Agent-in-Training Page 2

  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.

  He smiled. “I see you’re still collecting vinyl.”

  She shrugged. “Some things never go out of style.”

  Her dark ponytail was askew and her complexion was pale in the warm glow of the frosted overhead light. Dirt smudged her pink sweater and jeans. He noticed dark circles of fatigue forming beneath her hazel-green eyes. Concern arched through him.

  She’d had a distressing night. Though she was no longer on the job, she’d responded to a stressful situation and used her weapon. Thankfully, the wound she’d inflicted on the perpetrator hadn’t been a death blow. The suspect would recover. But Dylan knew anytime an officer fired his or her sidearm it was traumatic.

  He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her, comfort her, but refrained. He had to maintain perspective. Their relationship was purely platonic.

  And if he kept telling himself that, he would figure out a way to carry on without letting emotions become involved.

  As well as finally be able to shut down the rush of longing he experienced each time he saw her again.

  He really needed to reel in his attraction. Something he should be an old hand at since he’d been doing so for over a decade. But lately...he was struggling to keep his fascination with Zara at bay.

  Radar went to the back kitchen door and waited to be let out.

  “You freshen up,” Dylan said, seeing the perfect opportunity to help her without any awkwardness. “I’ll take care of Radar. He and I need to get used to each other.” Dylan had already offered to care for Radar while Zara was at the FBI academy.

  She gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. He’ll need water and food. His bowls are on the back porch. You can do some training if you’d like or just feed him. He’s used to eating both ways.”

  “Got it.” His gaze trailed her down the hall until she disappeared into her bedroom. He stepped outside the back door. An exterior light dispelled the shadows on the porch but left the backyard in inky blackness.

  He quickly took care of Radar, refilling the water bowl and scooping out dog food from the airtight container. He did a few basic training skills Zara had taught him, then let the dog eat from his bowl. The dog nuzzled against Dylan as if to say thank you.

  “You’re a good dog,” Dylan told him as he scratched the collie behind the ear. “You’ve done a great job of keeping her safe. I’m counting on you to continue.”

  Radar’s tail thumped against the patio as if to say challenge accepted.

  Dylan and Radar reentered the kitchen and found Zara dishing up pie. She’d changed into navy-colored sweatpants with the Montana State University Bobcats logo on one leg and a red long-sleeve T-shirt. She wore slippers on her feet and had retied her hair. Her face had been scrubbed clean of makeup, making her look younger than her twenty-eight years.

  “Do you want ice cream with your slice?” she asked.

  “Sure.” He leaned against the counter. “What were you doing downtown tonight?”

  “We were restless.” She handed him a plate.

  He glanced at the very relaxed dog then his attention went back to Zara, who had yet to stop moving. Before he could ask her again if she was okay, his cell phone rang inside his shirtfront pocket. He fished it out and looked at the caller ID.

  “It’s Christy.” The team’s general assistant. Why would she be calling at ten o’clock at night? “Hello.”

  “Dylan, are you with Zara?”

  His stomach knotted. “Yes.”

  “Turn on channel six,” Christy said. “I don’t know how, but the local news station got wind of the shooting.”

  His heart pounded at the implications. The Duprees would now know her name. He cupped the phone and asked Zara, “Do you have a television?”

  “Yes. In my office.” She led him down the hall to the room opposite her bedroom. A desk sat in one corner and a generous-sized chaise lounge faced a large flat-screen TV.

  “Channel six,” he said.

  She turned the television on.

  The reporter’s voice filled the room. “A shooting occurred in downtown Billings this evening. Reports are coming in that former Billings police officer Zara Fielding, daughter of the police chief, Robert Fielding, stopped a burglary and shot a man. The suspect was wounded and is in the hospital while another suspect is still at large. If you have any information to report, call the number at the bottom of your screen.”

  Dylan’s chest burned with dread.

  Zara sank to the edge of the chaise lounge. “So much for the Duprees not knowing who I am.”

  FOUR

  Zara’s cell phone rang. “It’s my dad,” she told Dylan, who stood at the window of the office and stared outside.

  “Dad,” she answered.

  “The media has your name.”

  “I know, I just saw it on the news.” Fear clamped down on her. How had her name had been leaked to the press?

  Dylan turned from the window. “Tell him there’s no patrol car out front.”

  Shaken by that information, she relayed the message to her father.

  “There will be soon,” her dad assured her. “I’m sending Travis and his partner over. We’re stretched thin tonight. There was some trouble after the high school football game. A crash and a couple of fights.”

  She could imagine. “Dylan’s here with me.”

  “Good. Special Agent West and his unit are taking over the case because of the Dupree connection.”

  She wasn’t surprised, considering the Duprees were on the FBI’s most-wanted list.

  “Make sure you lock up tight and stay alert.”

  Like she’d have to be told that twice. “We’ll keep an eye out for Travis. Bye, Dad.” She hung up and turned to Dylan. “The Tactical K-9 Unit is taking over the case.”

  Dylan gave a sharp nod and moved to stand beside her. “I can take you to your parents’ house.”

  There was a definite quake in Dylan’s voice. An answering quiver struck her. “No. I won’t put Mom in danger. Besides, just because my name’s out there doesn’t mean the Duprees would be stupid enough to come after me.”

  “You have to take this seriously.” There was no mistaking the hard edge to Dylan’s tone.

  “I am taking this seriously. I know you’re worried.” She had to admit she was scared and having him here was comforting. “Thank you for being here.”

