When the Right One Comes Along

  Cal was perched on the side of Sergeant Rick Vasquez’s desk in the squad room. Rick, aka Pitbull, was a cop through and through. Cal knew some of Rick’s history, although most of it was sketchy. Rick didn’t talk about it much, but from the snippets Cal had heard, he gathered that Rick’s childhood had been rough. Rick had been born in the drug cartel stronghold of Tijuana. As a kid, he’d fled Mexico after his parents were killed in a cartel-related incident, and pledged to become a police officer to fight drug trafficking. He’d fulfilled his pledge, and his unwavering focus and steely determination had enabled him to rise quickly up the ranks of the San Diego Police Department. He became the youngest sergeant in the history of the SDPD when he was promoted to the K-9 Unit at the age of twenty-seven. Now twenty-nine, he operated with his narcotics canine partner, Sniff. Cal knew he was reputed to be in line for the next lieutenancy.

  Of all the K-9 officers, Cal was probably closest to Rick.

  The sound of Logan slamming down the phone had them both turning. They watched as Logan, a scowl on his face, gestured angrily for Cal to join him in his office.

  “Oh, great,” Cal murmured.

  “Sucks to be you,” Rick said cheerfully. “Hey, maybe he’ll take pity on you because you’re injured,” he added.

  “I doubt that very much,” Cal retorted as he pushed away from the desk. “I bet he’s pissed at me for disobeying Command when I went back into the building to get Scout.”

  “Yeah, I heard that. If it’s any consolation, I’m sure he would’ve done the same thing for Boomer,” Rick said, referring to Logan’s explosives-detection canine partner.

  “Wish me luck,” Cal muttered as he headed off on his crutches.

  Logan rose and skirted his desk when Cal entered his office.

  “Is this a bad time?” Cal asked, shaking hands with Logan.

  “Nah. Brody got himself in another bind and is trying to blame it on Nitro again.”

  “Nitro’s a good dog,” Cal said defensively. He felt sorry for the dog, but he couldn’t say the same for his handler, Tom Brody.

  “Yeah, I think so, too.”

  Cal knew that was about as far as Logan would go to acknowledge that there were issues with Tom Brody. Not his problem, he reminded himself. He seldom had to work with the guy, but he wondered why Logan kept Brody on. Aside from his bad attitude, he hadn’t passed the requisite physical in two years.

  “How’re you feeling?” Logan asked.

  “I’m not quite up for the San Diego marathon, but I’m okay.” Cal greeted Logan’s canine partner, Boomer, a six-year-old gunmetal-gray Belgian shepherd. Boomer was one of their best dogs, and Logan was a hell of a handler.

  “Take a load off,” Logan said, indicating one of his guest chairs.

  Cal eased himself into the chair and rested his crutches against the adjoining one. He knew he was in for it when he heard the door close behind him, before Logan sat down at his desk.

  “What were you thinking?” Logan thundered, now that the pleasantries were out of the way.

  Cal had known it was coming, but the swift transition from greeting to reprimand threw him. “C’mon, Logan, I couldn’t leave Scout in that building!”

  “A direct order is a direct order, Tracker,” Logan responded, using Cal’s K-9 Unit aka. “Disobeying it almost cost you your life.”

  “Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing if it was Boomer in that building,” Cal said. Challenging Logan could backfire on him, but he had to play the card.

  Logan exhaled heavily and glanced over Cal’s shoulder.

  “Right. You would’ve done the same thing.” Cal knew Logan was honest to a fault and wouldn’t deny it.

  “Yeah,” Logan conceded, “but if I did—and this is off the record—I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to ask permission first.”

  “I wasn’t the one who asked. It was the firefighter operating the winch,” Cal grumbled.

  “Really? That’s not what I was told.”

  “Well, he asked first. I just followed up when he had no luck.”

  “Doesn’t matter how it happened. I have to reprimand you for disobeying an order.”

  “Okay, I’m reprimanded. Can we put it behind us?”

