Agent-In-Training

Meet the FBI special agents of the elite Classified K-9 Unit in this exciting new novella!

Classified K-9 Unit: These FBI agents solve the toughest cases with the help of their brave canine partners

FBI intern Zara Fielding and her K-9 partner, Radar, stumble across a robbery gone wrong and put themselves in the criminals’ crosshairs. Her childhood friend FBI computer guru Dylan O’Leary works for the secretive FBI unit she longs to join, and he vows not to let anything happen to her. As they work to stay one step ahead of the bad guys, new feelings ignite. When she goes missing, it’s only Dylan—and Radar—who can track her down. Will they arrive in time to save her and the future she and Dylan have started dreaming about?

Look for more books in the Classified K-9 Unit series from Love Inspired Suspense.

Dear Reader,

I hope you’ve enjoyed this short intro to the Classified K-9 Unit continuity series from Love Inspired Suspense. Building a team of elite K-9 officers and their partners is always a treat. Former Billings police officer Zara Fielding and the unit’s computer expert, Dylan O’Leary, became embroiled in extreme circumstances that tested and sharpened their faith, and both are stronger for it as they opened their hearts to God and love.

There are times in all of our lives when we face a trial that seems insurmountable, but if we trust in God and hold on to our faith, He will see us through.

Look for more of the Classified K-9 Unit books:

April 2017, Book #1 by Terri Reed: Guardian

May 2017, Book #2 by Laura Scott: Sheriff

June 2017, Book #3 by Valerie Hansen: Special Agent

July 2017, Book #4 by Lynette Eason: Bounty Hunter

August 2017, Book #5 by Shirlee McCoy: Bodyguard

September 2017, Book #6 by Lenora Worth: Tracker

December 2017, Christmas novella collection by Terri Reed and Lenora Worth: Classified K-9 Unit Christmas.

Enjoy!

Terri Reed

Agent-in-Training

Terri Reed

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my family, for all your love and support through all the hours of writing.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”

—John 14:27

TERRI REED’s romance and romantic suspense novels have appeared on the Publishers Weekly top twenty-five and Nielsen BookScan’s top one hundred lists; they’ve also been featured in USA TODAY, Christian Fiction Magazine and RT Book Reviews. Her books have been finalists for the Romance Writers of America RITA® Award and the National Readers’ Choice Award and have been finalists three times for the American Christian Fiction Writers Carol Award. Contact Terri at terrireed.com or PO Box 19555, Portland, OR 97224.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

Bible Verse

About the Author

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

Extract

Copyright

ONE

The crisp October night air blowing through the open window of her small SUV sneaked beneath the collar of former Billings, Montana, police department K-9 officer Zara Fielding’s sweater and sent a shiver down her spine.

The sensation struck her as one more of foreboding than a change of the seasons. Though she couldn’t have pinpointed why. Tension tightened her shoulder muscles. Old habits died hard as she kept her gaze alert for trouble on this Friday night.

Foot traffic in downtown Billings was light, the restaurants lively while the storefronts were dark along Montana Avenue. She and her canine partner, a multipurpose, black-and-white border collie named Radar, were headed home after a long day at the FBI’s Tactical K-9 Unit indoor training facility.

The unit was a special classified branch of the FBI that had settled in a nondescript building in downtown Billings. The secret nature of the team’s cases needed anonymity to function. They worked across the country, under the radar, to solve tough crimes and deliver swift justice. She wanted to be a part of the team. For now, she’d gladly settled for interning thanks to an old friend’s recommendation. And she’d applied and been accepted to the FBI academy. Her dream, her prayer, was to be assigned to the Tactical K-9 Unit when she returned from training at Quantico.

The distant cheer coming from the nearby high school football stadium made her sigh. She’d have liked to be at the game of her alma mater, but Radar wouldn’t have done well with the rowdy crowd. He was still so skittish around loud noises. So was she, if truth be told. Not that she’d admitted that to anyone. She had to be strong if she hoped to become an FBI agent.

