Operation Unleashed

Stepping up to the plate will put him in the line of fire…

For Drew Kiley, married life isn’t what he had in mind. Driven to “I do” by a sense of familial responsibility, he assumes the role of husband to his brother’s wife, Alyssa…and the role of father to his nephew, Luke. It seems to be the logical solution in light of his brother’s abandonment. But Drew doesn’t know the whole truth about his brother’s past. A rescue from a canine companion sets Drew and Alyssa on a perilous course of extortion, kidnapping and secrets unveiled. United in their determination to protect Luke, Drew and Alyssa learn to depend on each other. But as tensions escalate, so does a deep undercurrent of desire that casts their marriage in a different light.

“Don’t,” Drew said, snapping her out of her painful memories. “Don’t say things you don’t really mean.”

There was an undertone of something in his voice that made her breath stop. A tightness, an edge, something.

Heat. That, too. In his voice, and in his eyes as he looked at her.

“But I do mean it,” she said softly. “I’ve only just realized I’ve meant it for a while now.”

“Lyss—”

She put a hand on his chest, over his heart, and his words cut off as if her action had sucked the very air out of him. She could feel the thud of his heart, felt a skip in her own heartbeat as his accelerated at her touch.

Dear Reader,

I never grew up with a brother. I had one, but he died as an infant before I was born, so I never had that kind of sibling relationship with a male. Perhaps that’s why it fascinates me so. Or perhaps it’s because it’s so very different from the sister/sister relationship I do know. But my husband had four brothers, and a son and daughter, so I’ve had great opportunity to observe and learn. And I have a niece and nephew who are playing out that growing up together right now. Right about here is where I should say the story in this book is not a representation of any of those relationships!

If you grew up with brothers, I envy you. It’s something I missed, and although I suspect I would not have appreciated it every step of the way, that it intrigues me is obvious since they keep cropping up in my work. And to those of you who would say, “If you’d had one, you wouldn’t feel that way!” I can only say I’m the victim (grateful recipient?) of that writer’s curse…the words What if?

In a previous book (Operation Reunion) I explored that brother/sister connection. In this book, it’s two very different brothers, one long dead but still affecting the other, in fact shaping his entire life.

I hope you enjoy it!

Justine

Operation Unleashed

Justine Davis

JUSTINE DAVIS

Justine Davis lives on Puget Sound in Washington state, watching big ships and the occasional submarine go by, and sharing the neighborhood with assorted wildlife, including a pair of bald eagles, deer, a bear or two and a tailless raccoon. In the few hours when she’s not planning, plotting or writing her next book, her favorite things are photography, knitting her way through a huge yarn stash and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.

Connect with Justine at her website, >justinedavis.com, at >twitter.com/justine_d_davis, or on Facebook at >facebook.com/justinedaredavis.

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MAX

I was used to female German Shepherds, so when Mandy died, I immediately sought out another Shepherd. A woman invited me out to see her dogs; she had at least 7 Shepherds. When I got there, I asked, “Which one is mine?” She pointed to a smallish brown and white male dog, with floppy (not pointy) ears. So I said, “What’s that?” And she said, “That’s Max. He’s part Brittany, part Pointer. You can have him.” I wanted a Shepherd. Female, not a male mutt. But the thought of having fur to pet and cuddle led me to lead him to the car. By the time I got home, I was in love! Max had eyes the color of sherry, he craved salad, and he was my constant companion and faithful guy for 13 years. The night my mother died, he went into my mother’s room and walked around her hospital bed, as if to say, “Goodbye.” And less than a year later, Max became suddenly, catastrophically ill—and I was having to say “Goodbye” to him. It is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. He died in 1995, and I still miss him every day. Max the wonderful dog—I still love you.

—Binnie Syril Braunstein

This is the latest in a series of dedications from readers who have shared the pain of the loss of a beloved dog. For more information visit my website at www.justinedavis.com.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

Extract

Chapter 1

Quinn Foxworth had never really realized just how loud a dog’s bark could be. For an instant, when Cutter exploded into earsplitting noise inside the closed vehicle, a vision of distant sands and guard dogs trumpeting a warning of an enemy inside the perimeter shot through his mind.

That hadn’t happened for a long time. He consciously eased his muscles, especially his hands, on the steering wheel and instinctively slowed the SUV down.

“Loud when he wants to be, isn’t he?”

Quinn looked over at his fiancée, and the last of the memory vanished. He was grateful she hadn’t noticed his reaction. And then her gaze locked on his and he saw in her eyes that Hayley hadn’t missed a thing. But she had intentionally not prodded.

No wonder he loved her beyond measure.

“Yes,” he said belatedly, having to raise his voice just as she had to be heard over the cacophony from the back of the SUV.

