Book Preview - Credo's Run

Chapter One

I rubbed my eyes, then peeked from beneath my hand to see my partner, Casey Bowman, grinning like a fool. We sat in a conference room being briefed by a fed on a new program some fed-higher-up-in-the-food-chain came up with to help us find evidence we usually find all on our own. Our Sergeant, Kate Brannigan, and four other detectives were also present.

Instead of briefing us in our offices at the Tucson Police Department’s main station, they’d put us in the bowels of one of the federal buildings downtown. The cramped room gave the impression that this program had about as much support from the presenter’s chain of command as a gay rights bill has in the US Senate. From the solid plastic stacking chairs to the two-person folding tables scattered throughout the room, nothing screamed, “Kill this project,” like the tacky décor surrounding us. Overbright fluorescent lights rained headache-inducing white light down on us, and I wondered why it hadn’t given Casey one of her mega-migraines. When the presenter turned off the lights for his PowerPoint presentation, the windowless room became so dark I couldn’t see my fingers when I wiggled them in front of my face.

The department had offered us up as guinea pigs for the project, and we’d all had to make arrangements to house a specially trained dog in our homes for the next two months—all of us, except Kate, that is. She just had to supervise the project from afar.

Casey and I work for Kate in the Special Crimes Unit, where we handle offenses that don’t fit into the parameters of the other “normal” investigative squads. Casey’s face had lit with excitement when Kate had mentioned the experiment several weeks earlier. What was one more dog in her menagerie of dogs, cats, birds, donkeys, goats, and probable hedgehogs and skunks?

Me? I have two dogs, Tessa, a white, long-haired girl with several types of hunting dogs mixed up in her genealogy, and Jynx, a feisty Pappiwawa whose mother had been a papillon and whose father had probably been a chihuahua. Or vice versa. Jynx was a rescue who’d been foisted on me by another detective in our unit. I’ve come to love the little guy, and I wasn’t sure he would enjoy having another dog in the house. Jynx is a lightweight scamp who’d gladly take on a Great Dane if the dog pissed him off or stepped on him.

That didn’t seem to matter to the fed in a grey pinstriped suit and tie standing at the front of the room telling me they’d decided one of these specially trained dogs would help me work my way through my caseload. He’d been up there for close to an hour now, and his droning monologue had just about put me to sleep when I heard my name being called.

“Detective Wolfe?”

I blinked several times, unsure what he wanted from me.

The guy flipped the lights back on and re-checked his list. “Is there a Detective Wolfe here?”

Kate, who was sitting on the same side of the table as I was, leaned around Casey and gave me one of her signature glares.

I’d sunk down in my seat to get more comfortable while I slept, but to appease my sergeant, I uncrossed my arms and put up my hand. “That would be me.”

The man peered at me through designer glasses the exact same grey and blue as his suit. I vaguely wondered if he had a matching pair for every color combination he wore. The harsh lights made his round face look like a bright white golf ball, and when he smiled, the emotion never quite reached his eyes.

The feds have a holier-than-thou attitude that irks the heck out of me since they rarely have actual police experience under their belt. Whenever they show up at a bank robbery, which happens to be a federal crime, they begin by screwing up the evidence gathering and then move on to asking witnesses leading or otherwise inadmissible questions. Then, they blame local law enforcement in court for the fed’s shoddy investigation. Just now realizing the irony of having the feds give us “tools to better gather evidence,” I returned his crocodile smile and raised one brow, waiting to see what he wanted.

“Detective Wolfe, first, I’d like to thank you for volunteering to participate in this groundbreaking experiment.”

“I was volunteered. And what do you mean groundbreaking? How is using dogs to find evidence groundbreaking?”

He flashed his plastic smile again and adjusted his glasses while pretending to study the sheet in front of him. “If you’d been paying attention earlier, Detective,” he drew out the word with condescending patience, “you would have heard how other police dogs have one or maybe two specialties—finding drugs, for example, or explosives. The dogs you will be testing have been specifically trained to identify and alert you to many more diverse items and substances.” He removed his glasses and pointed them at me for effect. “One dog, ten to fifteen different uses.”