  The heat left Logan’s voice. “No, Cal. I have to place a written reprimand in your personnel file.”

  Cal lowered his head. “Aw, c’mon, Jagger...” He used Logan’s aka. “Can’t we just agree that I’ve been reprimanded and leave it at that?”

  “Unfortunately not. I don’t have discretion over the written reprimand. It came from Incident Command. Williams insisted on it.”

  “So what does that mean? Is my job at risk since I’m still in my probationary period?”

  “One reprimand won’t cost you your job. Your performance has been exemplary otherwise. Just try to make sure you don’t get any more.”

  It still didn’t sit well with Cal, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  “So how’s the thigh?” Logan asked, pointedly changing the subject.

  “Sore as hell. There’s a hairline fracture, up high on my femur, but at least it’s not broken. I’ll just have to keep the weight off it for a few weeks, and then I’ll likely need some physiotherapy.”

  “And Scout? He’s okay?”

  “Yeah. He seems to be. I’ll take him to the Mission Bay clinic,” he said. The veterinary practice was contracted to provide care for the SDPD’s canines. “To be on the safe side.” Cal smiled. “Scout did a terrific job. He’s proving to be as good as we expected.”

  “Do you want to bring Scout in?”

  “For what?”

  “With you having to stay off your leg for that period of time, how are you going to take care of Scout and keep up with his training? You know the dogs need constant reinforcement.”

  Cal hadn’t thought about that, but he should have. He’d have to stop taking the painkillers they’d prescribed for him if they were dulling his brain like this. In addition to the ongoing training, one of the criteria for selecting police dogs was high energy, and they required considerable exercise to keep them from acting out. The idea of not having Scout with him troubled Cal. Even more than that, he didn’t want the dog spending all that time in one of the concrete kennels at the division. “Any chance one of the guys could take him for a couple of weeks?” he asked.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but Scout would still have to stay in a kennel when whoever took him was on duty. You know as well as I do that he couldn’t be left alone in a strange place.”

  “No, you’re right,” he muttered. “I’ll manage.”

  Logan glanced meaningfully at the bandage on Cal’s thigh, then at the pair of crutches beside him. “You sure? We can keep him here, see that he gets lots of exercise. It’d be better for him.”

  “I don’t like the idea of leaving him in a kennel. And if I have to be off for more than a couple of weeks? Then what? You’ve got that guy from Vice who’s so keen to get into the unit. He’d jump at the chance to work with Scout. Would I get Scout back?”

  Logan jerked a shoulder. “It comes down to how effective a team is. I can’t give you any guarantees.”

  Cal wasn’t prepared to take the chance, slight though it might be, that Scout would be reassigned to a new handler. If Scout and the new guy made a good team, there’d be little chance of Cal’s getting him back. Despite all the lectures about not treating your K-9 like a pet, it was virtually impossible for a cop not to get close to his dog. Cal had definitely bonded with Scout during the time he’d been with the department. He couldn’t imagine being without him.

  “No, I don’t need Scout to come back in. He’s staying with me.”

  Logan held Cal’s gaze. “And how will you give him the exercise and training he
needs?”

  “My brother. You’ve met Andrew. He’s a teacher, and he’s off for the summer. He’ll help with Scout.” Cal felt a twinge of unease about making the commitment before approaching Drew. But they were brothers. Even if Drew wasn’t all that keen on animals, Cal was convinced that Drew wouldn’t let him down. “We’ll keep up with Scout’s training and exercise. You’ve got my word.”

  Logan twirled a pen between his fingers. At a soft snore, they both looked at Boomer, who’d rolled over and was sleeping on his back. Logan angled his head.

  “Will your brother be able to handle Scout?”

  In for a penny, in for a pound, Cal thought. “Oh, yeah. They get along great.” Or they seemed to whenever they’d been in each other’s company, although they’d never been alone. Come to think of it, Cal couldn’t remember Drew giving Scout a single command. “Yeah, no problem. He’ll help out for as long as I need him to.” When they were kids, Cal was the one to have pets; Drew had been the studious one. Still, they’d make it work.

