detectives before that. He was genuinely kind as well as efficient. But he was at home today, and she really didn’t trust his officers to handle the matter with any finesse.
That drew her back to her immediate problem. Tom planned to resign because of heart problems. Finding someone to replace him was daunting, especially when small-town politics entered into the equation. There were less than three thousand permanent residents, and policing usually involved speeders, bar brawls and domestic conflicts. But there was the occasional fatal accident, lost child or robbery. She needed officers with diplomacy for domestic problems, and experience and judgment for the others. Tom had all that, and the affection and respect of the community. But he’d had a second heart attack, and his wife insisted he retire.
The problem was the city couldn’t pay enough to attract someone like Tom. He’d served because he loved Covenant Falls. He was also a second father to Eve and honorary grandfather to her son, and she wasn’t going to risk his life by trying to keep him.
She picked up her iPad and made her way to the small council chamber. Maybe she would visit the stranger in the morning. Quiet the rumor mill.
* * *
JOSH WORKED ALL morning on the interior of the cabin, and was just finishing cleaning the last room. The needed repairs were endless; the more he cleaned, the more problems he found. But he welcomed the work.
He’d temporarily fixed the roof and scraped most of the paint from the walls of the main room. He had to patch holes and sand rough spots, then prime the walls before painting.
He’d cleaned the windows, although he wasn’t sure that had been a good idea. Blinds were a necessity since the community was so interested in his affairs, but the local hardware store had none that fit.
He also needed furniture. All he had now was a folding bed, a cheap chest of drawers, the cooler and an old sofa that had somehow survived years of neglect in the cabin. Probably only the fact that it was alligator ugly kept it from disappearing with the other stuff.
But even as it was now, the cabin suited him. It was as broken as him and Amos, and the work kept him from thinking. Remembering.
He quit at midnight. The cabin was hot, but nothing close to the brain-searing heat in Iraq and Afghanistan. His T-shirt was drenched with sweat, some from the heat, some from work and the rest from the pain that never left him.
Josh ran his fingers over his cheeks. Stubble partially covered a scar. It wasn’t vanity that made him cover it, but he didn’t like questions and he sure as hell didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t deserve it. He’d been team leader and had lost eight of ten men. Their faces haunted him every night.
He grabbed a beer and went to the window that overlooked the lake and considered his future. The army had given him the only family he’d ever had, and the Rangers had given him pride and purpose and confidence. And then three months ago, he’d been discharged with several useless medals and a bum leg. Bitterness—and drink—had almost destroyed him until he’d finally found Amos. Then he had a new mission. Dave had asked one thing of him before that last mission, almost as if he knew he would die. He wanted Josh to do what he could to help Amos, the military dog Dave had handled for four years.
He was doing a pretty damn poor job of that one. Amos usually ignored food and ate the minimum to stay alive even when Josh tried to tempt him with steak.
“We’re a great pair,” he told Amos, hoping for a reaction. A thump of a tail. A lifting of an ear. Anything.
Nothing. Just that empty stare.
He went out onto the porch. Clouds nearly hid a new moon and most of the evening stars. He smelled rain, and a cool breeze brushed over him.
Time to walk Amos. He preferred walking late in the night when no one else was around. He went back inside and called to the dog.
“Duty time,” he said. Dave’s words every time they went on a mission. He remembered when Amos had snapped to attention, eager to go. But now he stood slowly. Years of training said obey, but that was all he did. There was no joy in it. Only reluctance to leave a safe place.
Canine PTSD, according to the diagnosis at the Daniel E. Holland Military Working Dog Hospital at Lackland Air Force Base. Josh was told that after Dave’s death, the dog had refused to obey any orders and cowered when approached. But Josh thought the behavior resulted as much from a broken heart as PTSD. Dave and Amos had been inseparable from the day they were teamed.
“Amos,” he said with more authority, and the dog finally moved to his side. Progress. Small, maybe, but progress nonetheless.
With the moon entirely blocked now, the night was black. There was no light, but neither of them needed it. Josh’s eyes were trained to see in the dark, or maybe he’d been born with that gift. He’d always been able to see better than his team members. They always said he was more cat than human, both for his night vision and the speed with which he could move.
With Amos plodding stoically at his heel, Josh followed Lake Road to where it ended in a path. He no longer moved like a cat, smooth and fast. Hell, an eighty-year-old great-grandmother could beat him in a foot race.
He walked until he feared his leg wouldn’t make it back, then turned toward the cabin. He would read until his eyes closed. Maybe tonight he could actually sleep. Maybe.
CHAPTER TWO
JOSH SLASHED THROUGH the weeds as though they were the enemy. One particularly tall one came in for special attention. Whack!
“Wow,” said a voice from behind him. “You really have it in for that poor weed.”
He swung around, the scythe in his hands swinging with him, and found himself face-to-face with an attractive woman. He was really slipping if someone could move in behind him without his notice. He hadn’t even heard a vehicle approaching. His attention had been riveted on clearing a path to an overgrown brick barbecue pit in back of the cabin. As far as he could tell, it was one of the few undamaged fixtures on the property.
He had gotten up at dawn. Made coffee, poured himself a cup then lured Amos outside. He’d instinctively started pulling the weeds that surrounded and nearly covered the pit. Finding it hopeless, he found the scythe he’d purchased the day before along with a number of other tools. Someone might have been mowing the front but they sure as hell hadn’t cut the back for a long time. It was snake heaven.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the newcomer said, and he realized he must have been staring at her. “I rang the bell,” she continued, “but when no one answered I decided to try back here.”
He went still and studied her. She didn’t wilt under his gaze. A lot of people did. The lady yesterday certainly had.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” he said, hoping she would get the message, although she was certainly younger and prettier than his previous visitors. He rubbed his dirty hands against his equally dirty jeans. “What time is it?”
“Nine, or thereabouts,” she said.
He scowled.
“Now I know why June ran away yesterday,” the woman said, her eyes filled with something like bemused curiosity as her gaze ran over his sweaty T-shirt, stained jeans and, last, the sharp tool in his hands. Her eyes were hazel with flecks of green and gold. Mischief