I actually had been paying attention to some of what he’d said, and I leaned forward and interlaced my fingers on the tabletop. “Let me get this straight. You’re borrowing these highly trained dogs from their owners, their non-law enforcement owners, for us to experiment with, and then, if they’re still alive after two months of police work, you’re giving them back to their owners at the end of the experiment. What good is that? They go back to their owners whether the project is a success or a failure, and we’re back to square one—no dogs, no help from the feds.”

Picking up a stack of papers from the podium, he tapped them together with an irritated set to his jaw and then carefully laid all but one back down again. “Stop talking, Detective, and I’ll try and break things down into terms you’ll understand. As you know, we, the federal government, have been in a financial crisis for the last several years.”

Someone sitting to my left muttered, “The last couple centuries, you mean.”

The fed ignored the remark, held his briefing sheet in front of his face like a heroic knight raising his shield, and continued from an obviously memorized script. “Despite that, we, those of us in federal law enforcement, have been given a mandate to assist our local law enforcement brothers and sisters with their crime-fighting efforts. To that end—”

The man behind me scoffed and said, “Brothers and sisters, my ass.”

I swiveled around and nodded at the detective, whom I hadn’t realized was my friend, Garlan, from the TPD arson unit, before turning to face forward again. I guess there were only three other detectives I didn’t know instead of four.

The fed glanced over my shoulder at Garlan, ground his teeth, and then once more buried his face in his paperwork. “To that end—” he glanced up to see if there would be any other interruptions. When we remained silent, he continued, “—my director came up with a unique way to train these dogs without using taxpayer’s money. She solicited volunteers who have worked tirelessly for the last year training their dogs to seek out, identify, and then alert you to many unusual items that have all, at one time, been used as evidence in a court of law.”

A ruggedly handsome detective sitting at the table to my left leaned back and crossed his beefy arms. When he did, he exposed a sheriff’s badge hooked to his belt. No wonder I hadn’t recognized the guy; he was from a different department than mine. Glancing at the other two unknowns, I realized they had badges from different agencies as well: Oro Valley and Marana, respectively.

The deputy shrugged, “So, as usual, the feds think they can come in like some white-hat cowboy to teach us our jobs and save the day, right? You do realize we’re not even important enough for you to introduce yourself before pulling our asses out of some imagined fire, don’t you?”

Our instructor’s face reddened, and his jaw jutted forward as he worked to control his temper. He took a deep breath and let it out with a quiet growl. “My name is Special Agent Mumford, and as a Special Agent, I don’t have time to play these games with you people. I’ve done this briefing with other agencies around the country and have met with the same hostility you’re giving me today. Now, try and keep up here, folks.”

Yup. FBI. Color me surprised. I glared at the man. “And you need us for this part of the experiment because we actually investigate crime while you guys sit behind a desk and—”

A woman’s deep, commanding voice chimed in from the back of the room. “That’s enough, Detective Wolfe.”

We all turned to see a tallish, plump African American woman in her mid-to-late fifties standing with her arms crossed beneath her more-than-ample breasts. Her electric green eyes bore into mine with the kind of authority only real leaders possess.

I stared back and reined in my irritation. No sense alienating a woman I knew nothing about. I took in her dark blue jacket, matching skirt, and pink button-down blouse that opened over a black camisole and was impressed with the seamstress who could tailor an ensemble that actually flattered this woman’s robust figure. A string of white pearls complimented her short, wavy grey hair, while a set of two pearls, one black, one white, hung from each earlobe.

She held the glare for the count of three and then strode to the front of the room. As she turned to face us, she made sure to look each of us in the eye before speaking. She had a commanding presence, and I noticed a couple of the detectives, including my partner, sit up straighter as her gaze landed on them. “My name is Amanda Crawford. I am the assistant director of the FBI training division, and this is my project.”

No one muttered anything into the silence that followed her matter-of-fact statement.