  His hand folded over hers. Sensation traveled up her arm from the point of contact. He gave a gentle squeeze, apparently unaware of how his touch affected her.

  “We’re family, Zara,” he said.

  Not really, she wanted to shout. But she held her tongue and resigned herself to the role he wanted her to play. That of little sister.

  She tugged her hand free, stood, flipped off the television and headed back to the kitchen. Dylan followed her. Radar ignored them both and lay down on his bed in the living room.

  Picking up her pie, she stared at the gooey confection as her stomach churned with agitation. She set the plate back on the counter. “We need to ask Max if Kevin Vaughn is talking.”

  “That would make things easier if he did,” Dylan commented as he dialed Max’s number.

  Easier. Right. Like that ever happened in life. Her shoulders tensed as Dylan talked to Max, telling him about the news report.

  “Figures,” Dylan said. He looked at her. “Kevin lawyered up.”

  Anger mixed with dread cramped her chest. She wrapped up her uneaten pie and stuck it back in the refrigerator.

  “Let’s sit in the living room.” She sank onto the couch and took a deep breath, fighting to stay calm.

  He sat down across from her. She focused on him. She’d always thought he was good-looking when they were kids. He was more handsome as an adult, despite his propensity to wear Hawaiian-print shirts over his FBI T-shirt. His black-framed glasses added character to his face. He met her gaze and arched an eyebrow, making her aware she’d been staring.

  The adrenaline letdown and the stress of the past few hours were making her feelings for Dylan confusing.

  Fatigue set in along with a chill. She grabbed one of the afghans and tucked her feet beneath her and fought to stay alert. Dylan moved to the shelves filled with records. His nervousness added to her own.

  Radar let out a low growl, then jumped from his bed to stand near the love seat where she sat. An out-of-place smell hit her nose. She recoiled.

  Gasoline!

  “Come on.” Dylan grabbed her by the arm. “We have to get out of here!”

  Throwing the blanket aside, she sprang to her feet. They raced for the front door. Dylan reached for the door handle, but Radar pushed him back, blocking the way. His attention was focused on the door. He let out a low, menacing growl.

  “Someone’s outside on the front porch,” she whispered with terror coiling around her throat.

  Grabbing Radar by the collar, she dragged him toward the kitchen door. An explosion rocked the house. The kitchen ignited in a wall of flames. She skidded to a stop and backpedaled. Her whole body flinched. Her lungs seized.

  Radar cowered beside her but didn’t retreat. The dog shook with terror. Heat seared through her clothing. Black smoke billowed into the house, making her eyes water. But she froze in place, transported back to another day when the world went up in flames.

  “The bedroom window,” Dylan yelled to be heard over the crackling of the blaze and the screeching of the fire alarm.

  Jerked out of her memories and galvanized into action by Dylan’s voice, she covered her mouth and nose with her shirt. Acrid smoke curled along the ceiling, chasing them down the hall. She slammed her bedroom door closed and fought against the stinging in her lungs. Dylan yanked the lamp from the bedside table and broke out the window.

  She hesitated a moment, yanking on his arm. “What if the Dupree gang is waiting outside, ready to take us out?”

  She removed her spare weapon from the lockbox beneath her bed and then peeked over the windowsill, and said a silent prayer of thanks that she’d bought a single-story house. Dylan wrapped an arm around her and drew her close.

  “I don’t see anyone out there,” she told him. “But they could be hiding.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We have to get you and Radar out.”

  She frowned. “And you.”

  “Of course.”

  After tucking the weapon into her waistband, she grabbed her comforter. With Dylan’s help she draped it over the windowsill to protect them from the sharp shards of glass clinging to the sill. She lifted Radar into her arms. Tremors racked his body, and he licked her face with a whine.

  “Okay, boy. Here we go.” She threw him out the window, knowing he’d land easily on his feet.

  “Now you,” Dylan insisted. He made a foothold with his hands. “Move it!”

  She hefted herself over the windowsill and landed with a thud on the soft ground below. She turned to help Dylan. She grasped his hands.

  The bedroom erupted in a hot blaze of fire.

  FIVE

  As he dived out the window, clinging to Zara’s hands, a wave of heat blasted Dylan’s back. He tumbled to the ground, landing on her. He rolled away, taking her with him, toward the thick hydrangea bushes bordering the side yard.

  He jumped to his feet, taking cover within the bushes and shoving her behind him. He assessed the area for danger. Was the Dupree gang closing in? Someone had to have started the fire.

  Zara nudged her way in front of him with her weapon held at the ready. Figured she’d think it was her job to protect him. But she was the one in danger.

  He couldn’t let anything happen to her. He was so glad he’d insisted on staying. Aside from throwing her over his shoulder and forcing her away, what else could he have done to protect her?

  He cupped her elbow and urged her away from the inferno that had once been her home. They moved to stand at the edge of the property, in the shadow of a giant elm.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked her.

  She shook her head and waved him off. Frustrated by her refusal to let him safeguard her, he pulled her close, providing a shield.

  Her eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

  “Protecting you.”

  She ducked around him. “Radar!” she yelled, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the flames and the noise of the roof caving in.

  The dog was nowhere to be seen. Dylan’s heart thumped with dread. Radar had made it out, but had the trauma triggered his PTSD? Had he run away? Or was he hiding somewhere? Dylan hoped the dog was safe and would stay away from the house.