The Marine's Last Defence

“I beg your pardon?” Her shock erupted as a nervous laugh.

The same cute sound, from early that morning, that had been so damn attractive. Stow it, Marine. One more time, he debated sharing why it was important to wait on the supplies he needed. He’d be prepared this time.

“I’ll wash your clothes while you shower. How did you think we were going to clean up?”

“I … That can’t possibly be a good idea—what if they come here and I’m—”

“Soapy?” He laughed, unable to stop himself. The look on her face was priceless. “We weren’t followed. Promise. If you’re worried about getting on the road, you should probably get moving.”

She stood and Dallas jumped off the couch to follow. Bree picked her up and Jake held out his hands to take her.

“The paramedics warned me about an infection.” He pointed to his bullet graze. “Do it for me. After all, I did save your life.”

The Marine’s

Last Defence

Angi Morgan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANGI MORGAN writes Mills & Boon® Intrigue novels “where honor and danger collide with love.” She combines actual Texas settings with characters who are in realistic and dangerous situations. Angi has been a finalist for the Bookseller’s Best Award, RT Book Reviews Best First Series, Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence and the Daphne du Maurier Award.

Angi and her husband live in North Texas, with only the four-legged “kids” left in the house to interrupt her writing. They recently began volunteering for a local Labrador foster program. Visit her website, www.angimorgan.com, or hang out with her on Facebook.

Dallas and Valentine—two sweet puppies who gave love every minute they were here. THANKS, Steve,

for your quick responses to my many questions

and your many years of service as a police officer.

AND THANKS, Jen—we both know this book wouldn’t have happened without you.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Excerpt

Prologue

Six Months Ago

“Keep the girl alive. I’m telling you it would be less complicated,” Griffin Tyler said. “More money for us, too.”

“You don’t tell us nothin’, Tyler.”

Sabrina Watkins flattened herself to the hall paneling. They wanted to kill her? She’d been three years behind Griffin in high school, been in youth group with this man who had become her business partner. And recently she’d thought of him as a very close friend. Their mothers even still went to the same church every Sunday morning.

“She has too many friends,” the unknown voice continued. “Too many that will believe her when she claims she’s innocent. If we leave her alive to chat ’em up, everybody gets sympathetic. It’s better to kill her. Make it look like a suicide and then evidence comes out proving how guilty she is. We lose a little money framing her, but overall the operation survives. You set up shop somewhere else. Insurance, no one’s the wiser.”

She didn’t know the second voice. Average tone, not deep or high. She didn’t think he’d ever boarded a pet with her. She’d only seen the back of the man’s head as she’d rounded the corner from the offices into the clinic. She had no description for the police and didn’t even know his hair color since he was wearing a ball cap.

“Whatever,” Griffin said, not trying hard to sway his partner. “Suicide works. She’s surrounded herself with the business for the past two years. Everything she has is tied up in it. When it goes up in flames, our hometown will think she was too depressed to start over.” He put his hands on his hips, a gesture she’d seen a thousand times when he was ready to move on from a subject. “When will you do it?”

Oh, my Lord, they really are going to kill me, she thought, panicking. Why? What did I do?

“Listen, Tyler, you’re the one who screwed up. Too many fingers in the pie. You should never have involved the local cop who’s getting greedy. The higher-ups want them both gone, along with all traces of the connection to us. You’re damn lucky they don’t want you gone.”

Who have you gotten involved with, Griffin?

Sabrina’s heart pounded faster than Tweetiepie, the miniature Chihuahua she’d groomed at the truck stop that afternoon. Her hands shook even while she was plastered against the wall. She wanted to close her eyes and have someone explain why this was happening. Could someone wake her up from this nightmare so she could go back to her simple life of boarding pets?

Her thoughts drifted through her last conversation with Griffin. As far as she knew there had been no indicators that he was upset with her. But, then again, how did your best friend speak to you three hours before casually mentioning no one would miss you if you were dead?

Wait. Flames? Had he said flames?

Was Griffin speaking in metaphors or were they really going to burn the clinic down? “Gone...all traces.” She had to get to the police. No. The stranger had mentioned involving a cop. Which one? They didn’t mention anyone by name. Who could she trust? But they couldn’t all be bad. Right?

What could she tell them if she did trust them? She’d overheard her business partner plotting to kill a “she,” but unfortunately there were a lot of “shes” in Amarillo, Texas.

She’d look like an idiot. Griffin continued his discussion with the stranger. She couldn’t distinguish their words as they walked to the rear exit. She dropped to the floor and crept around the corner into the operating room.

Griffin was right about one thing—she had no other life outside the clinic or pet sitting. He was also right that every dime she had was tied up in her half of the business.

But right now, she needed help.