“He’s not usually like that in the car,” she said. “You know he has exquisite manners. Well, except for when that guy tried to reach in.”

“Good for him. And lucky for the guy it wasn’t me.”

She smiled. Yeah, he loved her all right. And their wedding wasn’t soon enough to suit him, even though it was less than a month away.

The barking suddenly morphed into a howl, and Cutter clawed at the back hatch of the car.

“Well, that’s a new one,” Hayley said, wincing at the sound.

“Easy, dog,” Quinn said, but the howling continued.

He’d learned by now that ignoring Cutter was never a good idea. They were on a rather narrow lane, headed home from the indulgence of a breakfast out, but they’d passed a park a few yards back. He checked the mirrors, then put the SUV in Reverse. The moment they began to back up, the howling subsided to a mild whine that at least allowed room for thought.

He backed up until he could swing into the small parking area. The whine stopped. But Cutter was clearly still on full alert, ears and tail up, staring out toward the park.

“I suppose he wants out.”

“It’s raining,” Hayley said, “of course he does.”

With a sigh, Quinn hit the button that raised the hatch. Before he could even get his door open Cutter was out and running across the wet grass of the park.

“Well, he’s thoroughly unleashed now,” Quinn muttered as he walked around the back of the car to where Hayley stood, watching the dog go.

“Did that look full of intent to you?” she asked.

Hayley was focused on Cutter. Quinn stole the moment to just look at her again. He never got tired of the little jab of wonder that struck him when he realized she was his, that she would always be by his side.

“Quinn?”

“Sorry,” he said, not meaning it in the least. “I was distracted by the view. As usual.”

He loved that she still colored up when he said stuff like that.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “But...”

She gestured toward the far side of the park, where their rascal of a dog was approaching the child who sat on one of the swings. A blond boy in jeans and a sweatshirt but no jacket, with a small backpack beside him. He was staring at the ground, digging a sneakered toe into the mud.

“If you mean did all that ruckus in the car and then the beeline over there seem very specific, then yes,” he said in answer to her original question. “We’d better go rein him in. Don’t want the kid getting scared.”

She nodded, and they started across the grass. The rain was coming down steadily, but lightly. Cutter was almost there, but the boy hadn’t seemed to notice. In fact, he didn’t seem to be noticing anything except the way the mud oozed around what looked to be fairly new, once white sneakers.

Cutter had come to a halt about two feet away from the boy. “Maybe he just wants to play,” Hayley said. “There haven’t been any kids around for him to play with lately, since Brian moved away.”

The dog sat. Waited.

“Well, he’s not playing,” Quinn said. “And the kid doesn’t look much like he wants to.”

“It is raining.”

“When I was that age, I couldn’t have cared less if it was raining if there was playing to be done.”

Hayley laughed, a light, lovely sound that never failed to expand the warmth he always felt when he was with her.

“Not every boy is a bold adventurer such as yourself,” she teased.

“That’s what I get for being born before kids became tethered to a video game console.”

“Thank goodness.”

She turned her gaze back to the pair they were nearing. Cutter had reached out with his nose, and the boy had responded perfectly, holding out his hand, low and slow, for the dog to sniff. Someone had taught him, Quinn thought.

And then the dog rose and went forward, turning sideways to lean against the boy’s knees. The boy moved then, reaching to pat the dog. Cutter leaned harder. The boy’s fingers burrowed into thick fur. And Cutter leaned even more. They were just close enough to hear the odd sound the boy made before he leaned forward himself, wrapping his arms around the animal’s neck as if he were a life preserver. Cutter twisted his head up and back, and swiped his tongue across the boy’s cheek. A smile broke through, and only when he saw it did Quinn realize just how downcast the boy had seemed.

“You’re right, Cutter isn’t acting like he wants to play, either,” Hayley finally agreed. “In fact, he looks like...”

Her voice faded away. Quinn nodded. Spoke quietly.

“Yeah. He looks like he’s protecting.”

“Standing between that boy and the world,” she said softly.

Quinn let out a compressed breath. “I knew it had been too quiet these last couple of weeks.”

When the boy looked up at them, his expression wary, they stopped a few feet away. Cutter looked at them, his tail wagging in greeting. He made a quiet little whuffing sound, but never moved away from the boy.

Quinn held back slightly, letting Hayley take the lead with the child.

“Hi,” she said softly. “That’s Cutter, if you were wondering what his name is.”

The boy clung to the dog. “Cutter?”

That earned him another swipe of the tongue that made him smile despite his wariness.

“What kind of dog is he? I like how he’s black in front and brown in back.”

“We’re not sure, exactly. He looks like a sheepdog that comes from Europe.”

“Oh.”

“Are you here by yourself?” Hayley asked.