From the back compartment of the vehicle, Radar barked. The sharp sound made Zara ease up on the gas. She scanned the area looking for what had caused Radar to alert as her heart lifted. Several long months had passed since the incident that left him concussed and afraid.

She didn’t see anything troublesome. A few people came and went from several pubs, their merriment drifting to her on the autumn breeze. An antiques store’s outside light flickered, creating a colorful glow on the sidewalk. “What is it, boy?”

He barked again and scratched at the back hatch, a clear signal he wanted out. Probably needed a bathroom break.

She pulled the rig to the curb and hopped from the vehicle. After freeing Radar from his compartment, she leashed up and allowed him to lead her down the street. He stopped at an alley between two brick buildings. His tail raised high; his ears perked up. Zara’s heart rate kicked into high gear. He was definitely alerting to something. A good sign he was on his way to healing. The hard work she and Radar had invested in his recovery was finally paying off.

She strained to listen. Hushed male voices bounced off the brick walls. There were people down there. A drug deal happening?

She assessed the buildings. On her right, Petrov Bakery, her favorite in the city, was dark and deserted. The other storefront on the left was occupied by a high-end jewelry store. It, too, was shrouded in shadow and appeared empty.

Her hand reached for her radio but found only her shoulder. The muscles in her stomach clenched. She wasn’t on the job anymore. She’d quit when the police department had decided to decommission Radar. They’d given up on him, but she’d refused to, not after what trusting her had cost him.

Touching her hand to her personal weapon holstered at her waist, she decided if Radar wanted to investigate, they would. Her turn to start trusting him. If this turned out to be nothing, then no harm done. But if there were some nefarious activities taking place, she’d call the situation in on her cell.

Reining in Radar’s leash to keep him close, she moved quietly down the alley toward the back of the building. Moonlight flashed on a van with its back doors open parked behind the jeweler’s. Keeping to the shadows, Zara tugged Radar with her to duck behind a stack of wooden crates where she could observe. A low growl emanated from Radar.

Quickly, she gave him the hand signal to let him know to be quiet. The dog settled but remained alert and ready to work.

Gratified by his obedience, she couldn’t wait to tell Dylan. The FBI Tactical K-9 Unit’s communications expert was a dear friend and the one who’d suggested she volunteer as an intern for their unit. Which allowed her to bring Radar to their facility for retraining after the horrible event that had nearly killed them both.

Two men came out of the store to set boxes inside the cargo hold. Both men wore ski masks. Zara stifled a gasp. The men were robbing the place. She had to call for backup. She yanked her cell from her pants pocket and dialed the Billings Police Department.

She pressed the phone tight to her ear as the BPD dispatcher answered. “Billings Police Department, what is your emergency?”

“Robbery in progress,” she whispered. She gave him the address.

“Got it. Stand by.”

Tension vibrated through Radar. She soothed him with her hand. “Good boy,” she whispered.

Her phone chimed with an incoming text message, the noise echoing off the back of the buildings. A rush of panic trapped her breath in her lungs. Why hadn’t she thought to turn the sound off? Hurriedly, she set her phone to silent.

One of the masked men spun toward where she hid, a gun in his hand. The second man said something before slamming shut the van’s side-panel door and scurrying to the driver’s side. The van’s engine turned over.

The one with the gun walked toward where she and Radar were hunkered down. Zara sent up a silent prayer of protection.

“Someone there?” the man shouted.

Zara wrapped an arm around Radar and drew him farther into the shadows. Her heart raced. Adrenaline flooded her system.

A faint snap echoed off the brick building and a bullet hit the pallet of crates, splintering the wood. He’d fired at them.

A spike of fear ripped through her.

That was close. Too close.

Radar barked and strained against her hold. She cringed but wouldn’t release him unless absolutely necessary. She withdrew her weapon from its holster and held it down at the ready.

She heard the shooter’s partner yelling for him to get in the van.