  Logan glanced at the crutches once more. “Will your brother stay at your place? It doesn’t look like you can manage even a short walk with Scout right now.”

  “Drew will stay with me. Or he’ll take Scout for the short-term, if necessary.”

  Logan gave Cal a long, level look, making him want to squirm. “Okay. But if you need help, you let me know.”

  Cal nodded slowly. “Sure.” He reached for his crutches and shuffled out of the office. Then he took the elevator one floor down to the lobby, something he’d never done before. He didn’t bother asking any of the guys to drive him; instead he got a cab again.

  As soon as Cal was in the taxi, he called his brother. He and Drew were very different people, but with no other family, they were always there for each other. Drew agreed to take Scout for a few days, until Cal was fully mobile again. Cal didn’t have the courage to tell Drew that he might need him to do it for a few weeks.

  The cab dropped Cal off at his house on Pismo Court. The house backed on to the boardwalk and the beach, and was a short walk to the ocean. He and Scout lived a quiet existence, often going for long runs along the beach. The house suited him and Scout, but at present the beach would be off-limits for him. And with no public transit within easy walking distance, he’d have to figure out how to get around if he wasn’t going to depend solely on cabs.

  He let himself in, grabbed a quick bite and sat down on his sofa to rest.

  He was about to turn on the TV to catch the news when his phone rang. Not recognizing the number immediately he considered ignoring it, then decided to answer. “Calen Palmer.”

  “Jessica Hansen,” was the immediate rejoinder. He detected a note of humor in her voice before she turned serious. “How are you feeling?”

  “As if I was hit by a truck...or an I-beam...but I’ll live. You get your sleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’s Scout?”

  “Exuberant.” He could hear that the smile was back. “Is it okay to drop him off now?”

  Cal shifted his weight to try to ease the throbbing in his leg. “Sure,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Half an hour later, Cal heard a car pull into his driveway. Going by the sound of the engine, he figured it was a sports car. He thought the staid and presumably conservative doctor would’ve driven a practical sedan. For a few seconds, he wondered if his visitor was someone else.

  He hobbled over to the window and squinted through the blinds in time to see the doctor climb out of a spiffy yellow Miata. She managed to do it gracefully despite her height.

  As he watched, she noticed his personal car, a classic Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet he’d bought on a whim after leaving Lincoln. She tucked her hands in her back pockets and slowly circled it, stopping to peer in through the driver’s window before stepping back and giving his car a final appreciative look.

  Well, what do you know? The doc likes fast cars.

  Jessica Hansen looked much as he remembered her from the quake site. But a cleaned-up version. Seeing her in jeans, low-heeled sandals and a tank top made her seem more...approachable. The thing that struck him most was her hair—long, loose and cascading down her back. It seemed so incongruous with the prim and proper doctor he assumed her to be. Gorgeous hair, clearly intelligent and a fondness for dogs and cars. How could a guy not be captivated?

  Turning back to her own vehicle, she opened the passenger door and leaned in to unbuckle the seat belt. Seeing her bent over in the tight jeans caused an uncomfortable ache in his gut, one he hadn’t felt for...longer than he’d been divorced. No. He had to ignore it. There was a very good reason he’d steered clear of women in the past year, regardless of how appealing. He would not let the doc get under his skin.

  With Scout beside her, she raked back that remarkable straw-colored hair. The ache intensified and he tried, once again, to disregard it.

  Scout heeled by her side like a well-trained pet, tail wagging, tongue lolling, as they made their way along his walk and up the steps. Leaning heavily on his crutches, he moved into the foyer and opened the door.

  Her fist was already raised to knock, and when the door swung open she gasped in surprise. Scout tensed but, seeing Cal, he lunged forward, yanking the leash right out of Jessica’s hand and nearly knocking Cal off his one good leg.

  Cal laughed and greeted Scout with equal fervor.