No one worked in the clinic on Sundays. She made a special trip with the house-call van once a month, working with truck drivers. It was five o’clock and she’d spent the afternoon grooming dogs at the I-40 truck stop and let Amber borrow her car for a baby shower. If she hadn’t finished an hour early, decided to restock the van while waiting on her assistant’s return, she wouldn’t have a clue about their plot to kill her and burn the clinic.

She’d been so dumb. Well, not anymore. It was time to get closer, find out what they were doing.

On her hands and knees, she scooted across the painted concrete floor. Staying close to the counters and then behind the stainless steel exam table, she was careful not to knock any of the rolling trays full of instruments. She’d never felt comfortable in this room. It wasn’t organized and certainly didn’t function effectively according to what she’d seen over the past two years.

There were many times she’d wondered how Griffin made any money. Now she knew. He made it illegally. She dared to look around the side of the table. There wasn’t enough light in her section of the room for her to be seen, but she was still very careful.

“So we’re agreed. Tonight,” the stranger said. “Get your cop friend to patrol nearby. I’ll nab the girl before the fire’s set and make it look real enough.”

“You think it’s necessary to burn the place with the animals inside?”

“You want the fire to look genuine, don’t ya?”

The stranger was near the back door. She caught a tilt to his lips when Griffin’s back was turned. Her stomach twisted in fear. Whoever this stranger was, he enjoyed killing. Animal or human, that smile indicated he looked forward to it.

She swallowed the bile in her throat and hid behind the island table again. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. They were going to kill her.

What should she do? Remember his voice. Remember that deadly smile and his thin, flat lips. She had no evidence, no proof that someone wanted her dead. And from what she’d overheard, they’d planted evidence that she was responsible for something. Dear Lord, she didn’t even know where to start. She knew nothing about police procedures except that they needed more information than she had to begin an investigation.

Fading daylight briefly filled the room as the back door opened and closed. The sound of the dead bolt turning echoed through the cold room. Oh, no, the van was parked out front now. How long had they been here? Would they notice? Would they come back?

Silence.

She sank to the floor. There was nowhere to hide and if they did return, what could she do?

The faint whine of an abandoned pup bolted her into action. No one was going to kill the animals left in her care. She tugged on one of the rolling tables and opened a bin. She yanked a scalpel, wielding it like a hunting knife. She could defend herself a little, maybe deter them long enough to race out the front door.

Explanation or no, she could get to the police to save her own life. Panda and Pogo barked.

The animals. She had to get them out of the building. She took a peek through the windows and didn’t see any cars. She ran through the clinic to the back of the boarding kennels and unbolted the door, slightly propping it open for quick access. Then another dash through the building and out the front, moving the van to the back.

Thank goodness she didn’t have a lot of animals at the clinic or being boarded for the weekend. The three dogs and kitty would fit inside the van and be safe. She closed the van door with a sigh of relief, dropping her forehead to the cooling metal. She could meet Amber at the house and have her drive the animals to their owners.

Then she would drive her car directly to the police station and take her chances. Crazy sounding or not, she had to report Griffin to the authorities.

“Back early?”

She yelped like one of the puppies. “Oh, Griffin. You scared the living daylights out of me.” Her partner jerked her away from the van in a constricted grip. “You’re hurting me.”

“Don’t play dumb, Sabrina. I saw you loading the animals. You heard us inside and are moving them before we torch the place.”

She pulled. His grip tightened. “I don’t understand any of this, Griffin. What’s going on?”

“Get inside.” He shoved a gun in her ribs. “Now.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t kill me, please. Whatever the problem is we can work it out.” She stumbled as he propelled her through the door. “I’m sure the police can sort through everything.”

“No, they can’t. I don’t give the orders. I follow them. My office.”

The gun was securely in his hand and she shuffled through the kennels sideways, unwilling to turn her back to him. What if he had the same maniacal smile as the stranger?

Had Griffin shot someone before? He couldn’t have. He wasn’t the man who drowned kittens—he was the veterinarian who saved them. Right? But he was an excellent marksman, who wouldn’t miss when he fired.

How am I ever going to get away from you? she wondered.

“Is it drugs? Money laundering? Who are you working for?” she asked, stalling. Think, think, think. She couldn’t allow herself to be trapped in his office. There was no way out. Only a slit of a window, high above her head.

“None of the whys or whos matter anymore, Sabrina. There’s nothing you can do.”

“Doing nothing is exactly what I did for the past two years while you plotted to set me up to commit suicide.” She stopped at his office door, so close to her own.

Unfortunately, her box of an office would be just as bad as his. The window was just as high. There weren’t any weapons inside. The can of pepper spray her father insisted she carry was on her key chain, in the van. Her only path out of the building was blocked by Griffin.

