Her investigation could prove fatal...

In this exciting True Blue K-9 Unit installment

By secretly investigating the New York City K-9 Command Unit chief’s murder, reporter Rachelle Clark puts a bull’s-eye on her back. Single dad and K-9 unit officer Carter Jameson thought Rachelle was reporting on police-field-dog trials—not his brother’s death. Though he’s not happy about her true purpose, the danger is real...and he and his trusty German shepherd must save her.

TERRI REED’s romance and romantic suspense novels have appeared on the Publishers Weekly top twenty-five and Nielsen BookScan top one hundred lists, and have 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 finalists three times for the American Christian Fiction Writers Carol Award. Contact Terri at terrireed.com or PO Box 19555, Portland, OR 97224.

Also By Terri Reed

True Blue K-9 Unit

Seeking the Truth

Military K-9 Unit

Tracking Danger

Mission to Protect

Northern Border Patrol

Danger at the Border

Joint Investigation

Murder Under the Mistletoe

Ransom

Identity Unknown

Buried Mountain Secrets

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Seeking the Truth

Terri Reed

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09689-8

SEEKING THE TRUTH

© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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From the dark tunnel came the roaring sound of the subway train.

Jostled by the crowd, Rachelle swam against the current, but the tide of humanity pushed her toward the yellow safety boundary painted on the platform floor. Frowning, she held on tight to her purse and tried to shimmy her way through the crowd.

The flat of a hand on her back startled her, and she jerked just as she was shoved hard, causing her to misstep and propelling her to the very edge of the platform. She lost her balance, her arms windmilling.

Terror ripped a desperate scream from her as she plummeted off the platform and onto the tracks.

TRUE BLUE K-9 UNIT:

These police officers fight for justice with the help of their brave canine partners.

Justice Mission by Lynette Eason, April 2019

Act of Valor by Dana Mentink, May 2019

Blind Trust by Laura Scott, June 2019

Deep Undercover by Lenora Worth, July 2019

Seeking the Truth by Terri Reed, August 2019

Trail of Danger by Valerie Hansen, September 2019

Courage Under Fire by Sharon Dunn, October 2019

Sworn to Protect by Shirlee McCoy, November 2019

True Blue K-9 Unit Christmas by Laura Scott and Maggie K. Black, December 2019

Dear Reader,

I hope you’ve enjoyed this story of Officer Carter Jameson and his partner, Frosty. Together, they made a dynamic team perfectly suited to protect and fall in love with reporter Rachelle Clark. Carter and Rachelle both had issues from their past they had to overcome before they could let down the walls around their hearts.

Writing this story against the backdrop of New York City was a treat. I lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan as a young adult and the experience was one I treasure. Combining my love of the city with K-9 dogs and handlers was a special joy for me. Plus, working with such a wonderful group of authors and editors is always a blessing.

The next book in the series, Trail of Danger by Valerie Hansen, will be released September 2019—you won’t want to miss it.

You’ll be able to find the whole continuity series on www.Harlequin.com.

Blessings,

Terri Reed

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.

—Jeremiah 29:11

To the men and women of the NYPD who protect and serve the vibrant city of New York.

To my fellow authors, Lynette, Dana, Laura, Lenora, Val, Sharon, Shirlee and Maggie—thank you for your support and patience with me.

To my editors, Emily Rodmell and Tina James—I so appreciate all you do for me and the books.

And to my faithful friends Leah Vale and Jessie Smith for reading every word and believing in me.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

The smell of sweaty bodies, garbage from some unseen refuse container and the musty odor of grease from the subway rails lay heavy in the stale August air. Noise bounced off the ceramic tiled walls covered with a dinosaur motif, unique to the 81st Street and Museum of Natural History subway station on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

The place was crowded due to the Central Park Walkathon. People of all ages and ethnicities mingled on the side platforms. Most wore the green shirts of the walkathon, but there were many other obvious tourists, what with it being late summer, along with local subway passengers.

Officer Carter Jameson kept vigilant for any sort of trouble as he and his K-9 partner, Frosty, an all-white German shepherd, moved from the uptown platform to the downtown platform and back again.

A family of three stepped into his path. The father held an adorable curly-haired toddler in his arms.

“We need to get to the South Street Seaport. Is this the right train?” the mother asked.

“Doggy!” the little girl squealed, her arms reaching out for Frosty. She nearly tumbled out of her father’s arms to reach the dog.

The father stepped back, securing his hold on the child. “The dog is working. We can’t pet him.”

Carter appreciated the father’s words. “We are working, but we can take a short break if she’d like to pet him.”

He looked down at Frosty and gave the hand gesture to sit, which Frosty immediately obeyed. “Play nice,” Carter said, giving the dog the verbal signal that at this moment he was off duty.

Part of Carter’s role as an NYC K-9 Command Unit officer assigned to the transit authority was public relations. To let the citizens know they were there to protect and to serve.

“You sure he won’t bite?” the man asked, a wary expression on his face.

“Frosty is used to my six-year-old,” Carter assured him. “She uses him as a horse.”

“That’s a cute name for a cute fellow.” The mother held out her hand for Frosty to sniff. Frosty sniffed, then licked her hand, his tail thumping on the hard concrete platform.

“Doggy!” the girl cried again. The father kept her in his arms but squatted down for the child to rub Frosty’s coat.

From the pocket of his uniform, Carter withdrew a sticker with the NYPD gold shield and squatted down next to Frosty. Holding out the sticker, he asked the girl, “Would you like to be deputized?”

She clapped her hands.

Peeling the back off the sticker, Carter placed the gold shield on her shoulder. “Now you are one of us.”

“Thank you for taking the time with my daughter,” the father said as he rose.

The words warmed Carter’s heart. He worked hard to uphold not only the code of the NYPD to protect and serve, but also his faith. Not that he and Frosty wouldn’t take the bad guys down in a heartbeat, but he’d do so with humility and as much kindness as possible.

Frosty’s attention jerked to something behind Carter. The dog didn’t alert, but his eyes were fixated on whatever had drawn his focus. Carter could feel a presence hovering.

He glanced over his shoulder. His gaze snagged on a pair of red pumps below well-shaped calves disappearing into a gray pencil skirt.

The reporter?

Two hours ago, his brother Noah, the interim chief of the NYC K-9 Command Unit, had called to warn Carter a reporter wanted to interview him regarding the upcoming national police dog field trials and certification competition, which would be held in two weeks. Carter and Frosty were favored to place high in the public demonstration competition.

A burn of anger simmered in Carter’s gut. The way the press had hounded his family the past five months after the unsolved murder of his oldest brother, Jordan, bothered Carter. He had no patience for pushy journalists.

Turning back to the family, he said, “This is the uptown train. The downtown tracks are beneath us. You’ll want to get off at Fulton Street. And then walk toward the water. It’s easy to find.”

“Thank you, Officer,” the woman said.

The father held out his hand, which Carter took. “We appreciate your help.”

The family turned and walked away.

Carter took a moment for a steadying breath. To Frosty, he murmured, “Work.”

The dog’s ear perked up, indicating he knew he was back on duty.

“Officer Carter Jameson?”

The honeyed voice, with just a hint of an accent, tripped down his spine.

