K 9 hunter, p.1
K-9 Hunter, page 1
Piper met his gaze across the table.
Sure, Gavin McQueen had a strong jawline and a steady dark-eyed gaze.
Gavin stood beside the pergola, talking on his phone. When Izzy tugged at her leash, wanting to be closer to this guy she barely knew, Piper sat on a stone bench and scratched her dog’s forehead between the brown eyebrows. “You like him?”
Izzy licked her hand and leaned against Piper’s knee. Now they were both staring at Gavin, who seemed to be having a difficult conversation. His fist clenched as if desperately clinging to self-control. He was obviously worried, which made sense. As a lawman, he’d want to protect her. And as a US marshal...
Pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place. Gavin couldn’t talk about the shooting. He had the authority to call on 24/7 guards at the hospital. The other cops deferred to him.
Though she didn’t know much about the US Marshals Service, Piper was aware that they monitored the witness protection program. What had her friend gotten himself into?
K-9 Hunter
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Cassie Miles
Cassie Miles, a USA TODAY bestselling author, lived in Colorado for many years and has now moved to Oregon. Her home is an hour from the rugged Pacific Ocean and an hour from the Cascade Mountains—the best of both worlds—not to mention the incredible restaurants in Portland and award-winning wineries in the Willamette Valley. She’s looking forward to exploring the Pacific Northwest and finding mysterious new settings for Harlequin Intrigue romances.
Books by Cassie Miles
Harlequin Intrigue
Mountain Retreat
Colorado Wildfire
Mountain Bodyguard
Mountain Shelter
Mountain Blizzard
Frozen Memories
The Girl Who Wouldn’t Stay Dead
The Girl Who Couldn’t Forget
The Final Secret
Witness on the Run
Cold Case Colorado
Find Me
Gaslighted in Colorado
Escape from Ice Mountain
Shallow Grave
K-9 Hunter
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Piper Comstock—Five years ago, she left her corporate job, divorced her cheating husband and moved to the forests of Oregon where she became a truffle hunter.
Gavin McQueen—As a deputy marshal for the US Marshals Service, he oversees several resettled witnesses and their families in WITSEC (Witness Security Program). Their safety depends on his ability to keep their identities concealed.
Izzy (short for Isadora)—A mixed breed (part German shepherd and part poodle), she’s trained as a K-9 protector and a tracker. Primarily, Piper’s dog is a truffle hound who loves her work.
Chef Marco Barbieri—Relocated in Beaverton, Oregon, after testifying against domestic terrorists in New Jersey.
Sofia Barbieri—Marco’s sixteen-year-old daughter who has the voice of an angel.
Yuri Draco—The ninety-four-year-old Dragon is the head of a terrorist gang, currently incarcerated at the federal prison in Sheridan, Oregon.
To the dogs—Pookie, Windy, Bear, Dolly, Milo, Cassie and others. And, as always, to Rick.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Excerpt from Maverick Detective Dad by Delores Fossen
Chapter One
“Take another sniff.” Piper Comstock leaned forward in her chair, rested her elbows on the table and studied the barrel-chested, gray-haired man who sat across from her. Chef Marco Barbieri was as dear to her as her late uncle James, but she wouldn’t allow her fondness for the old gentleman to interfere with their negotiation. Marco himself had taught her the basics of bartering. Always get the best price for your product.
“Go ahead,” she urged. “Inhale.”
His bulbous nose twitched. He sniffed again, pursed his lips and patted his ample belly. Satisfied as if he’d devoured a full meal. “Delicioso.”
She agreed. The fragrance of the Oregon black truffles tickled her nostrils and aroused her senses. Not much to look at, the twelve misshapen lumps—ranging in size from a walnut to a golf ball—were displayed on a glass platter under the hanging pendant lamp in Marco’s home kitchen. The truffles she presented to him had been carefully washed and brushed clean. Handled with care. She hated to part with these 587 grams of mushroom goodness that she’d harvested from the state forest near her cabin outside Yamhill but keeping the truffles would be foolish. What kind of hunter hoarded her product? This was her job, and she loved it. For confirmation, she reached down to pet her truffle-hunter dog, Izzy.
The current rate for Oregon black truffles ranged from $400 to $600 per pound—a bargain compared to the $2,000 and higher per pound for the prized Alba white truffles from Italy. She had a pound and a quarter. Not a bad payday. They’d already haggled to a midpoint. Still, she pushed for more. “It’s October, early in the season, but these are perfect and fresh.”
“Another fifty.” He stood and slapped a neat stack of bills onto the tabletop. He anticipated the price before they’d sat down. To be sure, he’d controlled their negotiation from start to finish, and she bowed to the master.
Piper came around the table and hugged him before she scooped up the cash and tucked it into the billfold in her backpack. “A pleasure doing business, il padrone.”
Surprisingly graceful for a big man, he whirled through his kitchen to the marble countertop and grasped the bottle of pinot noir that he’d already uncorked to breathe. After he poured a generous dose into two crystal wineglasses, he toasted her. “Alla salute, cara.”