She rested her forearm on the scratched, wooden podium and once again looked directly at me. “If any of you suffer from the same ill-conceived and uninformed opinions as Detectives Wolfe, McBay, and Farley, let me set you straight. I spent twenty-two years as an officer and commander in a major metropolitan police department. I worked patrol and investigations and retired as Captain of the Major Offenders Division. I then moved to the Federal Bureau of Investigations, where I again began at the bottom as a special agent and worked my way up through the various ranks to the position I now hold.”

She stepped forward and rested a hand on her hip. “Now, that being said, I know where your opinions come from. I, too, had FBI agents with little to no street experience come and take over my cases, and at times,” she hesitated while considering her next words, “complicate my investigations. However, that will not be the case in this instance.”

A smirk must have snuck onto my face because when I looked up from the papers in front of me, she held her head canted to the side. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You have something to say, Detective?”

Oh, hell no. Did I look stupid or something? It was one thing to antagonize some low-level fed and completely another to disrespect an assistant director of the FBI. I pushed up in my chair and shook my head. “No, Ma’am.”

Even as I answered, my curiosity was getting the better of me. So, the woman had creds. That was all well and good, but the real test would be to talk to someone who’d worked for her in her previous department. Failing that, I’d get ahold of one of my contacts in the FBI—agents who actually knew a crime scene from a desktop—and get their opinion. Interesting that she hadn’t given us the name of her previous department. That would make my digging a little harder, but only a bit. I was now a woman on a mission, and since we were still staring into each other’s eyes, I let a smile creep into mine.

Sensing the change in my mood, Crawford nodded slowly. “Good.” Her gaze traveled to the deputy sitting next to me. “Detective McBay?”

He uncrossed his arms, folded his hands on the table in front of us, and said, “No, Ma’am.”

Crawford nodded and returned to the podium. “Do you mind if I take over from here, Special Agent Mumford?”

Although Mumford tried to hide his relief, his rapid-fire answer told the true story. “No, Ma’am. Not at all.” He backed away from the podium and indicated it with a wave of his hand. “It’s all yours.”

Amusement flickered across Crawford’s face as she watched his retreat. She picked up the pile of papers he’d left on the podium, glanced through them, and found the one she wanted. She retrieved a pen from her jacket pocket, crossed out something on the page, and wrote a couple of words.

I was too far back to read what she’d written, but when she pulled out a second sheet and repeated her actions, it became apparent that she’d changed his presentation. I wondered whether she’d modified the dog assignments and fervently hoped she hadn’t just assigned me to the most problematic pup in the group. Someday, I’d learn to keep my mouth shut and my head down. I think life would be a lot easier that way.

A.D. Crawford spoke while finishing up with the second change. “Part of the reason for this trial is to determine whether these dogs will respond to different handlers at different times. This is a two-month project, and at random intervals, we may be exchanging your dog for another one in the group.”

Casey put up her hand.

Crawford raised her brows and nodded slightly. “Detective Bowman?”

Casey, who’d already been sitting up straight, swiped her bangs off her forehead. Her close-cropped blonde hair fit her face and her personality perfectly. She’s someone who takes pride in her appearance, not because she cares about the opinions of others, but because she has an inner sense of ‘right’ and does her best to live up to those ideals. “Yes, Ma’am. What I don’t understand is why you’re using dogs that will return to their civilian owners, and why switch the dogs between detectives? Dogs bond with their owners, and I’m sure they’ll bond with the handlers, if only on a temporary basis. Don’t you think it’ll be difficult for them to handle all the changes?”

Leave it to Casey to be more concerned for the dogs than for the experiment itself. Me? Sure, I care about the dogs, but not to the extent she does. To her, it’s dogs first, experiment second. To me, it was take care of the dogs to the best of my ability, live through the next two months, and then return to my normal, somewhat chaotic routine.

“To answer your first question, Detective, as Special Agent Mumford explained, we have a mandate from our director to assist local law enforcement with your crime-fighting efforts. Unfortunately, we have very little funding to do so. You and about one hundred other detectives around the country are participating in the prototype, if you will, of a program that, if successful, will be implemented in local and regional departments throughout the United States. We couldn’t buy one hundred dogs and spend the money on training them, only to discover that this new model of K9 detecting won’t work.”