Unnerved by the visceral reaction, he arranged his features into a neutral expression and turned around. “Yes. May I help you?”

The beautiful woman facing him was tall with long brown hair that floated about her cream-colored, silk-clad shoulders. Brown eyes framed by long lashes stared at him, and her full lips were spread into a tentative smile.

His gaze swept over her. She was dressed to impress, in her fancy blouse and gray pencil skirt. The red pumps were impractical. Though she had on a sturdy-looking cross-body type purse, not so impractical. The flowery notebook and pink pen in her manicured hand would have delighted his daughter, Ellie.

She tucked her pen behind her ear before holding out her hand while gesturing with the notebook to the newsstand that sat in the middle of the platform. “I’m Rachelle Clark with NYC Weekly.”

He grasped her hand, noting the softness of her skin and the crazy frisson of sensation racing up his arm. “I can’t say that I’ve ever read that particular one.”

There were so many local NYC-centric newspapers and magazines keeping those living in the five boroughs up-to-date on the happenings, Carter couldn’t possibly read them all.

She extracted her hand. “You don’t want to know what’s going on in your own community?”

Tucking in his chin, Carter said. “I didn’t say that.” He narrowed his gaze. “I believe my brother told you I was working.”

She had the good grace to grimace. “True.” Her smile reappeared. “However, he did tell me where to find you, so I took that to mean he wasn’t opposed to me asking you some questions.”

“Did he now?” Carter would have to chew Noah out for throwing him to the wolves, or wolf, in this case.

“How about this?” Rachelle said. “I can follow you around the rest of your shift. Just observe. I won’t ask any questions.” Her accent deepened into a definite Southern drawl. “I won’t say anything. Just think of me as a little shadow.”

Yeah, right. An attractive shadow. Like having her dogging his steps wouldn’t break his concentration. He looked down at Frosty, who looked up at him with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

“We’ll take a break right now,” he said. “You have five minutes.”

“No, no, no. It would do my article so much good if I could see you in action. Even if it’s just for a little bit. Then when you’re off duty, I can interview you.”

Carter rubbed at the tension in the back of his neck. “Like I said, five minutes.”

Her gaze darted to his partner then back to him. “He’s a handsome dog.”

“He knows it,” Carter told her.

She laughed slightly but didn’t reach out to touch Frosty. Carter wondered if she was afraid or being respectful.

He strode away toward a locked closet built into the staircase, fully aware of his “shadow” following. He tried to ignore the hint of lavender wafting off the woman as he brought out water for Frosty, who lapped it up thirstily. He grabbed his own thermos and drank deeply, his eyes on the reporter watching him.

She glanced around. “Was there a race today?”

“For a reporter, you’re not very well-informed.” He barely suppressed his amusement when surprise and a bit of annoyance flashed in her chocolate-colored eyes.

She recovered quickly and said through smiling lips, “I don’t cover sports.”

He couldn’t contain the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A walkathon for diabetes. Hardly a sport.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you expecting trouble?”

Only the kind tall brunettes posed. He shook his head, dislodging that thought. “No. We’re just patrolling as a precaution.”

“Right.” She made a note in that flowery book of hers. “I suppose the walkathon could be a target like last month’s Fourth of July celebration.”

She was correct, but he didn’t comment. No need to give her any more fodder on that score. Two of his fellow K-9 Unit members and their dogs were there when a bomb detonated in a park on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Thankfully, no one was hurt.

“Did that bombing have anything to do with your eldest brother’s murder?”

Carter glanced to her sharply. “Your five minutes is up.”

“No, it’s not,” she countered. She tapped the gold watch on her slender wrist. “I have two more minutes. How close are you to solving your brother’s murder case?”

“I thought you wanted to talk about the field trials?”

Her nostrils flared slightly but her smile didn’t slip. “I do. Are you and Frosty competing?”

“Yes, we are.”

“How many events will you participate in?”

“All of them.”

Her dark eyebrows drew together. “Which are...?”

“Obedience and agility. Articles and boxes, which are timed. Apprehension with gun and without gun.”

She wrote furiously in her notebook. “Could you elaborate on those?”

“Not now.” He tapped her watch. “Time’s up. You can attend the public demonstration.”

A new flood of people rushed down the stairs toward the train platform. Carter carefully watched the throng and Frosty for any signs of an alert as the dog inhaled the air in short little bursts and sniffed at each person as they walked past him.

It was time to take his focus off the reporter.

Carter put their stash away and closed the closet. “Back to work.” He let Frosty lead, his nose twitching in the air.

Awareness shimmied down Carter’s spine with every step. He stopped abruptly and turned to face the woman on his heels. Her pumps skidded on the concrete floor, barely halting her in time to keep from bumping into him.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

Her smile turned saccharine sweet. “There’s no law against sharing the same space as you.”

Barely refraining from snorting, he blew out a frustrated breath and stalked away.

* * *

Rachelle hurried after the handsome police officer and his dog. She’d seen him from a distance at Griffin’s Diner, a neighborhood eatery near where she lived in Queens and close to the NYC K-9 Command Unit headquarters, but had never talked to him. Up close the man was downright gorgeous with his dark hair and blue eyes. And fit. She couldn’t imagine wearing all the gear attached to his body on a daily basis, let alone in the dank and stuffy subway.

She was glad to see he was thoughtful of his partner to make sure the dog stayed hydrated. She made a note in her journal. She’d always liked dogs from a distance. Her parents had never allowed pets. Which made writing about the K-9 duo that much more fascinating.

It had taken some fancy talking to get her boss to allow her to write an article about the police dog competition because she’d already been assigned to cover an upcoming celebrity ball, which thankfully had some redeeming value as a fund-raiser for autism awareness.

Her hope with the article about the police dog field trials was to gain some insider information on the K-9 Unit and the unsolved murder of NYC K-9 Command Unit Chief Jordan Jameson.

Five months ago when Chief Jameson had failed to appear for a K-9 graduation, the department had known something was wrong. Their chief wouldn’t disappear without a word. Then a few days later, Jordan had been found dead in what was made to look like a suicide, but evidence had proven Jordan’s untimely death was in fact murder. Someone had killed the man in cold blood and remained at large.

A mystery she wanted to solve in order to be taken seriously as a journalist. If she could shed light on why Chief Jameson was killed, or better yet, solve the case by doing her own investigation...

Her work would be noticed and hopefully picked up by more prestigious media outlets.

She hustled to keep close to Carter and Frosty so she could hear and see what he and the dog were doing as they weaved and bobbed through the swarm waiting for the train. Bodies pressed in around her, the smells of the subway assaulted her senses. Odors she’d yet to get used to, having only been in the city for a year. Her skin itched with the need for fresh air and blue sky. Sweat dampened her blouse, no doubt ruining the fabric. Someone pushed against her, sending her stumbling sideways.

“Hey!” she cried out.

Carter whipped around, his blue eyes meeting hers. She regained her balance, gave him a reassuring nod and headed toward him, dodging a couple of teenagers who were jostling each other.

From the dark tunnel came the roaring sound of the train. People surged forward in anticipation of boarding, each hoping to make it through the doors, in case the train was already full.