The masked man fired again. The bullet hit the ground near Radar’s feet, and bits of pavement bit into Zara’s shin. She swallowed a yelp and gritted her teeth as horror crashed over her. She and Radar were trapped.

She had to protect her partner.

Before the man could fire a third round, Zara did what she’d been trained to do. She blocked out everything but the target, aimed and pulled the trigger.

* * *

A sharp rap on the communications room door jerked Dylan O’Leary’s focus from the bank of monitors.

His unit leader, Max West, stood in the doorway wearing his everyday attire of creased khaki pants and the dark blue polo shirt with the FBI Tactical K-9 logo on the breast pocket. “Our intern’s been in a shooting.”

Dylan’s heart stalled. Zara!

“BPD wants our help,” Max said before striding away.

A wave of dread washed over Dylan as he grabbed his mobile gear and hurried after his boss. Zara was like family. The Fieldings had taken Dylan in when he was sixteen after his parents’ senseless death in a boating incident. He was forever grateful to them for the care and love they’d bestowed on him, Zara in particular.

One year younger than him, she’d been the one to keep him supplied in tissues—without comment—when he’d cry himself to sleep at night. And she’d been the one to sit with him after his nightmares. She’d been so compassionate and thoughtful, never once pushing him to talk about what had happened or judging him for showing emotion that someone else would consider weakness.

When Zara had decided to follow in her father’s and brother’s footsteps and join the police academy, Dylan had been both afraid for her and proud of her. She was a tough cookie, determined and competent.

She’d done a good job. She and her all-purpose canine partner had made over a dozen narcotic arrests, recovered a missing child and apprehended a fugitive hiding in the Pictograph Caves outside of Billings.

Then one fateful call had nearly ended hers and Radar’s careers and their lives. A day that haunted Dylan.

Vouching for her had been a no-brainer when she’d shown an interest in working for the FBI. It hadn’t taken much for Dylan to convince his boss to give Zara a chance by letting her intern. As a police officer, she’d already been through a thorough background check, enough to help out on their highly classified team. She’d been doing a great job, had integrated well into the group. And now she could be hurt. Or worse.

Please, God, no. I can’t take another death.

Especially hers.

TWO

“Sir, you can’t cross the line.” A Billings police officer blocked Dylan’s path to the brightly lit alleyway in the middle of downtown.

Dylan grabbed the edges of his patience and held on. The panic tightening his lungs wouldn’t cooperate. He needed to know if Zara had been shot. With trembling hands, he flashed his FBI credentials. “Where is Zara, uh, Officer Fielding?”

Or rather FBI agent-in-training Fielding.

What had she been doing that landed her in a shootout? She’d left the training center hours ago. She and Radar should have been home, not in some dark back alley.

The officer squinted at the official documents cased in the black leather wallet before straightening and pointing behind him. “She’s talking to the police chief.”

Her dad. If she was talking, that meant she wasn’t dead. Dylan’s tension eased and relief rushed in, enough to take the edge off. But she could be injured. He had to see her for himself.

Dylan ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape strung across the entrance to the alley behind the jewelry store. The plastic banner fluttered in the breeze. Red and blue lights flashed on the brick building’s outer wall, the strobe effect distracting and eerie. A man on a stretcher was being lifted into the back bay of an ambulance.

Dylan paused, torn between needing to assure himself Zara was okay and his duty to print and photograph the suspect. Though this was technically a police case, the fact that one of their agents—well, intern—was involved necessitated the team to work the case, as well.

Duty won out, but the battle was hard fought.

Before the ambulance drivers could shut the door, Dylan climbed in and used his MorphoRadID-2 biometric terminal to scan in the man’s fingerprints as well as snapped off a photograph of the unconscious man’s face.

He sent both the print and the image to his computer while the handheld device wirelessly searched the various government databases. Hopefully, he’d be able to identify the suspect quickly.

Done with that task, Dylan wove his way through the Billings police officers and their crime scene techs to where Special Agent in Charge Max West stood.

