tracking, rescuing and so on. Dory wouldn’t need all those skills.
When he finished that up, he ate a quick dinner, then headed into the sheriff’s office to do his shortened shift. On training days, he worked as a deputy for no more than four hours.
Before he left, he took time to feed the ostriches their very expensive feed and open up their pen so they had more room for roaming. Neither of them appeared appreciative.
He and his dog Dasher, also a Malinois, drove into town in his official vehicle and parked near the office. Inside, they found the place quietly humming. Another placid night in Conard County, evidently. He was surprised sometimes how much he enjoyed the relief from the much higher activity level of Seattle. Must be getting old, he thought with an inward smile. Yeah, like thirty-five was ancient.
Dasher settled beside his desk, tucked his nose between his paws and just watched. Since nothing seemed to be happening, he used the computer on his desk to look up the story of Dory Lake and her brother. He felt no qualms about discovering what he could from public records about that incident. He wasn’t snooping, but he’d be learning what she had faced and would get a much better threat assessment than Dory’s, which seemed to be somewhere between terror and dismissal.
He wasn’t surprised to find a twenty-five-year-old case still accessible. The basic police report would be available for many years to come in case George Lake ever got into trouble again. It was nice, however, to find it had all been digitized. Newspaper archives were also ready and waiting.
So Dory, just turned seven, had been found screaming in the middle of the street at nearly 2:00 a.m. Neighbors had come running and called the police, who arrived in time to catch George Lake trying to flee the scene. Open-and-shut as far as George was concerned. He’d wiped the murder weapon, but he was far too drenched in blood to claim innocence. For some reason, not clearly explained, he’d been offered a plea bargain for twenty-five years. Drugs appeared to be involved, and the father had been abusive. He guessed the prosecutor couldn’t pull together enough to uphold a first-degree murder charge, so George had accepted a bargain down to twenty-five. Without a trial, there was very little in the record to explain any of this.
But what stuck with him was a newspaper account. Apparently, when Dory had stopped screaming, the only words she had said for nearly a year were red paint.
God. He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, seeing it all too clearly. The child had been well and truly traumatized. There was even a mention of hysterical blindness, a conversion disorder, but that hadn’t lasted as long as her refusal to speak.
She’d been taken in by her godparents and raised by them, so no additional trauma from foster care, but what difference did that make after what she’d seen? No one, at least in these files, knew exactly how much she had seen, but it was clearly enough to be shrieking in the middle of the road and rendered dumb for nearly a year.
Except for red paint.
He’d seen a lot of bad stuff during his career, but the thought of little Dory in the middle of the street...well, the story was enough to break his heart.
As for her mixture of feelings about George...well, that was settled in his mind when he read that Dory had received the entire—very large—insurance payout and all the rest of the property. George might be feeling cheated. In fact, Cadell was inclined to believe he was. He’d lost his entire inheritance because he’d been convicted of killing his parents. He might be thinking he could get some of that back. Make Dory pay him to leave her alone.
Or maybe worse. Because it occurred to him that if Dory died, her only heir would be her brother...and if he weren’t linked to her death...
Hell. He switched over to the reports menu and tried to shake the ugly feelings.
Being a cop had made him a much more suspicious man by nature. Sometimes he had to pull himself back and take a colder view, stifle his feelings and use his brain.
But his gut was telling him this wasn’t good at all.
* * *
DORY WAS ALL excited about Flash when she saw Betty again that afternoon. “I feel like a kid at Christmas,” she confided. “That dog is wonderful. I fell in love instantly.”
Betty laughed and poured the coffee. “I knew a dog was a good idea. He’ll brighten your days even if you never need him.”
“I need him already,” Dory admitted. “I’m so used to living in a world that exists only on my computer I’d forgotten a few other things might be nice. A friend like you, a dog like Flash.”
“A man like Cadell,” Betty remarked casually.
It took a second for Dory to catch on. “Betty! Are you trying to matchmake?”
“Never.” Betty grinned at her. “I just meant you should give him a chance to be a friend. He’s been in town for a year now, and I haven’t heard anything but kind words about him. So I’m fairly certain you can trust him...as a friend. But I ought to warn you—grapevine has it that he had a messy divorce and he doesn’t even date.”
Dory shifted uncomfortably. She was well aware that Betty felt she cut herself off too much from the real world. And not just because of her job.
But trust didn’t come easily to her. It hadn’t since that night. It had even taken her godparents a while to get past the barriers that had slammed in place back then. If she hadn’t already known and loved them, it might never have happened. Betty was the unique exception, worming her way past ice and stone and into Dory’s heart.
“I’ll try, Betty,” she said eventually. “But I tend to get stubborn if I feel pushed.” And anyway, she hadn’t missed Betty’s warning about Cadell’s aversion to women. Which suited her fine.
“Tell me about it, girl.” Then Betty laughed. “No pushing. Just saying Cadell’s a nice guy and you can trust him. I’d never advise you to reach for more than that. Anyway, I’ve got some women friends you’d probably like, too, but you notice I haven’t invited them over since you arrived.”
Instantly Dory felt ashamed. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to disrupt your life. You should just keep living the way you always do. If I get uncomfortable, I can take a walk. And I’ll be in my new place soon. I can go tonight if you want.”
Betty sat straight up. “What makes you think I want you to go? Cut it out. I love having you here. Anyway, you’re not moving until Cadell gives you a dog.” Pause. “When is George getting out?”
“Tomorrow, I think. Or maybe the next day.” She looked down. “You’d think the date would be engraved in my memory, considering what it’s doing to me.”
Betty’s face tightened. “Then you’re definitely staying with me. You need someone around when the nightmares disturb you. Maybe the dog will help once you have him. I hope so. But in the meantime, you’re not going anywhere.”
“They’re just dreams,” Dory protested, although neither her heart nor her gut entirely believed it. Her brother was a living, breathing monster, not some fantasy creature. She might never see him again. In fact, she hoped she never did. But as long as she was alive, he rode in the cold seas of her memory, a very real threat.
Later, as she helped Betty make dinner, she made up her mind. She was moving tomorrow. She’d dealt with the nightmares all her