Jostled by the crowd, Rachelle swam against the current, but the tide of humanity pushed her toward the yellow safety boundary painted on the platform floor. Frowning, she held on tight to her purse and tried to shimmy her way through the crowd.

The flat of a hand on her back startled her and she jerked just as she was shoved hard, causing her to misstep and propelling her to the very edge of the platform. She lost her balance, her arms windmilling.

Terror ripped a desperate scream from her as she plummeted off the platform and onto the tracks.

* * *

A woman’s scream punctuated the air, loud gasps from the surrounding crowd following. Horror stole Carter’s breath as Rachelle disappeared over the edge of the platform onto the subway tracks.

His heart jumped into his throat, galvanizing him into action. He pushed through the terrified crowd as he called into Dispatch asking for backup and for the incoming train to be notified there was a civilian on the tracks. He prayed the message would be relayed to the conductor in time to stop the train short.

Pedestrians yelled and urged Rachelle to get up. She appeared dazed as she pushed to her knees. Smears of grease and dirt marred her skirt and blouse. Shoving back her loose hair, she lifted her frightened gaze as if looking for help.

Frosty’s frantic barking echoed off the tile and cement. Agitated, the dog paced the edge of the platform. Carter held tight to his lead, afraid the dog would jump onto the tracks to help save Rachelle.

The train wasn’t far down the track. He could hear the strident squeal of the rails echoing down the tunnel. There wasn’t time for her to climb back onto the platform.

He didn’t think there was even time for her to run to the other end of the platform where there was a four-step ladder.

Only one option provided a hope of survival.

He knelt down and cupped his mouth to shout, “Lie down between the rails.”

For a heartbeat, she blinked up at him as if trying to discern his words.

A gust of wind tore down the tunnel, whipping her hair in front of her face and plastering her skirt to her legs. The approaching train would arrive any second. “Hurry! Lie down. Cover your head!”

In a flurry of movement, Rachelle scrambled to do as directed. She lay prone between the inside tracks, her face tucked into the crook of her elbow.

Even if the train didn’t hit her, there was no guarantee the equipment hanging down from the undercarriage wouldn’t cause injury.

Nausea roiled through his gut as he pushed to his feet and lifted a prayer for this woman’s safety. “Please, God.”

* * *

Rachelle squeezed her eyes tight. Her heart hammered in her chest. She covered her head with her purse, thankful it hadn’t flown off her body in the fall, and fought to lie as still and flat as possible.

If she survived this...

No! She would survive this—she’d be headline news. And could write about the fast-thinking officer who helped her stay alive.

The loud squeal of the rails shuddered through her. Her body tensed.

“Please, Lord. Please, Lord.” She repeated the refrain over and over.

* * *

The sight of the incoming train filled Carter with terror. He waved his arms over his head, hoping to grab the train engineer’s attention. Others joined in.

The sound of people crying mixed with the screech of the brakes as the train decelerated and came to a jerking halt within inches of Rachelle’s feet.

A cheer broke out.

Sweat soaked Carter’s back beneath his uniform and flak vest. “Thank you, Jesus.”

To Frosty, he commanded, “Stay.”

He dropped the dog’s lead and then jumped down onto the tracks, careful to avoid the third rail, which supplied live electrical power for the subway to run efficiently. It was exposed and extremely dangerous. He hurried to gather Rachelle into his arms and lifted her off the ground. Her arms encircled his neck and she buried her face in his shoulder. Her body trembled. Shock, no doubt.

“You’re okay,” he assured her.

He carried her to the end of the platform. Several people rushed to help her up the stairs.

“My notebook and pen!”

Carter rolled his eyes at her priorities but quickly grabbed her items before climbing up the ladder behind her.

Rachelle’s pretty brown eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. She wobbled on her pumps and gripped his arm. “Thank you. That was really close.”

Tell me about it. “You’re going to be okay.”

He slid an arm around her waist and led her to the bench against the wall. He squatted down beside her, setting her notebook and pen on the bench.

Frosty put his chin on her knee. She stroked the dog behind the ears with one hand and placed her other hand protectively over her notebook.

“What happened?” Carter asked.

Her lips trembled. “Someone pushed me.”

Shock reverberated through him. The platform was now a crime scene. He radioed in this new development.

“That’s right. I saw the whole thing.” An older gentleman stepped forward. “Guy wore a gray T-shirt, baseball hat and sunglasses. He had brown hair, medium height.”

Carter rose and searched the pressing crowd. “Can you point him out?”

“As soon as he pushed her, the guy ran up the stairs,” the older man told him. “I heard him say, ‘You’re getting too close.’”

“I heard him say that, too.” A young woman wearing a walkathon T-shirt stepped forward. “I saw him put his hand on her back and push.”

Carter’s gaze snapped back to Rachelle. “Why would someone want to hurt you?”

She tucked in her chin. “You think I was targeted?” Something flashed in her eyes, some thought that made her frown, but then she shook her head. “No. It was crowded. He probably got claustrophobic. It had to have been a random act.”

Carter wasn’t sure what to think. He didn’t have time to question her further as other police officers and paramedics flooded the platform. He greeted the officers, explained the situation and let them interview the witnesses. Carter would write up his statement when he returned to his home station in Queens.

The medical personnel fussed over Rachelle. She waved them away. “I’m fine. Nothing is broken. Nothing’s twisted. I’ll have some bruises, but you can’t help with that.”

Carter touched her shoulder. He’d already noted the scrapes on her hands and the smudges on her knees. She’d dropped four feet onto hard concrete. “Let them do their jobs.”

She huffed out a sigh and tucked her notebook and pen into her purse. “I’ve taken worse falls. My parents have a grand oak that rises a hundred feet in the air. I’ve fallen out of it more times than I can count. This was barely a tumble.”

Her words were saying one thing, but her body was shaking beneath his hand. “Humor me.”

Her lips pressed together, and she nodded. The EMTs checked her vitals, assessed her limbs for injury. They declared her okay but told her to rest and put ice on her knees.

When the paramedics retreated, she rose from the bench, straightened her dirt-smudged skirt and squared her shoulders. Looking him in the eye, she said, “What I would like to do is interview those witnesses, then get on with our interview.”

She had gumption, he’d give her that. He admired that she wasn’t rushing out of the subway system scared as a rabbit. Most people would be anxious to escape the area after experiencing something as traumatic as being pushed into the path of a subway train.

Who had pushed her? And why?

Random? Or a targeted attempt on her life?

TWO

“We’re heading back to our unit’s headquarters in Queens,” Carter said to Rachelle as he reined her in from questioning the witnesses.

He was determined to discover the truth about why someone would want to harm her, which meant he needed to keep her close and grill her about the incident. “Come along with us.”

“Wonderful. I live not far from there. Do you think I could get a tour of the station?”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Carter looked down at Frosty, who stared at him with trusting eyes. “All right, partner, let’s head out.”

The dog’s ears perked up, his tail thumped once and then he stood. The crowd had thankfully thinned. Yet, Carter couldn’t shake the stress of seeing Rachelle tumbling off the platform onto the tracks.

“Let’s go aboveground where we can hail a taxi.”

“You don’t have a vehicle?”