As Dylan approached, Max stepped aside to reveal Zara and her canine, Radar. Zara’s face was pale, her hazel-green eyes wide and the pupils large, indicating stress. But she seemed intact, no visible injuries. Radar sat at her side, his ears back, his gaze alert as if he expected more trouble.

Dylan’s heart squeezed tight. He resisted the urge to rush forward, to assess for himself that she was unharmed. This was the second time in less than a year that he’d had to face the reality of possibly losing her. The very thought struck terror in his soul. Because... He shied away from examining his feelings.

He wanted to spirit her away to a safe place where she wouldn’t face danger again. Something she wouldn’t appreciate. She’d always been tough and independent, traits he admired even if they made him uneasy. He reeled in his reaction and lifted a prayer of praise for her well-being.

She’d like that.

He had to get a grip. He and Zara were friends, and colleagues, now. Soon she would go to the FBI academy and become a full-fledged agent. Letting his emotions run amok wasn’t smart or productive. He had to compartmentalize her in his mind.

And his heart. The realization skipped through him like a rock over smooth water.

Billings police chief Robert Fielding stood beside his daughter. He had linebacker broad shoulders, with graying hair and an intense stare. He gripped Zara’s shoulder, clearly in dad mode more than police chief. “You should have called the robbery in and waited.”

Dylan met Zara’s gaze. “What happened?”

Zara pressed her lips together. Obviously she was having a hard time avoiding exasperated-daughter mode. “Radar noticed activity in the alley. I did call the robbery in and wait. Unfortunately, Radar and I were made.” She shook off her father’s hand. “I had no choice but to return fire.”

She’d come under attack. Dylan’s stomach churned.

Robert hooked his thumbs beneath the edges of his utility belt. “I know. I’m not faulting you for defending yourself. You did what you had to. The guy will live.”

Dylan was glad she’d done what was necessary to protect herself but he couldn’t deny his concern. “Are you okay?”

She lifted her chin. “We’re fine.” She turned to her father. “Are we done?”

“We’re not finished here,” Robert said. “Tell me about the driver.”

There’d been more than one burglar? Dylan’s hand flexed around the device in his hand.

“He wore a ski mask, so I didn’t get a look at his face,” she said. “I heard his voice, though. I’d remember him.” She visibly shivered.

Dylan narrowed his gaze, sensing there was something she wasn’t sharing. “What did he say?”

She slanted Dylan a glance and quickly looked away. “Before he drove off, he shouted that I was a dead woman.”

Dylan’s stomach dropped. A wave of fear rushed in, making his blood pound in his ears. His parents had been killed by a man who’d vowed revenge on Dylan’s father. A threat his father hadn’t taken seriously. A mistake that had left a young boy orphaned.

Now Zara had been threatened.

Determined not to let that mistake be repeated, Dylan said, “She needs protection.”

* * *

Zara’s hackles rose at Dylan’s pronouncement. Really? He thought she couldn’t take care of herself? For a moment she focused her attention on the loud Hawaiian-print shirt peeking out from beneath his jacket and covering his official unit polo. She reined in her hurt and disappointment. She swung her gaze to her father, then to Max. “That’s not necessary. Radar and I will be fine. The guy doesn’t know who I am, and there’s no way for him to find out.”

“Unless the press gets hold of this story,” Dylan pointed out.

She knew that keeping the press and the public unaware of their classified missions was paramount to the success of the team. However, because of the dogs, the handlers had to be identifiable in certain situations, so the FBI provided a variety of uniforms and gear for different occasions. But to preserve the secret nature of their work the team’s public relations officer could devise a cover story. Zara assumed that would be the case here.

Dylan’s normally jovial expression had been replaced with one of granite. His kind eyes had darkened with concern, tempering her annoyance. She could see his knuckles turning white around the machine in his hand.

She understood his worry. She knew what had happened with his mom and dad. But his father’s situation had been completely different. There had been no way Brian O’Leary could have known the drunk he’d arrested, George Pitts, would make good on his slurred threat to extract revenge.

