Page 3 of Dark ’N’ Deadly

“Don’t move.” His free hand hovered over Tiger’s door-popper as he again flicked his gaze to the back of the truck.

“Here,” the kid said. “Don’t you want to look at these?”

Just as he yanked the gun from its holster, the kid threw the stack of papers in Eric’s face and took off running.

Game on.

He’d half expected to be gunned down, but a foot chase… That, he could do.

He holstered then bolted after the kid, hitting Tiger’s door-popper as he vaulted over the railing and hauled ass down the hill.

A brindle blur shot past him. No surprise. Eric ran ten miles every other day, but he’d never outsprint his K-9.

For a scrawny kid, he was fast and already shooting into the tree line a good twenty yards away. Tiger disappeared into the trees. Seconds later, a high-pitched cry shattered the morning quiet. A human cry, that was.

At the bottom of the hill, he pounded to the trees, redrawing his weapon. Tiger’s front legs were on the ground, his back arched as he maintained a firm bite hold around the kid’s calf.

“Get him off! Get him off! Please, mister, get the dog off me!”

Eric resisted chuckling. Yeah. Now, it’s “please, mister.” He holstered his Glock. “Los.”

Tiger released the kid’s leg but kept a wary eye, letting loose with an occasional growl from the back of his throat.

Eric flipped the boy onto his belly, then cuffed and searched him. The only thing on him was a thin wallet and a cell phone.

“Let’s go.” He hauled the kid to his feet. At the top of the hill, he sat him on the shoulder in front of the Interceptor then reached into the vehicle to call for a backup transport.

A stiffer wind kicked up, blowing in the direction of the pickup. Tiger stood guard over the boy, his black nostrils flaring as he took in hundreds of scents on the swirling air currents.

When the boy looked at Tiger, those green eyes were filled with an odd mixture of wariness and curiosity.

Eric tugged a few folded pieces of paper from the kid’s wallet. No ID. The only thing of any interest was an old, wrinkled photograph. Looked like his prisoner, only years younger. In the photo with him was a girl, slightly older. Both had the same vibrant red corkscrew hair and sharp green eyes. The boy he’d never met until today; he was sure of it. Something about the girl was familiar.

He flipped the photo over. In faded blue pen were the words Jesse and Tess. The date beneath the names was ten years ago.

The breath caught in his throat. It can’t be. But it was, and holy shit. The resemblance he should have recognized earlier was now clear as a bell. How could I have missed it? Still, he had to be certain. “What’s your name?”

“Jesse.”

He took a step closer until he was towering over the boy. “Jesse what?”

“McTavish.”

Oh, hell.

He let out the breath he’d been holding.

Tess McTavish.

The woman he’d once wanted so badly he couldn’t think straight. A woman he’d never so much as kissed, yet she still plagued his dreams. He’d lost count of how many times he’d woken, aching and sweaty, sorely in need of a cold shower to snap him out of the steamy dream he’d been having of the two of them. Together. In his bed.

He shook his head. Man, don’t go there.

Red tape first. Answers second.

He slipped a card from his cargo pants and read the boy his constitutional rights. The kid didn’t respond that he wanted an attorney. Kind of surprising, considering Eric’s theory about what the boy was involved in.

“How old are you?” he asked.