the name, but there was a symbol over the plate—on the back of the SUV. I didn’t get the details, but it was small. I got a quick glance.”
“Maybe it’ll come back to you,” Whitney said, observing his clipped chestnut-brown hair. He seemed to be in good shape other than the shock that must have hit him right after he’d witnessed all of this. But he wore a mantle of weariness, too. He looked world-weary and rugged, almost haggard. And tired.
She jotted down what he’d said. “Can you describe the two men?”
“I’m not sure of their race, but both had dark hair, and they were kind of disguised and wearing baseball caps—one was red. The guy who stabbed Mr. Gallagher and pointed a gun at me—he had a thick beard and longer hair, and he wore a black hat. He was tall. The other one was shorter. They had on sunglasses.” He gave her their estimated heights and weights. “And...they both had the same kind of dark bag. Old and worn and full of what looked like birthday gifts or some kind of shipment, but it had to be drugs.”
“We’ll do a thorough check of the train,” she said, never doubting he was correct. Mr. Gallagher was right. This was happening a lot lately.
When Whitney heard sirens, she breathed easier. The heat inside the train was stifling even though it was early spring. She wouldn’t go home until she and Hunter had sniffed and searched this entire train and talked to the other employees and questioned the few passengers who waited to board. She was relieved that help for this injured man was on the way.
“You did a good job,” she told David. “Now you can relax and let my friends take over.”
But Mr. Brown Eyes grabbed her arm. “I’m pretty sure those two will try something else. Drug couriers are ruthless, pretty packages aside.”
Whitney nodded, suspecting the same thing. “My partner, Hunter, will alert if any drugs have been transported, and we’ll put out a BOLO on the suspects.”
When they heard the paramedics coming onto the train, David turned to Mr. Gallagher. “The posse’s here, sir. You’ll be in good hands. I know you’re in pain, but I think you’ll be fine. The wound isn’t as deep as it feels and thankfully, from what I can tell, the knife didn’t hit any major organs.” He glanced at Whitney. “I’ll give them the rundown on his vitals.”
“Thank you, son,” the older man said. “You’re a hero.”
“You’re welcome, sir,” David replied, wearing an embarrassed expression, his face coloring.
Mr. Gallagher nodded. “And thank you for serving our country.”
David’s eyes met Whitney’s, a pain etched there in the dark irises. “Yes, sir.”
Whitney got the feeling that he wanted to say something else. Maybe the newcomer knew more about all of this than he was willing to divulge right now.
David leaned against the back of the old Crown Victoria and waited for Officer Godwin and her K9 partner, Hunter, to return. The ambulance had left, and two other patrol cars were now leaving. The impatient passengers who wanted to continue their journeys were waiting inside the quaint little train station while the K9 officers inspected their luggage piled up outside. As far as he knew, none of them had witnessed the event or the two men leaving the train. Suitcase by suitcase, their luggage was cleared so they could board.
Maybe he should do that, too. He could keep drifting, forget his troubles and...try to find a normal life again.
But he wasn’t about to go anywhere until he knew Whitney was safe. Which was stupid, really. She was the one with a gun and a trained canine partner. She could certainly take care of herself, based on what Lucas had told him and based on what he’d seen here today. She might look like a cheerleader, but she was all business on the job.
According to Lucas, Whitney was stubborn and hugely independent. When they’d first met, Lucas had proudly explained that after a couple of years as a beat cop back in Tucson, Whitney had been accepted as part of a training program for K9 officers based here in Desert Valley. But he’d had concerns about the whole thing since he knew the work could be grueling and dangerous. They’d argued before he deployed, but after admitting that no one had stopped him from following his own path, Lucas had finally emailed Whitney and apologized, only to learn that she’d had to drop out of the program. David had no doubt that Lucas loved his sister.
“She had some trouble, but she’s gonna try again next spring,” Lucas had stated a few days before he’d been wounded. “That’s Whitney. She never gives up.”
Lucas had died a week later. That had been last summer.
It had taken David months to get here. After finishing his deployment and returning stateside, he’d fought against this quest. He hadn’t even been home to Texas yet, mainly because there wasn’t much left there for him. Now that he was here, he was pretty sure Whitney would be shocked and surprised that he’d followed through on a deathbed promise to her brother.
And yet he couldn’t leave her. He kept watching the shadows of her long ponytail, the silhouette of her moving through the train for one last search. He’d watched in amazement earlier as the sleek, powerful dog—a pointer, she’d told him—did just that, pointed near the seats where those two men had been. Hunter had stopped with his nose in the air, his tail lifted in statue-like stillness. Then he’d become agitated and aggressive, growling low while he pawed the floor by the seats.
After Whitney had encouraged Hunter to “Go find,” the big dog had sniffed and pawed. They’d found a package wrapped to look like a gift box that had slid under the seat when the bag had torn open. Obviously the two couriers hadn’t seen it when they’d dropped part of the duffel’s contents. But the lone package they’d left behind would create a lot more than birthday-party memories. Heroin. With a street value of hundreds of thousands of dollars per kilo, according to what he’d heard Whitney and some of the others discussing.
Hunter sniffed out a couple more spots, two sleeping car closets and two bathrooms. David heard Whitney telling one of the officers that drugs had obviously been transported in those areas, too, since he’d alerted on both.
“No telling how long they’ve been using this route,” she’d said to an older, distinguished-looking man she’d addressed as Chief Jones. “We’ll have to study the video cameras and the passenger manifest, too. Maybe pick up an image or establish a pattern.”
Now David looked up to find her walking toward him with another K9 officer she’d introduced as Ellen Foxcroft, a native of Desert Valley, and her K9 partner, Carly, a golden retriever specializing in tracking.
“Thanks,” Whitney said to her friend after they stopped by Ellen’s vehicle. “So we know based on Carly’s alert and Hawk’s detection of that dusty shoe print that they got into a vehicle here in the lot, as our witness reported.”
Ellen listened to Whitney and then glanced over at David and nodded. “And based on the partial plate your witness here was able to remember, we might be able to find that vehicle soon.” She nodded to David and then opened the door to her vehicle to let Carly inside the back. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Whitney. We’ll compare notes.”
Whitney agreed and then turned to give David a dark scowl, her blue eyes flashing aggravation. Aside from the frown on her pretty face, she looked kind