“I do, but parking in the city is nearly impossible for any length of time.”

“Would you normally travel back to Queens via a cab?” she asked, her intelligent eyes studying him.

“No. Part of our job with the transit bureau is to ride the subway,” he told her. “But we can take a cab today.”

She shook her head. “Not on my account. I’d rather you do as you normally would. It would be better for my story.”

Grudgingly, he respected her dedication. He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

They walked to the platform for the downtown train and stood behind the yellow painted barrier.

He doubted Rachelle realized he’d slowed his pace to keep her within reach so he could grab her and protect her at the first sign of danger. Coming from a family with a long line of police officers, protecting others was built into his DNA.

His cell phone rang. The caller ID announced his brother Noah. Again. Two calls in one shift? Carter quelled the spike in his pulse. Noah had offered to watch Carter’s daughter, Ellie, on his day off because their parents were unavailable.

Keeping an alert eye on those around them, he pressed the button. “Hey, just about to leave the city. Your reporter friend has asked for a tour of the station.” Carter glanced at Rachelle, watching her scribble in her flowered notebook.

Noah chuckled. “Not my friend, pal. But I’m glad you’re not complaining.”

“That will happen later. It’s been exciting so far.” Traumatic would be a better descriptor but Carter would save the story for when he saw Noah.

“Well, you can start complaining now. I’ve been called into headquarters. My day off is over, and my babysitting time is up.”

Hope flared. “News on Jordy’s killer?”

Rachelle’s gaze snapped to his. Carter saw the curious gleam in her eyes. Reporter, remember! He couldn’t let his guard down around her. He’d learned the hard way the media only wanted the sensational and twisted the truth to meet their own narrative.

Noah sighed. “No. Nothing to do with the case.”

Disappointment curdled the hope.

“You’ll need to come directly home,” Noah continued. “Mom and Pop aren’t back from Fire Island yet.”

“Is Zach around?” Even though his youngest brother had married and moved out, he came around the family home often. His brothers took turns babysitting Carter’s six-year-old when their mom and dad were not available.

“On patrol this evening. And Katie’s not feeling well.”

Katie, Jordan’s widow, was five months pregnant. Carter’s heart ached knowing his oldest sibling would never get to hold his child, watch his child take his or her first steps, or hear the sweet voice of his own kid calling him Daddy.

Carter cleared his throat before he could speak. “Why don’t you bring the munchkin to the station house. I’ll grab her there.”

“Will do.” Noah hung up.

Rachelle raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” He was saved from having to explain further by the arrival of the train. “Here we go.”

They boarded a middle car. As usual, he and Frosty were greeted with a mix of nervous glances and stiffened spines or open interest. Carter gestured for Rachelle to take a seat near the car’s end door. He and Frosty stood guard.

Until he was satisfied that the attempt on Rachelle’s life had truly been a random act of violence, he planned to unearth all he could about the pretty reporter and what she might be working on that would put her life in danger.

* * *

Rachelle kept her gaze on Carter as the subway train zoomed down the track. The rhythmic noise of the rails brought back the memory of the train bearing down on her. A shudder ripped through her, setting off a maelstrom of pain from the many bumps and bruises the fall caused. She forced the horrific images of what had happened earlier away. However, the fear lingered. She’d probably have nightmares tonight.

Or dreams of strong arms, making her feel safe and secure, lifting her from the train tracks while the thunderous applause from the crowd and the bark of the world’s cutest dog rang in her ears.

She pushed the thought aside, too. It was fine she found Carter good-looking and she was grateful for his rescue, but she wasn’t looking for anything more from him than a source that would provide her a front-page story to bring justice to the world.

Or, at least, justice for his brother.

And earn her notice from prestigious news outlets.

Consciously redirecting her mind to the phone call Carter had received, curiosity burned through her veins like a wildfire. She wanted to know more about Chief Jordan Jameson’s murder. But the look of disappointment on Carter’s face had let her know the call hadn’t been about the investigation. “Who’s ‘the munchkin’?”

Carter folded his arms over his chest. “My daughter.”

Ah. A call from the wife. Why would he be asking his spouse about Jordan’s murder? “Is your wife in law enforcement, also?”

His jaw hardened. He kept his gaze forward this time. Not even looking at her. His Adam’s apple bobbed. For a long moment he stayed silent, his expression unreadable and she feared she’d just overstepped with her question.

“I’m a widower.” His voice came at her low and sharp.

Her heart clenched. Had his wife died in the line of duty? An innocent bystander? Or an illness? Or some other horrible death? It was too much to bear thinking about. She went back to her earlier question. Munchkin was his daughter. “How old is she? Your daughter,” she clarified.

“Six.”

“That must be hard. Raising a child on your own. How old was she when her mother passed?”

He shifted his stance, tucking his hands behind his back and widening his feet. “These are not questions I choose to answer in this venue.”

Properly chastised, she folded her hands over her notebook in her lap. Yes, this wasn’t the place to ask about his personal life. Too many ears, too many eyes and too many unknowns. “Of course. Forgive me.”

He remained silent, but his chin dipped slightly.

Rachelle would take the slight movement as forgiveness from a guy like Officer Carter Jameson any day of the week.

She glanced warily around the subway car. Several people were clearly nervous to have an officer and K-9 on board. It was a diverse group of individuals. Some were clearly families heading home from a day in the city. Others obviously were tourists, with cameras around their necks or holding subway maps in their hands. The rest of the passengers most likely were workers getting off from their city jobs, possibly heading home to one of the other boroughs where it wasn’t so expensive to live.

She found herself looking for a man in a gray T-shirt and baseball hat with brown hair, of medium height. None fit that description in the car. Could the incident on the subway platform have been related to her investigation into Jordan Jameson’s murder? She suppressed a shiver of dread.

A casual glance at Carter found him watching her with his inscrutable gaze. Unperturbed, she met his gaze fully and assessed him as he assessed her. This was a man who was used to intimidating others. With nothing more than a stony stare, a formidable stance and a big dog.

She’d learned a lot in the last year since moving to New York City. Who to stay away from, who might cause trouble and that at any moment some celebrity, thinking they were incognito, could appear right next to her on a subway car, a street corner or in a restaurant. Carter wouldn’t be looking for celebrities. He’d be looking for the ones who were doing bad things.

Like the guy who’d pushed her off the platform. She knew to keep her eyes open and sharp. The fact that she’d failed to notice the danger really irked her. She should never have allowed herself to get close enough to the edge to be pushed off. Normally, she stayed back until the train came to a stop. The only explanation had to be she’d been too focused on Carter.

When the subway train pulled into the next station, Carter and Frosty moved to stand near the opening doors. The dog sat at Carter’s heels, his nose twitching at everyone who came in and out of the car.

“How did you come up with the name Frosty?” she asked him.

Carter glanced over his shoulder at her and arched an eyebrow.

Raising her hands in acknowledgment that she’d received the message—not here, not now—she opened her notebook and added more questions to her growing list. She kept her mouth closed for the remainder of the ride but couldn’t help the impatient bounce of her foot as the subway car rolled along.

She was glad when they finally switched trains to head out of Manhattan to the borough of Queens.