The big man sitting next to me harumphed, but only loud enough for me and the guy on his other side to hear. He crossed his arms again but remained sitting ramrod straight. The word ‘special forces’ came to mind, and I made a mental note to ask him whenever we had a chance to talk.

Crawford smiled at Casey, and I was glad to see the woman had taken a liking to my partner. “And your second question is exactly why I chose you for this assignment, Detective Bowman. But don’t worry. If this project goes live, the dogs will have one primary handler whom they’ll live with but will be switched between detectives as the need arises.”

“Casey. Just call me Casey.”

“Casey, then. I need people who will put the well-being of the animals above the experiment. Seven members of your local communities have taken a year of their lives and, with the help of our trainers, dedicated their evenings to honing their dog’s abilities far beyond those of a normal police K9.”

Holding up her finger to quiet the grumblings that ran around the room, she quickly amended her statement. “I don’t mean to say they’re better than the working police K9 as far as their specialties go. Those dogs are highly trained, capable officers. I’d find it difficult to outdo the level of training they get within your respective departments. On the contrary, the dogs assigned to you will augment the police K9 units, not attempt to replace them.”

She held up the papers. “These dogs are not only pets. They are part of someone’s family. Each owner has a compelling reason to offer up their dogs for this experiment. Some have been victims of crime themselves and have been actively looking for a way to give back to the detectives who helped them through their ordeal. Others believe their dogs are capable of doing so much more than they’re currently trained to do. They jumped at the chance to expand their pets’ abilities. But really, every owner is unique and came into the program with their own ideas and expectations. And I expect each of you to honor their sacrifice by taking this program seriously and by loving and protecting these dogs as if they were your own.”

I glanced to my left, expecting the deputy to once again scoff at her words. But instead, to my surprise, his eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned with a look of…what? Determination? Acceptance? Understanding?

Crawford must have seen me covertly checking him out because she said, “Deputy McBay. You owe your life to a dog, do you not?”

“Many times over, Ma’am. In the Middle East.”

“I chose you for this position because of that.” Her emphasis on the word “you” set his selection apart from the reason she’d chosen Casey. “The owners have entrusted their loved ones to us, and I believe you understand, deep in your gut, that we need to treat these animals with the same devotion…and protection…as we’d give to a member of our own family.”

He growled low in his throat and dipped his chin once, “Understood.” Definitely ex-military.

Crawford’s eyes slid to me and then quickly slid off again. She turned her attention to the guy from Marana.

I leaned forward to get a better look at the detective sitting on the other side of the military man. He looked like a little boy next to the burly deputy. He was short and wiry and wore his bright red hair down over his ears and collar—an affectation that wouldn’t be tolerated in most departments.

Unless…unless he worked undercover. Would they send one of these dogs into the shadowy world of hole-and-corner work? Wouldn’t that be too dangerous an assignment?

The Assistant director’s gaze moved to the woman from Oro Valley, who sat alone at a table on the far left of the room. The lady was a sharp dresser who was listening attentively to what Crawford had to say. In her mid-to-late thirties, she wore her brown hair done up in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Her tan chinos were wrinkle-free and had a sharp crease running up the front of her leg.

I glanced down at my slightly wrinkled cargo pants that, honestly, were only on their second day of wear and scooted my chair a bit closer to our table. I felt a faint blush crawl up my cheeks and hoped I was the only one to notice.

Crawford nodded to the woman in a gesture of familiarity that made me take a second look. The woman returned Crawford’s nod and added a slight smile, making me wonder what an Oro Valley detective would have in common with the assistant director of the FBI Training Division. Were they friends, or had they worked together on some previous occasion?

Crawford answered my unasked question. “Detective Woodson has been working with me on this undertaking for the last nine months. She’s as dedicated to the project as I am, and if you have any questions, please direct them to either her or Special Agent Mumford.”

Okay, that was a weird way to phrase things. Woodson was dedicated, but not Mumford? If I hadn’t turned my attention to the man, I would have missed the fleeting—one might say hateful—glare he shot at Crawford’s back. So, all was not well within their happy little FBI microcosm. Interesting.