The O’Learys had gone out on the Yellowstone River in their boat for a relaxing Sunday afternoon, not expecting George would be released from jail and follow them. George had rammed into their boat, killing himself, Beth and Brian O’Leary. Only Dylan had survived.

Compassion flooded her, and she put her hand on Dylan’s arm. “I’ll be careful. I promise. Besides, I have Radar. He’s getting better every day.”

So was she. The mandatory trauma counseling was helping her deal with the residual shock from the case that had ended in a bomb detonating and the gut-wrenching fear from nearly being killed.

That her partner had alerted on the burglary was a great step in his recovery. Their training with Faith and Thomas at the FBI training center was paying off. And soon, if God granted her prayer, she and Radar would become members of the FBI’s most elite K-9 unit.

She turned back to her father. “Are we done now?”

His lips flattened with displeasure. She wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or the situation. “Yes. For now.”

The device Dylan held chirped, drawing his attention. He whistled through his teeth. “We have a problem.” He looked up, his complexion paling. “The suspect, Kevin Vaughn, is a known associate of the Dupree Crime Syndicate.”

THREE

Zara sucked in a sharp breath. The cool night air stung her lungs. The adrenaline pumping through her veins revved up. The man she’d shot was part of the Dupree Crime Syndicate. As, no doubt, was the man who’d escaped.

Uh-oh. She was on their hit list now.

All law enforcement agencies knew of Reginald Dupree. He was as ruthless as they came. He’d brought his uncle, Angus Dupree, into the crime business, and together they had built a seemingly untouchable criminal empire that had spread across the US like a virus.

“What are the Duprees doing in Billings?” Thus far the south-central part of Montana had been immune.

“And why rob a jewelry store?” Dylan asked. “Are they that hard up for funds?”

“Once the owner arrives and inventories the store, he’ll know what they took,” her dad said.

“I’ll head to the hospital,” Max said. “I want answers, and Kevin Vaughn is going to provide them.”

“I’ll go with you,” her dad said. He turned to Zara. “Go home and get some rest. You look beat. I’ll send a patrol officer to watch your house.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she said with affection. She had to admit she was exhausted and hyped up at the same. “We’ll head home.”

“I’ll follow you,” Dylan said as he fell into step beside her and Radar.

“Not necessary.” She wasn’t some namby-pamby who couldn’t take care of herself. “Radar and I will be fine. Dad’s sending a patrol officer over.”

“I’m sure you will be fine, but I’ll feel better if I make sure you get home safely.” He captured her hand. Warmth spread up her arm. “Indulge me, please?”

As much as she wanted to resist his plea, she knew she wouldn’t. She understood better than anyone why he was playing the overprotective big brother.

After losing his parents, he feared losing anyone else he was close to. A fear most people shared. Her included.

That was where faith in God made such a difference. Knowing He was in control gave her peace. She wished Dylan would turn to God rather than allow his fear to continue to overwhelm him.

“Fine. You can escort us home,” she said. “I have one of Mom’s apple pies to finish.” Dylan had a weakness for her mom’s cooking.

He grinned. “Thank you, bug.”

The childhood nickname irked, reminding her he’d never see her as more than his best friend’s little sister. She slipped her hand from his, determined to guard her heart and act professionally.

They worked together now, and continuing to crush on him, as she had for the past ten years, wasn’t an option. Letting herself hope for more from Dylan would only result in heartbreak. A fate she hoped to avoid.

* * *

Zara lived in a cute little two-bedroom, single-story house in a tree-lined residential neighborhood. Dylan stepped inside, appreciating the homey feel.

He liked the way the hardwood floors peeked out from beneath lively patterned rugs. Leather love seats with colorful afghans draped over the backs, and a glass coffee table wedged between them created a conversational setting. There was no television in the living room, only an old record player and a bookshelf full of record albums, some in tattered covers.