K-9--Tracking the Target by Elizabeth Heiter

Author:Elizabeth Heiter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2022-10-17T23:36:06+00:00

* * *

This was not how he’d hoped to strike up a conversation with Sabrina Jones.

Tate Emory had seen her around town for the past half year, usually on the outskirts of Desparre. But to his frustration, it was always when he was in uniform, on the job. He’d struck up a few short-lived conversations with her, but he kept hoping to run into her when he was off duty. He’d wanted to get to know her a little more, maybe even ask her out.

Right now, though, seeing the fear in her green eyes, he just wanted to help. Holding open the door to the back of the station, he ushered her through.

His newly certified K-9 police dog, Sitka, followed. She was seventy-five pounds of Alaskan Malamute, a funny mix of puppy energy and police-dog intensity. He’d been petitioning the department—and his previous chief—for a K-9 practically since the day he’d joined the force five and a half years ago. The last thing Chief Hernandez had done before leaving Desparre was grant approval.

Now, after two months of training, his shelter-dog adoptee was a full-fledged police dog. He smiled down at her as she stayed in Sabrina’s footsteps like the woman’s protection detail.

“This way,” he told Sabrina, leading her through the mostly empty bullpen toward the glass-encased office at the back where the chief worked.

When he knocked on the door, the new police chief, Brice Griffith, called out, “Come on in.”

Chief Griffith was seven years older than Tate’s thirty-one, with fourteen years of experience in police work back in Vancouver. He’d made the jump to Alaska with his young daughter in tow when the town’s old chief had decided to follow her new boyfriend to Anchorage and return to detective work.

So far, Chief Griffith seemed like a fair boss. He was personable enough, though like most of the people in this town, he’d definitely come to Desparre to outrun something.

Not that Tate could throw stones. If the chief knew Tate’s true history, he’d probably be fired on the spot.

“What’s up?” Chief Griffith asked, standing as Sabrina followed Tate into the room.

“This is Sabrina Jones,” Tate said, noting the surprise on her face that he remembered her full name. “She’s being targeted by a stalker.”

The chief frowned. “Take a seat,” he told Sabrina, then added to Tate, “Close the door.”

Tate did as he was told, then sat in the chair next to Sabrina. Sitka settled in the space between them, her ears perked as she glanced from Sabrina to Tate.

“This was left on my doorstep today,” Sabrina said, handing the note to the chief.

The chief read it, then stared at Sabrina. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been contacted by this person, I take it?”

“No. He followed me from New York.” She took a shaky, visible breath. “I’ve been running for two years. I thought I’d lost him here.”

Two years? Tate stared at her, wondering how he hadn’t realized sooner she was trying to escape a threat.

He should have. Every time he’d spoken to her, she’d directed most of her responses to her feet.

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