As if sensing his brief flutter of animosity, Crawford turned to Mumford and asked, “James. Would you have Mr. Hawley bring in the first two dogs, please?”

If I were to base my judgment of their relationship on the smile he bestowed on his boss, I’d think the two of them were besties who went way back. “Sure.” He walked to the door, opened it wide, and said, “Mike, could you bring Mecca and Lugo in, please?”

He stepped back to make room for a man dressed in a colorful cowboy shirt and jeans. His high cheekbones and long, straight black hair suggested he was a member of one of the Native American tribes that call southern Arizona home. The man held a leash in each hand.

On his right, a sweet-faced golden retriever walked by his side. Every now and again, she’d glance up and stare at his face as though to reassure herself that everything was still okay. Each time, the man returned her gaze and whispered soft words that calmed her fears.

Beside me, I heard Casey’s “Ahhh” and knew she’d take that girl in a heartbeat.

On his other side, a beefy, short-haired breed whose shoulders came to about the middle of the trainer’s thighs strode confidently into the room. His golden fur had patches of brown blended throughout, and his yellow eyes glowed with interest and intelligence.

Crawford pulled two sheets from her file. “Detective Farley, Mecca will be your partner for the first four weeks.” Behind me, Garlan stood and moved toward Mike, who held out the leash attached to the Golden Retriever. “In addition to other specialties, she’s been trained to help you in your arson duties. I realize there are many fully trained arson dogs out there, but I think you’ll find Mecca has some unique abilities to search out and find evidence the other arson dogs might miss.”

Garlan knelt and met Mecca on her terms.

The shy girl moved toward him, and the two had a moment to meet each other before Special Agent Mumford escorted them out.

At the door, Mumford told Garlan, “Mike will be out in a minute to properly introduce you guys, so don’t go anywhere just yet.”

Casey leaned over and whispered. “I’d take either of those in a heartbeat.”

I smiled at her eagerness and waited to see who belonged to the other dog.

“Detective McBay, Lugo will be working with you since your specialty is underwater search and recovery. I think you’ll be amazed at what Mike, and Lugo’s owner have taught him to do.”

Mike smiled down at the dog. “He’s a Catahoula bulldog who’s probably reincarnated from some kind of fish. This boy will sleep in the water if you let him.”

The dog’s expressive eyes immediately locked on McBay as the detective rose from his chair and walked over to take the end of the leash. With a deep, rumbling voice, McBay looked down at the dog and cooed, “There’s my good boy. We’re gonna show ‘em what’s what, aren’t we?”

Lugo’s expressive face and eyes smiled up at the big man, and the two of them, along with the trainer, exited through the same door as Garlan and Mecca.

Special Agent Mumford motioned through the open door to someone in the other room. “Sandy.”

A short, squat fireplug of a woman walked in with her two charges. The first dog was a black standard poodle who came in as though expecting a standing ovation. I wondered if he’d been a show dog before joining the “Grand Experiment.”

Crawford turned to the Oro Valley detective, “Kelly, as you know, Shah will be yours.”

Without needing to be introduced to her charge, Kelly simply rose, took Shah’s leash, and left the room.

The second dog, a brown and white papillon that could easily have been my dog, Jynx’s mother, stood waiting to be introduced. The way she kept picking up and putting down her feet reminded me of someone standing on a bed of red-hot coals. Her attention shot around the room, with her gaze moving between her trainer, to those of us who remained seated, to Assistant Director Crawford, and then back to her trainer again.

The little dog’s furry, flag-like ears perked up when Crawford spoke to the short man sitting on the other side of McBay’s empty chair. The wiry pup stared at the director, looking for all the world like she was excited to know who her handler would be. “Detective Andrews—”

The man grinned at her, “Stewie,” he shrugged, “or Stew. Whichever you prefer.”

I liked him immediately. He had an easygoing way about him, and any thought I might have entertained about there being a problem giving a macho detective a tiny sidekick disappeared. This man was sure of himself and comfortable in his own shoes. Any ribbing he might take for having such a diminutive partner would roll off his shoulders like mud off a bowling ball.