The boy’s expression went back to wary. His gaze flicked to Quinn, then back to Hayley. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“That’s a good plan.” Quinn spoke for the first time, gently. “But Cutter’s already introduced himself.”

“My mom says sometimes bad people use dogs or cats to try and trick kids.”

Hayley smiled. “Good for your mom. She’s right, and I’m glad she warned you about that. So why don’t you take us to her? Then we can talk to her and not be strangers anymore. And she can decide if it’s okay for you to get to know Cutter.”

The boy sighed. “She’ll say no. She’s mad again.”

“At you?” Quinn asked.

“Sort of. And at my dad.”

Hayley glanced at Quinn. He nodded; the boy seemed to talk more easily to her, understandably. “What did your dad do?”

“He said something bad about my father.”

Uh-oh, Quinn thought. Already into a domestic situation. Divorce, stepfather, that could get ugly. Except the boy had called him his dad. Did you do that with a step-father you didn’t like? Then again, the kid was very young. Maybe he was just calling him what he was told to call him.

“Your dad and your father don’t get along?” Hayley asked, using the boy’s terms.

“He’s really my uncle. My father’s dead.”

Hayley blinked again.

“Who’s your uncle?” Quinn asked, starting to feel as if he’d stumbled into some kind of comedy skit. But the boy’s expression wasn’t the least bit amused.

“My dad.”

Quinn wasn’t much good at guessing ages on kids this young, but he put this one at somewhere in the six to eight range. Six in size, but older in the sadness in his eyes. A kid that young shouldn’t be able to look like that. Younger even than the ten he had been when his parents had been killed. But at least this one still had his mother. And...whoever the father figure in his life really was.

“It’s my fault,” the boy said in a tiny voice.

Hayley moved then, closer. He knew this woman, knew she wouldn’t be able to just leave a child who sounded so miserable. He wasn’t sure he could walk away himself. Hayley teased him—lovingly—about being a protector to the core. Maybe she was right.

Hayley crouched in front of the boy on the swing. She didn’t say any of the things most would, like “I’m sure it’s not,” or “You must have misunderstood.” Instead, she simply asked, “Why is it your fault?”

The boy dug the toe of one sneaker deeper into the mud beneath the swing. “It just is. If I went away, then they’d be happy.”

Hayley went very still. Quinn understood. No child should feel that way, but to hear it from one this young was unsettling.

“I’m sure they would miss you terribly,” Hayley said softly.

The boy stayed silent then, as if he’d suddenly remembered he was still talking to strangers. Or as if he didn’t believe a word of it.

And Quinn suddenly realized Cutter was staring at him. That intense, unsettling gaze was unwavering, and by now Quinn knew all too well what it meant.

Fix it.

He no longer bothered rationalizing it, not even to himself. He’d simply had to accept, by virtue of an undeniable amount of empirical evidence, that the dog knew what he was doing and somehow communicated it to anyone who would pay attention. And he seemed to instinctively know who would get the message, just as he always seemed to know who was in trouble and needed his help.

The problem was Quinn’s, not Cutter’s. How was he going to explain to a dog that absent genuine abuse, Foxworth never interfered in marital or parent-child situations? But family matter or not, when a boy this young talked about going away, it deserved some intervention. Just not the full force of the Foxworth organization.

On that thought, the dog let out a small sound, a soft but emphatic woof. Then he turned his attention back to the boy. Quinn felt decidedly shrugged off. Cutter had directed “Fix it,” and fix it he meant.

“You know,” Hayley was saying to the still silent boy, “Cutter’s pretty smart. He’s not a Bloodhound, but I’ll bet he could find your house without you even telling him where it is.”

Damn, she was good, Quinn thought. She had the boy’s attention now, and she’d managed to focus it on an idea most kids his age would find irresistible. She’d be a great mom.

For an instant his stomach went into free fall. They weren’t even married yet and he was thinking about kids? When not so long ago he would have sworn that would never happen, that he would never, ever bring kids into a world so screwed up by the people supposedly running it? But a baby, with Hayley? Their child?

Right, he muttered inwardly. Just dealing with this kid’s got you going sideways. You’d be great with one of your own.

“Could he?” the boy asked, stroking the dog’s head. “Really?”

“Shall we see?”

She glanced at Quinn. He gave her a half shrug. He’d been working with the dog on commands, if you could call it working when the animal seemed to learn everything on the first try. Once he’d come to trust the dog, once they had all accepted him as part of the team, he’d realized it would be best if everybody knew and used the same commands. He’d thought about using a different language, as military and police K-9s did to insure the dog obeyed only their orders, but since Cutter tended to completely ignore anyone he didn’t know and trust telling him what to do, it seemed unnecessary.

“We can try,” Quinn said. “Just remember Foxworth doesn’t do domestic.”