As they exited the subway car, Rachelle was sure she heard several sighs of relief. She didn’t understand why the dog and officer made people so anxious. Carter and Frosty were there to serve and protect. Yes, the police in general seemed to have a bad rap in the media over the last few years. And she wasn’t naive—she knew there could be bad apples on any tree. But the NYC K-9 Command Unit had, until recently, a really good reputation.

However, people were losing confidence that the K-9 Unit could solve their own chief’s murder, let alone any other crime. After five months with no answers, she had to admit she was frustrated, too. Which in part was what had prompted her to begin her own investigation.

Along with the fact she wanted to advance her own career.

But she’d rather think about the more altruistic reason she was diving headlong into Jordan Jameson’s life. His murderer needed to be caught and justice served. She and everyone else in New York would sleep better knowing a killer was off the streets.

A shiver traipsed down her spine, reminding her of the terrifying event she suffered in the subway. She rubbed at the dirt streaked across her skirt. The skin underneath protested. In fact, her whole body ached from the impact of the fall now that the shock had eased.

She really didn’t want to contemplate why someone had pushed her off the subway platform. Better to chalk it up to a onetime thing than to live in fear. She refused to believe the incident had anything to do with her inquiries into Jordan’s life.

With Frosty on Carter’s left and Rachelle on his right, they walked away from the subway station and onto the sidewalk. This was her neighborhood. The residual fear and stress keeping her muscles bunched tight throughout her body began to melt away like butter on her grandma’s biscuits. They neared the mini market where a slim man in his sixties swept the front walkway.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lee,” she called with a wave.

Mr. Lee looked up and smiled at her. “Ah, Miss Rachelle.” His gaze narrowed at Carter and Frosty. “Are you okay?”

“Perfect,” she replied. “You?”

“Well, thank you.” He hurried inside the store.

They headed down the street with the late afternoon traffic buzzing by. She could feel Carter’s curious gaze. She glanced at him sideways. “My apartment is only a few blocks from here. I stop in occasionally for fruit or milk.” Her own curiosity prompted her to ask, “Do you two always receive that sort of reaction? I noticed on the subway that many people were nervous with you two aboard.”

He shrugged. “It happens. Some people get antsy around authority figures. We’re trained to discern the difference between a nervous Nellie and a real crook.” He peered at her. “How did you end up in New York?”

“Who doesn’t want to live in New York?” She wasn’t about to tell him she had applied and accepted the job at NYC Weekly as a way to escape her family. “My hope is to write something that will be picked up by a major news source and lead to a job with them. And this New York job seems the best possible place for that to happen.”

“Why journalism?”

She shrugged. “When it was time for college, my maternal grandmother suggested journalism.” She affected a prim voice. “‘Turn your rebelliousness to usefulness,’ was her advice. I took it.”

“She sounds like a wise woman.”

Sadness slipped over her. “She was. She passed on while I was in college.”

“I’m sure she would have been proud of you,” he commented.

At the corner, they waited for the light to turn green before crossing.

“Thank you for saying so.” She didn’t add that her father had said the opposite when she’d made the decision to leave Georgia.

The walk signal appeared, and she stepped out onto the street.

The squeal of tires on the hot pavement filled the air. A car careened around the corner, aiming straight at her. Her lungs froze. Her body refused to move. Carter’s hand wrapped around her biceps and yanked her back onto the sidewalk mere seconds before the brown sedan whizzed past, barely missing her.

She put a hand over her beating heart. “Crazy driver.”

Carter regarded her with an intensity that set the fine hairs on her nape to high alert. He used the radio on his shoulder to report the incident and the fact the car’s license plate had been removed.

“Come on.” He ushered her quickly across the street to a three-story brick building with square windows and an American flag waving over the entrance. Carter stopped to open the glass doors of the public entrance.

“Would there be time for a tour?” She didn’t like the way her voice quaked. The fright from nearly being run over still zoomed through her veins. Having her life flash before her eyes twice in one day made her nerves raw.

Carter’s mouth lifted at one corner. “Yes, I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Excited by the prospect of seeing the inner sanctuary of the K-9 Unit, she followed him inside. Carter and Frosty patiently waited while she went through security and then received a visitor’s badge from the front desk officer sitting behind a large U-shaped desk.

Having never been inside a New York Police Department precinct, she found it fascinating. The lobby had a warmth to it she hadn’t expected. Pictures of dogs and their handlers gave the beige walls life. The phones rang incessantly, keeping the receptionist busy.

Joining Carter and Frosty near a set of stairs, she observed, “Much different than the small police station back home.”

Carter led her up a flight of stairs. “Really? Where is back home and why do you know what the inside of the police station looks like?”

“Vidalia, Georgia. As to why...” A flush heated her cheeks. “I was a bit of a rebellious scamp as a child. I was caught picking flowers in Mrs. Finch’s garden. My father thought he’d scare some sense into me by dragging me down to the sheriff’s station and demanding that Sheriff Potter put me in jail. I think he wanted to frighten me straight as it were.”

Pausing, Carter stared at her. “Seriously? The sheriff didn’t...”

“No. He told me to apologize to Mrs. Finch and he never wanted to see me inside the station house again. He never did.”

“Hmm.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he was hmming about.

They entered a large space dotted with cubicles for the officers and their dogs. At the far end were enclosed offices. Carter led her to his desk, where he locked his weapon in the bottom drawer. Frosty lay down on a large round fluffy bed underneath the desk corner.

“Can you tell me now how Frosty got his name?”

Carter hitched a hip on the edge of his desk. “He’s named after William Frost. He was an officer with the NYPD back in the ’80s. He was murdered in a gang-related shooting.”

A pang of sorrow touched her. “That’s so sad. Do all the dogs get their names from fallen officers?”

“They do, in some variation. I chose Frost rather than William because he was all white like a blast of winter frost.”

“What breed is he?”

“German shepherd.”

“Really? I’ve never seen one like him before.”

“The white version of the breed comes out of Canada.”

“That’s funny. The Great White North.” She wrote that down. “You said Frost, but you call him Frosty.”

“Ellie, my daughter, liked Frosty better. And it stuck.”

“What a pretty name. Ellie. Your daughter sounds charming.”

“She is.” He looked past her, and his features visibly changed, taking on a soft tender look that had her heart thumping against her rib cage.

She turned to see a blond-haired, blue-eyed pixie streaking toward them.

The little girl jumped into her father’s arms. “Daddy!” she squealed.

She gave Carter big, noisy kisses on both cheeks.

Carter’s deep rumble of a laugh hit Rachelle like an acorn from her parents’ oak tree, digging into her psyche and making her want to hear more.

Holding his beautiful little girl on his hip, Carter smiled at Rachelle. “This is Ellie.” The child regarded her with open curiosity. “My pride and joy.”

There was no doubt about that. “Hi, Ellie, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Honey,” Carter addressed his daughter, “this is Ms. Clark. She’s a reporter.”

The way he emphasized the word reporter had Rachelle stiffening her spine. Wariness entered the little girl’s shining eyes. “She’s one of those.”

Rachelle tried not to take offense. Clearly the Jamesons didn’t hold reporters in high regard.