Tasting the rich, oaky flavor of the red wine, she licked her lips. “From the winery next door?”
“Sí.” He toasted again. “And to you, Izzy.”
“A Russian toast?”
“Russian slang.”
The black-and-brown dog thumped her tail. Somewhere in her DNA, Izzy—short for Isadora—was German shepherd, which accounted for her markings. Mostly, she resembled a standard poodle with floppy ears, curly fur and a sociable personality. She acknowledged Marco’s toast with a cheerful woof.
He laughed. “She’s a beautiful mutt.”
“The best of each breed.” Piper sighed and settled back in her chair, happy to be here with Marco in his charming home in Beaverton not far from Portland. “What delicacies will you make with my beautiful truffles?”
“Carpaccio,” he said. “Perhaps a foie gras with pasta or gnocchi. Or a quiche.”
Her mouth watered. Dishes to die for. “What else?”
“Some will go to Rosa at Bella Trattoria. And, of course, there will be black truffle ice cream for my Sofia.”
She’d watched his daughter grow from a coltish young girl to a sixteen-year-old beauty. Six years ago, Piper and Marco had met at a wine tasting in the Willamette Valley. Both had been newly arrived in Oregon. Both recently bereaved. His beloved wife of twenty-two years had passed away. And Piper had divorced her unfaithful, scum-sucking husband.
She shook off that regret-tinged memory and concentrated on thoughts of Sofia, who seemed to be in the throes of teenaged angst. Recently, she’d come along on a truffle hunt and talked about a boyfriend her father wouldn’t approve. Not that she expected Piper to be a substitute mother. More like a favorite aunt. “She’s a good kid.”
“Not a kid anymore. She’s a woman.” The old man frowned into his wineglass. “I worry about her.”
“It’s a father’s job to worry,” she said. “I’m guessing Sofia can handle herself.”
“The boys chase after her. She inherited her mama’s raven hair, green eyes and wide smile. When I hear my daughter laugh, I believe my Gina has come back from the dead.”
Gina? Piper thought his late wife’s name was Angelica. He seldom talked about her, and Piper had never seen a photograph, not a wedding picture or a casual snapshot. She suspected the memories were too painful. “You still miss her.”
“Every hour of every day.” He massaged his heavy jaw. “I pray for you, cara mia. You deserve to find the love of your life.”
“I’m not in a hurry.”
“Could be any time. Maybe even tonight.” He cocked his head to one side. “Maybe take down your ponytail and show off your cinnamon-colored hair. Put on lipstick. Blue eye shadow to match your eyes.”
Since Chef Marco had never shown much interest in her appearance, his grooming tips made her suspicious. “Why do you care about eye shadow?” she asked. “I’m beginning to think you have an ulterior motive for our meeting tonight.”
He gave an expressive shrug. “I have someone I want you to meet. You’ll like him. His name is Gavin McQueen. Handsome, very handsome. He’s strong, hone
“Uh-huh.”
“And he’s single.”
Typically, Piper didn’t do blind dates. Too much could go wrong. “Why is this friend visiting so late? It’s almost ten.”
“He has an important message. From friends back East.” The doorbell chimed and Marco rose from the table. He straightened his shoulders and smoothed the stained white chef jacket he’d worn home from the Bella Trattoria where he worked part-time as chef de cuisine. “You will like him, cara mia.”
“Or not,” she muttered under her breath.
As Marco strode down the long corridor to the front door, she took another whiff of the remarkable truffle aroma, much of which would fade in a week to ten days. Only the freshest finds provided the full sensory experience. Since the sixteenth century, these underground mushrooms had been referred to as “black diamonds of the forest” because razor-thin shavings of the odd-looking nuggets enhanced other flavors. Truffles were reputed to have aphrodisiac properties, which she could easily believe because the ephemeral scent made her think of musky sex...and flowers...and fruit...and rich, fertile soil.
Underneath the table, Izzy changed positions, going from a sprawl at Piper’s feet to an alert posture. The brown-and-black dog cocked her head to one side, signaling that she was paying attention to the distant echo of Marco’s rumbling voice.
Piper gazed into her mutt’s intelligent eyes. “I don’t need a boyfriend.”
“Moof,” Izzy said.
“You and me, we’re single gals. And we’re brilliant together. For sure, you’re the world’s greatest truffle hound.”
Instead of licking her hand and giving her a doggy grin, Izzy growled and stared down the corridor.
“What’s wrong, girl?”
The growl deepened as the voices at the end of the hall grew louder. Gunfire exploded. Two shots, one right after the other.
If she’d been alone, Piper would have run out the door to her car and called 9-1-1, but her heroic mutt—trained as an attack dog as well as a truffle hunter—dashed to the rescue, charging toward danger. Piper had no choice but to follow.
Belatedly, she called out. “Izzy, stay.”
Izzy barked furiously. Another voice—not Chef Marco’s—shouted and cursed. She feared for the old man...and for Izzy. More than a companion, the dog was her well-loved, trusted friend. And my business partner. Piper’s livelihood depended on the mutt.