“I didn’t think they’d really kill anybody. You were supposed to take the blame, but they never said they’d kill you. But it’s you or me and I won’t let it be me. I’m lucky I came back for my insurance before they torch this place. Otherwise, we’d both be dead by morning.”

The light in his office was already on. The door was ajar enough to see an open briefcase overstuffed with paper. His insurance?

“I can’t believe you’re going to just kill me.” But she knew he meant what he said. What if she got his “insurance”?

Tears of fear trickled down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands, leaning close to the picture of puppies they’d rescued last year. But she wouldn’t voluntarily move another inch to her death so she spread her feet for a stronger fighting position.

He’d relaxed, leaned lazily against her office door. If she could just delay him long enough to grab the briefcase and get to the van...she might have a chance.

“It’s no use,” he said. “You might as well stop stalling.”

Sabrina looked up, plucking the scalpel from her pocket. “Would you stop?” she shouted, lunging at his leg, stabbing him as deeply as she could.

He screamed. Fell. The gun went off. She darted into his office, grabbed his briefcase of “insurance” and ran for her life.

Chapter One

Present Day

“I didn’t complain when I was a private. I didn’t complain while serving three tours in Afghanistan. These guys have no clue how to make life miserable for someone like me. I can take a few icy sidewalks and midnight shifts.”

Jake Craig skidded on the slushy cement. Digging his steel-toed boots into the ice, he balanced on the slippery incline before he embarrassed himself by slamming to the ground. His partner—sitting in the nice warm car—probably had his smartphone ready, just waiting for him to fall flat on his butt so he could record it all.

The cold of the early morning felt good compared to the many long, hot desert memories he had from six years of war. North Texas cold didn’t compare to the bitter mountain freezing when he thought he’d lose his toes. Yeah, he could take his turn walking in the cold. At least this time he didn’t have seventy pounds of gear to carry.

On the Dallas P.D. a little over a year, he’d recently transferred to the homicide division. The promotion raised more than a few eyebrows when he jumped from rookie to detective—skipping everything in between, including the right to do so. Not too amazing for former military personnel. His fellow P.D. officers knew about department politics where qualified ex-military got bumped to the head of the list. It didn’t keep them from resenting him or make being the butt of their jokes any easier.

Just like now when he’d been directed to search for a dead body. An anonymous 911 call claimed there was a dead woman at the lake moving around in the bushes. He’d asked dispatch to repeat and again the claim was that a dead woman was moving around in the bushes.

“You go see if you can find that ghost,” his partner had ordered when they’d arrived. He’d leaned his head against the headrest and shut his eyes. “I’m going to keep the heater running on these old bones, partner. You love the cold, don’t cha, partner?”

“Sure, Owens. I could stay out here all freakin’ day.” Okay, maybe his reply had been a slight exaggeration. Then again, he hadn’t actually replied, just mumbled after he’d left the car. He would continue to accept the late shifts, practical jokes and crank calls, just like he had this morning.

“I’m a freakin’ machine.” No one could break down the machine at work.

The ghost was probably a drunk trying to get out of the snowfall, but it had to be checked out. What if the call was just a staged joke? Could Owens have arranged for a “ghost” to be at the spillway?

It was the perfect setup. Someone could pop out of the bushes, try to surprise him, and he might even lose his footing. “I will not fall and have that humiliation blasted across the internet. I’ll never hear the end of it.” Those guys knew he’d be the one out here verifying ghosts don’t exist. And he wouldn’t put it past any of them to have cooked up this entire charade.

As long as they dished it out, he’d take it. The cold, searching for a ghost, whatever, he’d keep at the job. He wanted the job. He had nothing else but the job. He wouldn’t let it slip through his fingers like the rest of his life.

An early morning search of the underbrush around White Rock Lake beat picking up Friday-night drunks from Deep Ellum any night of the week. Homicide detectives wore civilian clothes, a definite improvement from the street cops. Man, he was glad to be out of a uniform. Any uniform.

His years as a marine MP didn’t seem to make a difference to his coworkers. Maybe they thought he was more qualified to deal with drunks than legitimate homicides. If they only knew what he wanted to forget.

The beam from the flashlight reflected off a pair of red eyes. The animal didn’t bolt. Jake took a step closer to the fence and heard the low whine of a dog.

A black Labrador was under the brush on the other side of the six-foot security fence. Located just below a large yellow-and-orange danger sign, warning that the lake’s spillway was nearby.

The leash must have tangled around a limb, pinning the dog to the cold February ground. The pup yelped, whining louder, visibly shaking from the cold. He dropped back to the ground, obviously tired from his struggle for freedom.

“Hang on, now. How’d you get over there?” Just to his right the section of fence was raised off the ground, easy enough for a dog or person to crawl under.

Jake clicked off the light and dropped it in his pocket. Going over the icy fence was a lot cleaner than crawling under like the dog had. He shook the chain-link fence, verifying it could hold his weight, and scaled it in a few seconds, landing on the spillway side with both feet firm in the melting snow.