“All right, you two,” a deep masculine voice from behind Rachelle admonished. “No need to scare our guest.”

Rachelle spun around to find herself face-to-face with Chief Noah Jameson. She’d seen his picture in the New York Times, as well as her own paper on numerous occasions over the past several months.

Dark circles were evident beneath his green eyes. She could only imagine the stress of losing one brother and taking over a high-profile position amid controversy.

Rachelle scribbled down her observations, her pink pen flying over the pages of her flowered journal.

“I like your book,” Ellie said. “Can I see it?”

Rachelle clutched the notebook to her chest and gave a nervous laugh. “These are my work notes. I’m doing an article on your father. And Frosty.”

Carter set Ellie’s feet on the floor. “Okay, munchkin, I need a moment with Uncle Noah.”

He glanced at Rachelle. “I need to tell Noah about today. All of it.”

Rachelle swallowed back the sudden jump of residual fear. “We’ll be fine here.”

She looked at Ellie and was a bit disconcerted by the way the girl was assessing her, much as her father had done.

As the two men walked away Ellie asked, “What happened to your skirt? It’s dirty.”

Smoothing a hand over the mark, she replied, “I fell.” She didn’t add she’d been nearly run down in the street. And almost flattened by a train.

Ellie slipped her hand into Rachelle’s. “Is my daddy helping you?”

Carter certainly had his hands full with this little perceptive child. “Yes. Yes, he is.”

And she couldn’t begin to express her gratitude to him for not only saving her life but also for being a path to furthering her career.

“Are you married?”

Taken aback by the little girl’s question, Rachelle glanced up to see Carter had paused midstep as if he’d heard his daughter’s query. His lips twisted in a rueful grimace before he turned and walked into Noah’s office, closing the door behind him.

Smothering a grin, Rachelle shook her head at the little girl. “No, I’m not.” And she had no plans to be for the foreseeable future.

Ellie’s eyes lit up. “That’s good.”

Deciding it was best not to pursue that comment, Rachelle asked, “School must be starting soon, right?”

The little girl released Rachelle’s hand and hopped onto her father’s desk chair. With the heel of her hand on the desk, she sent the chair spinning. “Yep. In a couple weeks. I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Why not?”

Ellie stopped spinning and stared at her. “It’s school.”

As if that should explain everything. Rachelle laughed. “Well, there is that. But aren’t you excited to see all your friends and have recess and art? Art was always my favorite subject. I could get messy and not get in trouble.” Though with budget cuts she wasn’t sure art was taught anymore in public schools.

Ellie resumed her spinning. “Oh yes. I’m excited to see Kelly and Greta. I’ll be in Mrs. Lenny’s class. We’ll get to do a garden project. My daddy said I could bring butterflies.”

“He did, did he? That’s fabulous. You have a good daddy.”

“Yep.” Ellie stopped the chair to peer at her. “He’d be a good catch, as my grandma says.”

Uh-oh. Was she trying to play matchmaker?

THREE

Not going to happen. What to say that wouldn’t offend or be rude? Rachelle settled for, “Interesting.”

Ignoring Ellie’s assessing gaze, Rachelle busied herself visually memorizing everything on Carter’s desk. Everything in its place. Pens and pencils corralled in an NYPD mug. Reports stacked with clean edges on one side of the desktop while a dormant computer screen and keyboard took up the other half. No dust bunnies, either.

A family photo of the Jamesons sitting next to the computer caught her attention. Recently taken, by the looks of it. Carter and Ellie, much as the little girl appeared now, were crouched down in the front row, while Carter’s three brothers, including the murdered Jordan, stood behind them. Snuggled up to Jordan was a pretty blonde woman. No doubt Jordan’s widow, Katie.

Next to the Jameson family photo sat a gilded framed wedding photo of a young-looking Carter standing with his radiant bride. Ellie got her blond hair and delicate features from her mother.

A pang tugged at Rachelle’s heart. No wonder Carter wanted Ellie to have butterflies in her life. They represented renewal and hope. “You can’t have a garden without butterflies.”

Ellie pushed off the desk and sent the chair whirling in a circle. “I have some carrot seeds that Aunt Katie got for me.”

“That was nice of her.”

“She said I should contribute to the vegetables, too.”

A big word for a little girl. No doubt she was repeating what she’d heard. “Katie’s a smart woman. Do you see her often?”

Ellie stopped spinning again. The corners of her sweet little mouth pinched inward. “She lives with us. She’s very sad because Uncle Jordy went to Heaven.”

Heart aching for this family’s loss, Rachelle said, gently, “That’s totally understandable. I’m sure you’re sad, too.”

The girl’s eyes misted. She nodded. “I miss Uncle Jordy. He gave the best tickles. My daddy is sad, too. He misses Uncle Jordy and...because my mommy went to Heaven.” Ellie’s gaze was on the wedding photo.

Rachelle blinked to repel the sudden moisture gathering in her own eyes. “Do you remember her?”

Ellie shook her head. “No. Mommy died right after I was born.”

Flooded with sympathy for this young little girl and her father, Rachelle didn’t quite know what else to say. What could she say? The little girl had experienced more heartbreak than most people in her short time on earth. “So, does Frosty live with you guys?”

Ellie sent the chair spinning once more. “He sure does. Also Scotty—he’s Uncle Noah’s dog—and Eddie, Uncle Zach’s dog. But Uncle Zach and Eddie moved out.” Her little brow furrowed. “Snapper lived downstairs with Aunt Katie and Uncle Jordan, but we don’t know where he is right now.”

Rachelle remembered the name from the news reports. Snapper was Chief Jordan Jameson’s missing dog.

“Now Mutt and Jeff live with us, too.” Ellie giggled. “Those aren’t their real names. That’s just what Dad calls them.”

“Your uncles?”

“No, silly.” Ellie waved a hand in a swatting motion. “The puppies. They are both girls, but Daddy still calls them by boy names. They are with us to be—” She paused and appeared to concentrate as she said, “Socialized.” She grinned. “But they’re gonna be police dogs just like Frosty and Scotty. Frosty’s not too fond of them. They get on his nerves. He growls, but they don’t care. They just run right on top of him. Scotty’s better with them. He just walks away when they bug him.”

“Sounds entertaining.” She would like to see the dogs and puppies together. Rachelle glanced at one dog in question. Frosty looked so peaceful lying there with his snout on top of his crossed paws. He opened one eye as if he sensed her attention.

Awareness cascaded over her flesh and she turned to find Carter approaching. The man exuded vitality even from five feet away. She mentally shook off the odd sensation.

“Ellie, sweetie,” Carter said. “Can you hang with Frosty for a moment while I show Rachelle something?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Ellie crawled off the chair and flopped down on the round bed on the floor, practically lying on top of the dog. Frosty’s ears twitched, his tail thumped, but otherwise he made no move.

Amazed at how calm and loving the dog was with Ellie, Rachelle asked, “Are you sure he’s a police dog?”

“He can be fierce when he needs to be,” Carter told her.

She wasn’t sure she believed his assurance. “If you say so.”

“He has a really good track record of taking down criminals. He’s a multipurpose trained dog. Part of our job with the transit bureau is public relations.”