  Jessica joined in the laughter. “You haven’t even been separated for a full day, but you’d think he hasn’t seen you in weeks. I wouldn’t have expected this sort of reaction from a police dog.”

  Cal glanced up. “Why? Police dogs are still dogs. They’re pack animals, and they bond like any other dog. They just have a job to do. Thanks for cleaning him up.”

  “No problem.” She turned toward her car. “I’ll go get his food. And things.”

  She returned with a plastic container of dog food and a canvas bag, and was about to hand them to him. “Sorry. I forgot you can’t carry these with your crutches. Where would you like me to put them?”

  “You can leave everything just inside the door there. Thanks for getting food for him. How much do I owe you?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. It was fun having him stay with me.”

  “Are you sure? You did me a big favor—you shouldn’t be out of pocket, too.”

  “No. Really, it’s okay.”

  “What’s in the sack?” he asked.

  “Oh, just a couple of things I bought for him while I was at the pet store.”

  Cal picked up the bag and looked inside. “A couple?” There were five toys and a box of dog treats. Scout must have been so spoiled Cal was surprised he didn’t insist on staying at the doc’s place. “I should pay you for all this.”

  “No. That’s fine.” She bent down to rub Scout’s head and dropped a kiss on his snout. The dog leaned against her legs, curved his body and stretched his neck, insisting on more attention.

  Cal was amused. Scout generally wasn’t a particularly cuddly dog. Suddenly he felt embarrassed at having had the nerve to impose on—or browbeat was probably more accurate—a stranger into taking care of Scout.

  “Since you’re here, would you like a coffee or something cold to drink?”

  “All right. Thanks. But just for a minute. I have to get to work.”

  When they’d settled in Cal’s living room, Cal with a soda and Jessica with a mug of tea, she asked, “How’s the leg?”

  “Are you asking as a doctor or a...an acquaintance?”

  “The latter. Let’s say as a...friend.” A light danced in her eyes.

  Cal shrugged. “It’s frustrating. But, as you said, it’ll heal and there’ll be no permanent impact.” He thought of all the people who’d lost their lives in the disaster, a first responder among them. “There a
re folks dealing with a lot worse as a result of the earthquake.”

  A shadow passed across Jessica’s face, and he remembered the little girl he’d rescued...and her mother. “Any news about Kayla?”

  “You mean since the last time you asked me earlier today?” Jessica tugged at a thread on the hem of her shirt. “She’s still at the hospital. That’s all I really know.”

  “How’s she taking the loss of her mother?” he asked in a subdued voice.

  Jessica’s eyes glistened as she looked at him. He would’ve thought that as a trauma doc she’d have to be a little more calloused, but he also knew that most cops never became so tough that tragedies didn’t affect them deeply. Seeing the obvious distress on her face, he wanted to reach out to her but held back. He didn’t want things to get personal between them.

  “From what I understand, she’s handling it the way any five-year-old would.”

  “Kayla told me she didn’t have a father. I don’t know if that means not at all, as in deceased, or not in her life. Have you heard if there’s any news about him?”

  One tear spilled over and Jessica brushed at it impatiently. “It’s... I don’t think Kayla has a father. Like I said, Social Services hasn’t been able to find any family, nor could they locate a birth certificate for her.”

  Cal started to rise, wanting to offer comfort, but the pressure on his leg made him suck in a breath and drop back down on the sofa. All for the best, he thought, once the pain had passed. It was an apt reminder that he should keep his distance. “What’ll happen to her if she doesn’t have family?”

  “She’ll stay at the hospital for a few days, anyway. In the meantime, I expect Social Services will try to arrange for a foster home, maybe a group home, until everything’s sorted out. Right now it doesn’t look like she has any family, so they might need to start the adoption process.”

  He recalled the brave little girl he’d rescued from the collapsed building. He couldn’t help thinking of his own daughter, the same age as Kayla. She was lost to him for the short term—although he refused to give up on the long-term prospects—but at least Haley had her mother. He wondered if Kayla’s father was dead or alive, and thought about how sad it would be if both her parents were gone.