Hayley flashed him the smile that never failed to send a shiver down his spine. “It’s not me, it’s him you have to convince,” she said, nodding toward Cutter. She didn’t add, “And good luck with that,” but it was in her tone anyway.

“Great,” he muttered. He’d never met a more stubborn creature than that dog, and that included himself and even Rafe. “Let’s go, then.”

The boy looked at him somewhat warily. Quinn softened his voice. “Shall we see if he can do it?”

The boy still didn’t speak, but slid off the swing.

“Cutter,” Quinn said in an entirely different tone, one of command. The dog’s head snapped around, those intense eyes fastened on him. Quinn pointed at the boy.

“Backtrack,” he ordered.

The dog glanced from Quinn to the boy, then back. And then he whirled on his hindquarters and trotted off toward the tall trees. Quinn watched the boy watch the dog, saw the child’s eyes widen when Cutter stopped at the edge of the forest, beside a tall hemlock with a long branch dragging downward, and looked back over his shoulder at them.

“That’s my secret path! He does know!”

He took off after the dog at a run.

Quinn and Hayley followed. At least this, Quinn thought, should be quick. Return the kid home, and then they themselves could go home. And he could get back to his thoughts of luring Hayley back to bed for a leisurely afternoon of enjoying the miracle of them together.

He tried to ignore the little voice in his head reminding him that with Cutter, nothing was ever that simple.

Chapter 2

Alyssa Kiley paced because she couldn’t be still. Panic was edging its way upward from some low, gut-deep place she hadn’t heard from in a long time. Her fingers tightened on the phone she held as she resisted the urge to call the police, the fire department and anyone else she could think of. Drew was on his way. He’d fix all this. He always did. Despite the arguments, despite his sometimes presumptuous manner, he always did.

And her common sense told her he was right, Luke had been missing less than an hour. But she’d checked every place in the house, with some nightmare memory of a murdered child found in her own basement. She’d checked every neighbor on their short, narrow street, and no one had seen him. She’d called his best friend Dylan’s house, even knowing they were out of town for the weekend, just in case they’d changed their plans.

She wouldn’t be so anxious if it hadn’t been for that weird feeling she’d been having lately. It was silly to think someone had been watching her. When she’d mentioned it to Drew he’d naturally wanted details she couldn’t provide, because she’d never actually seen anyone. But even his assurances didn’t make that crawly feeling at the back of her neck go away.

Now she was wondering if what she’d been feeling was some sort of precognition, a foreshadowing of disaster.

She stared at the stand of trees across the road from the house. Normally, she loved looking at them—tall, strong evergreens, softened by the misty rain. But today that forest had never seemed bigger, or more endless. Even knowing that was silly—that they hadn’t changed—didn’t help. There was nothing normal about this morning.

It had been a while—quite a while—since she and Drew had argued like they had this morning. But it was Doug’s birthday, and that was always a rough day. How did you deal with a man who would just as soon ignore the fact that his younger brother had ever existed?

Luke must have heard them. They were usually careful to avoid that, but this morning it had flared up too quickly. She’d been on edge, knowing what day it was, and all it had taken was one exasperated glance from Drew to set her off.

And now her son was missing. Guilt stabbed through her. This wasn’t all Drew’s fault, she could have, should have, held it in until Luke was out of earshot. But Drew had a way of—

A noise from across the street, followed quickly by the sight of a dog bounding out of the trees startled her out of her useless musing. God, she was standing around wasting time treading old, tired ground, while Luke was gone.

To her surprise the dog, a large animal with a black head and shoulders shifting to brown over his back and tail, headed straight for her. He didn’t seem at all threatening, but she watched him warily. It was a strange dog, after all.

The animal came to an abrupt halt two feet in front of her. And unexpectedly sat, his ears up, his gaze fastened on her. She felt strangely pinned, as if she couldn’t move if she’d wanted to. But the dog was sitting so politely she didn’t feel the need.

She knew he wasn’t from anywhere on the street; there were only two dogs who lived here and they were both the little powder-puff kind of things that seemed as if they’d break if you just looked at them funny.

The dog cocked his head at an angle and made a low, odd sound. If he’d been human, she would have said it held a note of reassurance. But of course he was a dog, so that was silly.

And then he looked over his shoulders, back to where he’d come bursting out of the trees. To where someone else was coming. She could hear the noise of branches pushed aside, rubbing on each other. For an instant she wondered if the dog had in fact been fleeing something bigger and more threatening than he, no matter that something about him made her think he wouldn’t be afraid of much. But bears weren’t unheard of around here, and—

Her son came through the trees at a dead run.

“Luke!”

She ran for him, sweeping him up before he could say a word. Just the other day she’d been thinking how big he was getting, but now he felt like the slightest of weights, so glad was she to have him back in her arms.