down, boy,” Parker said softly as he opened the dog-run door.
Instantly, Sherlock sat, his tail thumping the ground, his big brown eyes staring at Parker.
Love for the little beagle filled Parker as he clipped on the leash and led the dog toward his vehicle. “Come on, boy, we’ve got work to do.”
With his lights flashing, Parker drove the few blocks to the youth center with Sherlock inside his special crate mounted in the back passenger area of the SUV. Parker glanced in the rearview mirror at Sherlock. Affection rushed to the surface. The dog was the closest thing to family Parker had in Sagebrush. His parents had moved to San Antonio not long after his kid brother’s death.
The sharp pain of loss stabbed at him. Parker’s life plan had changed that day. He vowed to keep the streets drug free. A tall order for just one person, but Parker figured for every drug dealer he put behind bars, more kids would have a chance to live.
He’d gone on to the local college, but instead of majoring in business as he’d planned, he’d majored in criminal justice. As soon as he’d graduated, he joined the police academy, setting his sights on becoming a narcotics detective. When he’d been offered the job to work with the K-9 unit, he jumped at the chance. Sherlock was the best drug-sniffing beagle in the whole state of Texas.
They both proudly wore the Sagebrush Police Department emblem.
Parker brought the official K-9 unit vehicle to a halt at the curb, climbed out and opened the back door for Sherlock. The beagle jumped out. Immediately, his nose went to the ground, sniffing for a trail to follow. Reining in the leash, Parker walked toward the front of the Sagebrush Youth Center.
A squeaking sound drew Parker’s attention. An old man, dressed in ragged clothing, pushed a shopping cart full of his possessions down the sidewalk. Their gazes met. Surreptitiously, Harry, the confidential informant who’d called Parker, pointed one gnarled finger toward the rear of the building.
Without acknowledging the old man, Parker veered Sherlock away from the front steps and hurried toward the back of the building where a wire fence, erected to keep in stray balls from the basketball hoops, dug into the cement of an old parking lot. Voices echoed off the sides of the center.
“Look, you don’t scare me.”
Parker recognized Melody’s voice. The words were spoken evenly enough but a faint tremor of fear underscored them.
“You should be scared, lady. You’re all alone. We can do whatever we want with you.”
The pretty detective was in trouble.
TWO
Parker quickened his pace, anxious to help his co-worker before anything bad happened.
“Tell me what you know about Daniel,” Melody insisted. “Why was his grave desecrated? What was he into before he died?”
This didn’t sound like a drug deal. Parker rounded the corner. A rough-looking character brandishing a knife had Melody backed up against the brick wall.
His stomach muscles tightened. Concern spread through his chest.
Two other equally seedy-looking thugs stood nearby leering at her. Melody’s hands were up in a placating way, but she seemed far from cowed. In fact, she looked downright impressive in her tailored pantsuit, crisp white blouse and black boots. Her dark hair was gathered up at the nape of her neck by a gold clip. Truth was, he’d never seen her appear more collected.
She stared at her assailant with hard blue eyes and pressed her questions. “Was Daniel dealing drugs? You were his friend back then, so you have to know something. What was he doing in the woods the night he died?”
“I’m not telling you nothing,” the knife-wielding guy said. To emphasize his point, he stepped closer and pressed the knife to her throat. Melody didn’t flinch.
Either the woman was incredibly brave or had a death wish. Parker wasn’t going to wait to find out which. He put his hand on the Glock at his side and stepped inside the fence. “Sagebrush PD. Drop your weapon. Back away from the officer.”
The two thugs immediately bolted as if their feet had been lit on fire. They ran past Parker and disappeared around the corner of the building. Sherlock barked and pulled at his leash, wanting to give chase. The hoodlum with the knife backed up a step but didn’t lower his weapon.
Now that Parker got a better look at him, he realized he knew the young man—Zane Peabody. He’d locked him up a couple of times on drug-possession charges.
Sherlock continued to bark and strain at his leash. He pawed the ground, showing signs of aggression reserved for when he was on the scent of drugs. Parker didn’t doubt Sherlock smelled some cocaine or weed or something else illicit on the younger man. Zane was a user. Parker had come here to bust a junkie and his dealer. But that wasn’t the situation here. Right now Parker’s concern was to ensure his fellow officer’s safety.
“Don’t be stupid, man,” Parker said. “Drop the knife.”
Melody scowled at Parker. Then turned back to her assailant. “Zane, come on, talk to me. You guys were friends. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Zane wiped at his nose with his free hand. “He’s gone. You can’t help him now.”
“I can find out who killed him,” she said.
Parker inched closer, keeping Sherlock at his heels.
Zane backed up more. His gaze darted back and forth between Melody and Parker and then dropped to Sherlock. “If I talk to you I’m as good as dead. Just like Daniel.”
“I can protect you,” Melody insisted, taking a step forward.
Zane shook his head. “You can’t protect me.” Fear twisted his features. “The Boss owns these streets. He’ll know. He knows everything.” He backed up even more. “You better watch out, lady. Asking questions could get you killed.” Then he ran.
His words hung in the air. A warning. A threat.
Every protective instinct Parker possessed came to life.
But one look at Melody’s determined face made Parker’s stomach drop to the heels of his black steel-toed leather uniform boots. The cold-case detective wasn’t going to back down, even if that meant putting her life in the crosshairs of the mysterious and brutal crime syndicate.
* * *
“Thanks a lot,” Melody groused as they watched Zane disappear around the corner. “You scared him off.”
Figures she’d go on the attack. He’d heard that she was a tough lady. She’d have to be to deal with teens as much as she did.
“I saved your life,” Parker said, falling into step with her as she marched toward a flight of stairs leading to the basement door of the youth center. Sherlock trotted alongside of him, his black nose close to the ground.
“I had it handled.”
And he could sing like Sinatra. Not. “That situation could have turned
