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I feel my head nodding as I sniff back a tear of my own.
“He sure did, ma’am,” I let her know. Wishing Parker hadn’t left. Wishing he’d have told me this himself so I wouldn’t have acted so stupid in the presence of a real hero.
Wishing I wasn’t worrying so much like a cop’s wife already.
“Percy died, years later...” the thin voice trails on. “Natural cause he went in his sleep right next to me. God, I miss him!”
There’s a long silence, but I eventually hear her speak again.
Encouraging me, not really warning me this time.
“When you find the man you want in your life? You grab a hold of him and you don’t let go. Hear me?” she squeaks with emotion. The tiredness of the past covering us both like a thick wave, drowning out the needful breaths I have for my own future.
A future I want Parker in.
The future that’s choking me all of a sudden.
“You tell him to call his mother when he has the time, won’t you?” she asks. “And come on up here, the pair of you. Even if you bring that damned dog of his,” she grunts. “Let me have a look at you. You sound like a girl who might do Parker some good… Even if you are half his age.”
I open my mouth in protest, willing some words, but the old lady chuckles softly and hangs up before I can say another word.
I’m stunned.
It’s like the whole family is full of cops. And his mom, like the greatest detective of all, being able to tell so much from such a short phone call.
I can’t say I liked her from the get-go, but there’s something welcoming about her advice.
I almost feel like I’m part of the family already, except it all sounds so grim.
Trying to tell myself that Parker and Moose will be fine, always, I start to tidy up and straighten up the place, as if it needs it.
If it was daylight I’d probably be raking the leaves on the lawn.
The phone rings again not long after, making me jump.
I figure the old woman forgot to tell me something else from her trip down memory lane.
But it’s not her.
It’s Parker.
And he’s deadly serious.
“Naomi? I know I told you to stay put but…Don’t speak, just listen,” he says quickly, and I feel my knees go weak because I know this is all going to be bad news somehow.
“A patrol car will come to the house to get you. Open the gate, the control is by the door, and set the alarm for ‘away’ once you shut the door. Do you understand?” he says.
More of a command than a question.
I’m nodding, eyeing the remote by the door but hear myself tell him, “Your mom called. She seemed to think something was wrong,” I tell him, his short groan sounding more like pain than anything to do with his mother.
“Parker, what’s happened?” I finally ask.
“Just get here, I need you here,” he gasps, letting down his defenses. No more tough guy talk because it’s me he’s dealing with.
“They got Moose… They shot my boy…”
Chapter Eighteen
Parker
We’ve done this a thousand times. Two thousand eighty-one to be exact, I have to log each call out with Moose. He’s been my right hand for years now.
The K9 unit is a detection unit, it’s a patrol and an assault unit. A whole force in one truck for just two guys.
One of those guys just happens to be on four legs, not two, and he doesn’t talk shit for a whole twelve-hour shift either.
It’s a high alert call, snipers, and tactical response. The whole bit.
Some known criminals have walled in a team of undercover officers, trying to use them as hostages now that their operation is exposed.
We’ve both done all this before and our training, as well as experience, means we’re the main go to K9 unit on this job.
Big guns move in, take out the trash. Anything that tries to skid down the drain, that’s where Moose and I come in.
Simple.
All in a day’s work. Right?
By the time we’re on the scene, the directive has changed.
Most of the bad guys have surrendered, but there are a couple of rats who’ve evaded capture.
I’m briefed on the scene by a senior officer and instructed to set Moose to work by doing what he does best: sniffing out the bad guys.
A police chopper circles overhead, casting a thick beam of blinding light and flying so low I can hardly hear a word.
Moose is straining on his harness pointing in the opposite direction, whining with what I can tell is his own understanding of the situation.
I’m directed to start tracking the assailants a few blocks north where they were last spotted, but it’s clear Moose has other plans.
“With respect sir,” I inform my colleague. “You can handle traffic and crowd control, this K9 will follow the trail as he sees fit, not your directive.”