Without waiting for Crawford to give him his assignment, Stewie shot to his feet and slapped the front of his thighs. “Hey, Buddy!” His movements were quick and full of energy, almost exactly mimicking those of the little dog. He briefly glanced at Crawford and then back at his new partner, “What’s his name?”

I’d eat my hat if Crawford hadn’t specifically paired these two because of their energy levels. The woman’s eyes softened, and she emphasized the first word of her reply. “Her name is Jazz, and as you can tell, she’s a spitfire. I think the two of you will not only have fun together, but I know you’ll bring out the best of her abilities.”

Sandy let go of her end of the leash.

Jazz bounded over to Stewie and leapt into his arms. She sat on his forearm with her tail circling like the tail rotor on a Bell helicopter.

Laughing at her antics, Stewie carried the little hellion to the other room.

That left Casey and me. I fervently hoped my dog wouldn’t be as big as Lugo or as energetic as Jazz. A nice, staid golden retriever like Mecca would suit me just fine; a dog that would quietly sit next to me while I did my job. One that would keep her opinions to herself and smile up at me adoringly. That would be right up my alley.

There were two sheets of paper left in Crawford’s hands. She glanced at them and then set one down to concentrate on the other. As she ran her finger across the page, she called out, “Megan, would you bring in Captain and Peanut?”

Wait. What? Megan? It couldn’t be. My best friend since infancy was named Megan, and she was a damn good dog trainer. But there was no way she could have been involved in this project for a whole year without telling me. She was physically incapable of keeping her mouth shut about anything for longer than a day or two. Less if she was really excited about the secret.

I half stood and leaned over the plastic table to get an early look at the person coming through the door. My jaw dropped when my grinning best friend came in holding the leashes of two little dogs. I looked over at Kate to see whether she knew about this, and the wide eyes and slightly panicked look on her face told me she’d had no idea.

In Kate’s world, Megan was trouble. She liked her as my friend, but any time Megan got anywhere near one of my cases, trouble ensued. This project had just become a bit more complicated as far as my sergeant was concerned.

Casey rubbed her forehead and started chuckling.

I glared at her. “Did you know about this?”

She peeked out from beneath her hand and shook her head. “I had no idea, and I can’t believe she kept it from you for so long.”

Completely ignoring protocol, Megan held out both leashes. “Casey, this is Captain. He’s a cairn terrier mix, and you’re gonna love him!”

Casey stood, walked around our table, and knelt in front of Captain. She cooed to him as she gazed into his eyes. Or at least she tried to look into his eyes. His overgrown grey and white hair completely obscured any hint of the fact that two eyes were buried beneath the mop that covered his head.

For his part, Captain sat in front of her and licked her hands in greeting. Friendliness oozed from every pore, but there was also an alertness about him that made me think he wouldn’t be a pushover if someone tried to hurt him or his human.

Megan chirped at me. “Here, Alex. Come get yours.” She held out a leash attached to a small black and white Boston terrier.

I blinked several times. “Is that..?”

“Peanut? Yup. You’re gonna love her!”

“You mean you were working on this project when George Ogilvie was taking classes from you?” I recognized the little girl from a class I’d visited about four months earlier at Megan’s training academy. That meant that by that time, she’d already been working with Peanut and her owner for eight months.

Her grin widened, and her eyes sparkled with the fact that she’d managed to keep a secret from me for an entire year. “Yup!”

I glanced at Crawford, who was watching me intently. I had a ton of questions, but the fact that she appeared to be waiting for my reaction made me pull back and reassess. What was her game, and why was she playing it? And more importantly, had she pulled Megan into her project because of me, or had she chosen me because of Megan?

Kate came to stand beside me and put a warning hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you greet your partner, Alex? Peanut looks like she’s ready to join the rest of her class.”

It was true. Peanut was straining against her leash, not toward me, but toward the door the other five dogs and their new handlers had disappeared through.

I knew Kate well enough to know she wanted me to wait before angrily blurting out possibly false accusations. Since those had been my thoughts as well, I stood and took the proffered leash. Apparently, Peanut thought all the fun was happening on the other side of the door, so I shot a side glance at Kate and followed the little dog into the other room.