“So you’re the ghost those drunks reported?” He knelt and offered his hand for the Lab to sniff. It quickly licked his fingers. “You’re friendly enough. What are you caught on?”

The stubborn dog refused to budge even with encouragement and a gentle tug on his collar. His young bark did some tugging of its own on Jake’s heart—he hadn’t thought he had one left—earning a smile from a jaded soldier.

He pushed farther into the bushes, conceding that the only way to get the dog loose was to get wet himself. The poor mutt shivered hard enough to knock his tags together. Jake could relate, having been there a time or two.

Working his tall frame closer, his slacks were soaked as the slush seeped through the cloth. The snow that dropped on the back of his neck quickly melted from his body heat and dampened his skin. He slipped his hand around the dog collar and tugged again, receiving a louder howl and whimper.

“Are you hurt, boy? Is that why you can’t move? All right, then. I might as well send my coat to the cleaners, too.” He stretched onto his belly, sliding forward until he could reach the hindquarters of the dog, which had gone completely still. “What’s wrong besides me calling you a boy when you’re clearly a girl?”

Nothing felt out of place or broken. The pup’s whine was consistent. The harder he pulled her toward freedom, the more the dog pressed backward.

The leash was caught on something or the pup was injured. He pulled hard and he still couldn’t get the leash free. Blindly he followed the leather to an icy death grip of fingers, causing him to instantly retreat. His jerky reaction scared the dog, causing her to struggle harder in the dark.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Take it easy and I’ll get you out of here.” Jake kept a firm grip on the collar, snagged the flashlight from his pocket and flipped the switch to take a closer look at the body.

The glassy look of the dead took him back to Afghanistan. He’d experienced that look more than once in his military career. Male or female, it always twisted his gut.

Then it hit him. The smell of death. Faint, most likely because of the cold, but there wafting into his brain and triggering more memories that he wanted to forget. Once experienced, he could never forget.

The call hadn’t been a prank. The woman’s coat was covered in white. She’d been there all night. He’d flattened the crime scene getting to the dang dog, which wouldn’t or couldn’t leave her side.

“Hold on there, girl. I’m not going to hurt you. Give me a second here.” He couldn’t remove the leash from the body. So he’d have to disconnect the dog.

Expensive leash with a word etched into the wet leather. “Dallas? That your name or just a souvenir?” He kept a grip on the Lab with his left hand and unsnapped the leash from the dog harness with his right.

He crooned, attempting to calm the shivering mass of fur. He peeled his jacket off in the cramped space, the sharp broken twigs poking him with every shrug. He draped Dallas and shoved his coat under the dog’s legs. He took one last look into the frozen face. There was something about her, or the situation.

Something he couldn’t put a name to. Or maybe just a habit he’d started with the first investigation he’d had as a military cop. He didn’t want to make the vow. He had a clean slate but couldn’t stop the words. “Whoever did this won’t get away. And I’ll take care of your pup, ma’am. That’s a promise.”

Unable to move, Dallas didn’t struggle much covered in his jacket. Jake pulled her free, shimmying under the fence instead of scaling it, dragging the pup under after. Then he sat on a fallen tree, holding Dallas in his lap. He began to feel the cold as the wind whipped through the secluded jogging path that viewed the spillway overlook and hit his wet clothes.

Dallas made a unique noise halfway between a howl and whine.

“It’ll be okay, girl. We’ll find you another owner before too long.” He stroked the pup’s head and she quieted just a bit. Her tags indicated a rabies vaccination and that she’d been chipped, but they’d need Animal Control to access the information.

Jake tried his radio. Nothing. He took his cell from its carrier on his hip. Nothing. He moved up the hill until he had reception and dialed.

“Dallas 911. What’s your emergency?”

“This is Detective Jake Craig, badge 5942. I have an expired subject. Bus required at Garland and Winstead parking lot WTR 114 marker.”

“An ambulance has been dispatched to your location. Do you need me to connect you to Homicide?” the dispatcher asked.

“Thanks, but we’re already here.”

“Understood, Detective Craig.”

Protocol required him to ask for an ambulance, but he knew it wasn’t necessary. The woman frozen to the ground a couple of feet away was dead and had been most of the night. He’d seen the dead before. Many times over and under too many circumstances to remember them all. He didn’t want to remember.

Life was easier when he didn’t.

The pup tipped her soggy face up at him, and then rested on his thigh. Jake looked around the crushed crime scene as he dialed his partner’s cell. “I don’t know about you, Dallas, but it’s going to be a helluva long day.”

Chapter Two

This murder should have been Jake’s. He’d discovered that body—and ruined the crime scene. No one razed him or admonished him for being so stupid.