“Like with the little girl and her father today.” Rachelle had been surprised to see the child petting the working dog when she’d approached Carter.

“Exactly.” He cupped her elbow. “Come with me.”

She sucked in a breath at the unexpected contact but forced herself to focus on the excitement of being given a glimpse of the rest of the precinct. Anticipating a tour of the facility, she was surprised by their first stop. He led her into a room filled with video monitors. A curvy female officer with long, curly blond hair tied back with a rubber band sat reviewing the screens. The woman turned to regard them with hazel eyes behind huge framed glasses. “Hey, Carter. What’s going on?” Her gaze raked over Rachelle.

Uncomfortable beneath the other woman’s curiosity, Rachelle fought the urge to fiddle with her purse strap or fix her hair. Best never to let anyone see a weakness. She lifted her chin, met her gaze and smiled.

“Hi, Danielle,” Carter said. “This is Rachelle Clark. Rachelle, Danielle Abbott, our computer tech.”

“Nice to meet you,” Rachelle said, then winced inwardly at how her accent had thickened. It did that sometimes when she was nervous.

“Likewise.” Danielle’s curiosity sparkled in her hazel eyes.

“I need a favor,” Carter said.

“Sure.” Danielle’s gaze snapped back to Carter. “Anything.”

“Can you access the MTA database and bring up the video surveillance from the 81st and Museum of Natural History subway platform?”

“Of course. We have access to all the five boroughs’ databases.”

As Danielle’s fingers flew on the keyboard, Carter told her the time frame he needed to review.

Rachelle’s heart rate ticked up as she realized he wanted to see the push that had caused her fall. Steeling herself against reliving the nightmare, she hovered over Carter’s shoulder.

“Here you go,” Danielle said.

“Fast-forward a bit,” Carter instructed.

It was strange to watch people in the video coming and going at a fast clip. There was the family she’d found Carter talking to when she arrived. Then she was on-screen talking to him. She couldn’t help but critique herself. She hadn’t realized she’d fidgeted with her notebook and pen the whole time she’d been talking to him. A nervous habit. One she intended to break.

“There!” Carter pointed to the screen.

Coming down the stairs was a man wearing jeans, a gray T-shirt, baseball cap and sunglasses. He stepped onto the platform and wandered from one end to the other, slowly making his way closer and closer to Rachelle with each pass.

Everyone surged forward in anticipation of the train’s arrival.

The mystery man paused right behind Rachelle. From the angle of the video it was too hard to see his hand on her back, but then she was stumbling, her feet trying to find purchase on the slick floor. The man watched her go over the edge of the platform, and then he turned and fled back up the stairs just as the witnesses had said. The video screen froze.

A shudder of terror worked its way over Rachelle’s limbs. She wrapped her arms around her middle. Definitely nightmares tonight.

Danielle turned to face her with wide eyes. “That was you.”

Rachelle nodded, feeling a bit sick to her stomach.

“There’s no good shot of his face. He obviously knew where the cameras were located.” Frustration reverberated in Carter’s voice.

Finding her own voice, Rachelle stated, “That still doesn’t mean it was a deliberate act. He probably didn’t realize how hard he pushed me, then got scared when I fell. He doesn’t look familiar to me.”

Carter frowned. “How would you even know if he was familiar to you? He was never directly in front of you, so you never got a good look at him.”

She couldn’t argue with his logic. She shrugged, hoping the fear stealing over her wasn’t apparent. If this was a targeted incident...

“Danielle, I need to see what cameras we have on the street between here and the subway.”

Without a word, the tech analyst swung back around to her monitors and typed on her keyboard. A few seconds later, traffic cameras from the area appeared.

“Go back about half an hour,” Carter said.

The video was a blur in Rewind but then came into sharp focus as Rachelle and Carter stepped into view to wait for the light to change at the corner. As the video rolled forward it caught Carter rescuing her from the careening sedan.

“I thought so,” Carter muttered.

“What?” Rachelle asked, unsure what he’d seen.

To Danielle he asked, “Can you pull video from the street right outside of the subway station about ten minutes prior to when the sedan showed up there?”

When the video was running, Carter pointed to the sedan parked at the curb. It pulled away and slowly rolled down the street.

“The sedan was waiting. Whoever it is knows where you live and expected you to take the train home.” His grim gaze met hers. “It deliberately tried to hit you.”

“And the plates were pulled,” Danielle mused, sending Carter a look even a noncop could decipher.

Rachelle swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. Her mind went numb. Someone was trying to kill her?

“Thank you, Danielle,” Carter said as he put his hand on the small of Rachelle’s back and led her out of the video monitoring room.

In the hallway, he stopped her. “Now we know. You’re being targeted. Why?”

Hoping to buy time to make sense of things, she bristled. “Why are you making this out to be my fault?”

“I’m not saying it’s your fault.” He frowned. “I’m just wondering what kind of stories you’ve been working on that would generate somebody’s animosity.”

Someone like the person who killed Jordan Jameson?

She leaned against the wall as her knees weakened. “My assignments are fluff pieces,” she told him, which was the truth. “In fact, I’ll be covering the upcoming celebrity charity ball at The Met next week. I had to talk my editor into giving me a shot at writing an article about the K-9 trials. He wanted to give it to one of the boys.”

“Boys?”

“The male staffers,” she clarified, “though they usually act like teenage boys.”

“Would one of them have a reason to want to harm you?”

She let out a grim laugh. “No. The guys are harmless. Macho, arrogant, egotistical, but harmless.”

He peered at her closely. “What aren’t you telling me?”

How did he know?

It could only be one thing that had put her in the crosshairs of a killer, but if she told Carter about her investigation into his brother’s death then any hope of advancing her career by solving Jordan Jameson’s murder would be gone.

But if she died, then what did her career matter?

* * *

Carter watched the play of emotions on Rachelle’s pretty face. He wanted her to trust him but wasn’t sure how to make that happen. They’d only just met. Trust had to be earned. But he’d saved her life twice. Such heroics had to go a long way toward building confidence in his ability to protect her. “Whatever it is, spit it out. I can help you.”

The noise she made was half moan, half scoff. “I think I know what the guy who pushed me meant by ‘You’re getting too close.’”

“Go on. Tell me.”

She licked her lips. His eyes tracked the motion.

“I am working on an investigative piece.”

He jerked his gaze from her mouth to her eyes. “Into what?”

Inhaling as if to brace herself, she breathed out and said, “Your brother’s death.”

“Excuse me?” He reeled back a step, his mind grasping to comprehend her words. “You’re... I thought you said you’re only assigned fluff pieces.”

“I am. This is something I’m doing on my own.”

His fingers curled. “You’re investigating Jordan’s murder. Unbelievable.” He hadn’t been prepared for that. But she was a reporter, after all. He should know better than to think she would be different than the vultures who’d circled for weeks after Jordan’s death. “You’re interfering in a police investigation. Do you know how much trouble you’re in?”

Her chocolate-brown eyes implored him to understand. “I’m seeking the truth. And there’s no way I’m impeding the NYPD’s investigation. But obviously I’ve struck a nerve somewhere.”

Anger put an edge to his voice. “Yes. Digging into things you have no business digging into can do that.”