She rounded the corner to the front foyer where a wide-shouldered man in a plaid wool shirt over a navy T-shirt with a Yankees logo stood in the open doorway. In his hand, a matte-black gun. Dark brown hair stuck out from his knit watch cap. His face flushed red and his black eyebrows pulled down. He seemed too young to be a killer.
On the entryway floor, Marco curled on his side, facing away from her. Piper knew he was wounded. Blood pooled around him on the travertine tiles.
“Tell your damn dog to back off.” The gunman fired wildly. Attached to the barrel was a long cylinder. A sound suppressor?
She didn’t know enough about guns to identify the equipment. If that attachment was supposed to be a silencer, it didn’t work. The gunfire was still loud enough that the neighbors would hear. And call the police.
Izzy bounced around the attacker, barking madly. Her usually friendly expression turned ferocious. Her black lips curled in a snarl.
The shooter tried to aim at Izzy. When he gave a panicky shout, she saw that he was missing a front tooth. “Devil dog! Call it off.”
His voice held a note of desperation. Piper sensed his fear—a tension that made him as dangerous as a cornered beast. “Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot.”
He swung around. The suppressor pointed at her.
Izzy saw the threat and she reacted. With a flying leap, the mutt launched herself like a furry black-and-brown rocket. She wasn’t a huge dog, less than seventy pounds, but her weight combined with the force of her attack toppled the man onto his backside. She clamped her jaws on his forearm, snarling but not biting. She’d been trained not to draw blood unless given the command.
The shooter shouted hysterically but kept his hold on the gun. He reached for a knife sheath attached to his belt.
“If you touch that blade,” she said, “my devil dog will rip your arm off.”
“Get this damn animal away from me.”
“Drop your weapon,” she said.
“I hate dogs.”
But he did as she said. The handgun clattered on the tiled floor, and she picked it up. Piper infused her voice with authority. “Enough, Izzy. Heel.”
Reluctantly obedient, the dog jumped back and took a position at Piper’s left side. Izzy showed her teeth. The hackles at the back of her neck flared.
Piper’s hands trembled as she clutched the weapon. Before she could figure out how to restrain the shooter and help Marco at the same time, the young man bolted to his feet and took off running. He must have sensed her clumsiness with firearms. Izzy started after him.
To protect her dog, Piper commanded, “Stay.”
As she closed the front door, she heard the rumble of a motorcycle engine starting. She hadn’t heard the shooter arrive. How long had he been there? Had he been watching them in the kitchen? Dozens of questions rattled in her brain. Why had he attacked? What did he want?
She knelt beside Marco to feel for a pulse. In spite of all the blood he’d lost, his heart still pumped. Izzy snuggled against him and whimpered. His blood smeared the white patch of fur on her chest.
Piper pulled out her cell phone and called 9-1-1. In a few desperate sentences, she gave the situation and the address. Help was on the way. She whispered to Marco, “You’re going to be all right.”
Her knowledge of first aid was minimal. Never dealt with a gunshot wound before. She remembered something about tourniquets and applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Tearing open his chef coat, she pushed up his sleeveless T-shirt. He appeared to have been shot in the upper left chest and lower on his right side. The second wound might have happened when he’d turned to escape the would-be murderer.
Using a tourniquet wouldn’t be possible. She pressed hard against the fleshy area beside the wound on his side. Immediately, her hands were drenched. The cuffs of her denim jacket picked up dark stains. She took it off and used the fabric to stanch the bleeding. “Hang on, Marco. The ambulance is coming.”
A groan escaped his lips. “Did you see him?”
The face of the young gunman had imprinted on her brain. Long nose, dark eyebrows and a missing front tooth. Some kind of tattoo on his wrist. “I saw him.”
“You must forget his face.”
“Believe me, I want to.” After her divorce, Piper had chosen to live like a hermit in the small mountain cabin left to her by her uncle. She didn’t want to come out of her self-imposed exile, didn’t want to be a witness. “Why should I forget?”
“These are dangerous people.” Marco clutched her hand. “Take care of my Sofia.”
How could Piper have forgotten about his daughter? “Oh my God, where is she? Is she here at the house?”
“Out on a date.”
For now, Sofia is safe. Piper struggled to stop the bleeding. Two gunshots at point-blank range did a massive amount of damage. She noticed that he wore a black plastic circle with a tiny, flashing red light on a cord around his neck. Some kind of monitor?
He exhaled a heavy sigh. “It feels like I’m dying.”
“No, Marco. You’ll be okay.”
“It’s my time. I’m ready.” A cough rattled in his chest. “Soon, I’ll be with my Gina. I hear her angel voice calling to me.”
“Not yet.”
While she continued to apply pressure and offer reassurances, he whispered, “Tell McQueen. It was the grandson.”
His muscles tensed in a spasm then released. His eyelids closed as the air drained from his large body, and he seemed to deflate. Unconscious but not dead. His pulse skipped a beat.
“No.” Determined, she pressed harder against his chest.
He gasped, struggling for every breath he took.
Izzy tilted back her head and gave a long, mournful wail.
“Stop,” Piper commanded. “He’s going to be all right.”
