring him down.”

      “Bella and me, too.” Sure, Skye had taken on responsibilities in law enforcement for reasons far different from most of her compatriots’, but she always wanted to do a good job with her regular duties—not to mention those that her fellow officers would consider quite irregular.

      The others were still playing when she called Bella to go inside. She led her dog into the bull pen of cubicles shared by the K-9 team—a bunch of desks and file cabinets roughly organized in one moderate-sized room. She sat at her desk, told Bella “down” and booted up her computer.

      As soon as she’d filled out her report on yesterday’s warehouse incident, she opened the nonconfidential part of the ABPD employee files and looked up Trevor Owens.

      And got a jolt. The guy had been with the department for nearly seven years. During that time he’d been in four officer-involved shootings besides yesterday’s. In all the others, the suspect had also apparently fired first, and Owens returned fire in self-defense. Each time but this one, the suspect had died.

      The Force Investigation Division had cleared Owens of any wrongdoing. That’s all that was listed there—no specifics regarding any event or its review. The more detailed reports remained confidential, and although Skye might have been able to access them, she wasn’t officially entitled to. Plus, if she opened them, it might raise a red flag. She couldn’t do that. Her survival here depended on her remaining low-key, under the radar.

      She soon left for the day with Bella and with more questions raised than answered.

      After Skye showered and changed into comfortable jeans and a blue denim shirt, she walked and fed