She held up her hands. “Hey, all I’ve done is look up public records, searched social media, made a few dozen phone calls asking people for information. Information they might not be as willing to tell the police. Like the rumors of nepotism and favoritism.”

He tucked in his chin. “What are you talking about?”

The look she affected was one of are you kidding. “It’s a bit strange, don’t you think, the way Jordan rose through the rank and file so quickly? Your grandfather was with the NYPD, correct? Your father, too.”

Drawing up to his full height of six feet, he stared at her. “Really? Lady, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Jordan excelled at his job. He rose to the top by hard work and grit. Just like Noah has.”

“Okay, I’m only repeating what I’ve heard.” Her gaze bored into his. “And then there’s Jordan and Katie’s whirlwind romance. They went from dating to marriage to baby super fast.”

Stunned by her audacity, he could barely form words. “You have no right to invade our lives without permission. Katie and Jordan live...led—” the grief he kept under a tight leash bubbled to the surface, breaking his voice “—squeaky-clean lives. You’re not going to find anything going down those roads.”

“You may be right. But you’re too close to the situation.” Compassion softened her features, making her eyes warm. “You have to consider something in one or both of their pasts could have resulted in Chief Jameson’s murder.”

He hated that she was right. On both accounts. “I want that information.”

With a resigned sigh, she nodded. “You can have it. I will gather everything and bring it to you tomorrow.”

Taking her hand, he tugged her forward down the hall. “I need to inform Noah.”

“Did you know that several criminals that Jordan arrested have been let out of prison in the past year?”

“Of course,” he threw over his shoulder.

She dug her heels into the carpet, slowing their progress. “Most left the area or are trying to make something of their lives. But there was one guy who stands out.”

Carter stopped. “Who?”

“Miles Landau. He was released the day before Jordan died.”

“The drug dealer. We looked at him.” She really had no confidence in the department. He knew the public was restless with the lack of development in the case, he just hadn’t had it brought home to him in such an in-your-face way. “His operation was shut down when he went to prison.”

She raised her eyebrows. “So you know about his property on the waterfront.”

Carter’s gaze narrowed. “What property?”

“I uncovered a deed to a warehouse near the marina in Flushing with the business name of MiLand, Inc. Mi as in Miles and Land as in Landau. I pulled the public record on the company. MiLand, Inc. was formed two days after Miles was released from prison. And the lease on the warehouse signed a week later.”

His heart rate doubled. This was new information. “You have the address?”

Lifting her chin, she nodded. “Yes, I do. And the first name of a woman, Ophelia, whom he might be seeing or staying with, though I can’t seem to find her last name.”

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, her snooping might be helpful. And very dangerous. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Looking into Jordan’s murder?”

She made a face. “Reporter, remember?”

There was more to it than just her job. “But you’re not being paid to write about Jordan’s murder, so why? What do you hope to gain?”

“I want what everyone wants. The truth.”

“You expect me to believe that’s your only motive?” He shook his head. “You want to exploit my brother’s death to further your career, am I right?”

“Not exploit. Never. I’m not that person.” Her tone was one of pleading. “I’m doing my job. And yes, I hope if I write a great article with some meat to it, it will propel my career forward. What’s wrong with that?”

“Everything, because it comes at the expense of my family.”

The tenderness on her face made his stomach clench. “Your family has already paid an awful price for whatever motivated someone to kill Jordan. Don’t you want the truth? It really is freeing.”

Her words rang with sincerity. “What do you mean by that?”

Her expression closed, like a door slamming shut in his face. She may not realize how transparent she was, but he glimpsed the pain in her eyes before she hid it. She shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Oh, something.” He wasn’t going to let her make a statement like that, then back away. “What truth set you free?”

“This isn’t about me.” She started walking down the hall. “I’d like to leave now.”

He let it go. He didn’t want to get invested in this woman in any way. He matched her steps. “After we tell Noah.”

Noah listened, his face grim. Finally, he said, “I’ll put people on Miles Landau. Though I’m skeptical he’s our suspect. We looked at Miles. He doesn’t have a record of violence. He’s strictly low-level. However, Miss Clark, I would like to see your notes and research.”

“As I told him—” she tipped her chin in Carter’s direction “—I can bring it all tomorrow. It will take me some time to gather everything. I’m not the most organized individual.”

Noah inclined his head. “Tomorrow, 10:00 a.m., then. I’ll tell the front desk I’m expecting you. For now, I’ll have Carter escort you home.”

“I can’t right now.” Carter shook his head. “I have Ellie. Send Faith.”

Noah nodded and picked up his phone to call for Officer Faith Johnson and her dog, Ricci.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Carter left the room without so much as a glance at Rachelle. If he never saw the reporter again, it would be too soon.

* * *

“Thank you, Officer Johnson,” Rachelle stopped at the locked entrance to her apartment building.

“Of course,” the petite female K-9 officer said with a smile. “I can walk you up.” Her dog, a handsome German shepherd, sat patiently at her side.

Rachelle rattled the doorknob. “It’s a secure building. No one can get in without a key. I’ll be fine.” She was exhausted. Two attempts had been made on her life. If Carter hadn’t been there...

Now all she wanted was to get into her apartment before her roommates came home. A hot bath, a change of clothes and a tall glass of sweet tea were in order.

Officer Johnson looked around as if assessing the threat level. “Okay. We’re just a phone call away.”

Rachelle smiled because the irony was the NYC K-9 Command Unit was so close she could probably scream and be heard by the extraordinary dogs. “I appreciate you taking time for me.”

“Chief said to be back here in the a.m. to escort you to his office. I’ll see you then.” Officer Johnson nodded, her dark, chin-length bob moving jauntily beneath her NYPD cap.

Rachelle unlocked the door and hurried inside, making sure the door closed completely behind her and the lock was secure. Through the small square window at eye level in the door, she watched the officer and dog walk away.

Breathing out a tired sigh, she headed to the elevator only to find a handwritten note saying, Out of Order.

Great. Just what she needed. She veered away, resigned to taking the stairs to the fourth floor. She trudged up each step at a slower pace than she normally would. Her legs were tired and sore and bruised. So was her ego. All her hopes for a career boost with her investigative report into Jordan Jameson’s murder had slipped out of her control.

When she told Carter about the article on his brother’s murder, his expression had made her lungs constrict and even now she was struggling to catch her breath. He’d been hurt, shocked and angry. He couldn’t even look at her when they were in Noah’s office.

She was glad she hadn’t given in to the temptation to tell him her own family drama but thankfully, she’d managed to keep it inside. He wouldn’t think her issues were anything compared to the losses he’d suffered. And he was right. Her heart ached for the Jamesons.

Two flights up, she turned the corner in the stairwell and found the way blocked by a man wearing a gray T-shirt. Shock constricted the muscles in her throat. Rough hands grabbed her and spun her around so fast she didn’t have time to look at his face. A muscled arm slid around her neck and squeezed while her attacker’s other hand pressed a smelly cloth over her nose and mouth.

She breathed in, preparing to scream, and gagged. Her eyes watered. Her surroundings grew dim while her oxygen supply depleted, leaving her head woozy.

Her mind screamed, Dear Lord, help me.

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