The Search

She got through it, got past it. Work and routine pushed her hour to hour. She channeled excess nerves into workouts, shedding tension with sweat until an article rehashing her ordeal, her loss no longer mattered.

Her classes, her blog, the daily care and interactions with her dogs filled her days. And since a casual dinner over soup and bread, she had the idea of a relationship—however far it went—with Simon to entertain her mind.

She enjoyed him, quite a bit. Maybe, she considered, because he wasn’t as protective and easy as her circle of friends or the two women who made up her family. He was a little hard, a lot blunt and, she thought, a great deal more complicated than most people she knew.

In many ways, since Greg’s murder, the island had become her sanctuary, her safe place where no one looked at her with pity, or particular interest, and where she’d been able to restart her life.

Not on bare ground, she thought. She was who she was, at the core. But like an island, she’d broken off from the mainland and allowed herself to change direction, to grow, even to re-form.

Not so many years before, she’d imagined herself raising a family— three-kid plan—in a pretty suburb. She’d have learned to cook good, interesting meals and would love her part-time job (to be determined). There would have been dogs in the house and a swing set in the yard, dance lessons and soccer games.

She’d have been a steady and supportive cop’s wife, a devoted mother and a contented woman.

She’d have been good at it, Fiona thought as she sat on the porch taking in the quiet morning. Maybe she’d been young to have been planning marriage and family, but it had all unfolded so seamlessly.

Until.

Until there was nothing left of that pretty picture but shattered glass and a broken frame.

But.

But now she was good at this. Content and fulfilled. And she understood she’d come to this place, to this life, to these skills because all those lovely, sweet plans had shattered.

The core might be the same, but everything around it had changed. And she was, because of or despite that, a happy, successful woman.

Bogart came over to bump his head under her arm. Automatically, she shifted, draped her arm over him to rub his side.

“I don’t think everything happens for a reason. That’s just the way we cope with the worst that happens to us. But I can be glad I’m here.”

And not feel disloyal, she thought, to Greg, to all those pretty plans and the girl who made them.

“New day, Bogart. I wonder what it’ll bring.”

As if in answer, he came to alert. And she saw Simon’s truck rolling down her drive.

“Could be interesting,” she murmured as the other dogs raced over to join her and sit, tails drumming.

She smiled at Jaws’s happy face peering out from the windshield on the passenger’s side, and Simon’s unreadable one behind the wheel.

She rose and, when the truck stopped, gave her dogs the release signal. “A little early for class,” she called when Simon stepped out, and Jaws leaped into the reunion with his buddies.

“I’ve got your damn tree.”

“And so cheerful, too.” She wandered over as he waded through the dogs.

“Give me the coffee.” He didn’t wait for the offer but took her mug, downed the rest of the contents.

“Well, help yourself.”

“I ran out.”

Because he looked surly, unshaven and sexy, she fluttered her lashes at him. “And still, here you are bright and early with a tree, just for me.”

“I’m here bright and f**king early because that dog chewed open five pounds of dog food somewhere before dawn, then opted to puke it up, bag and all, on my bed. While I was in it.”

“Awww.”

Simon scowled as the concern and attention went straight to the dog. “I’m the injured party.”

Ignoring him, Fiona rubbed the puppy, checked his eyes, his nose, his belly. “Poor baby. You’re okay now. That’s all right.”

“I had to throw out the sheets.”

From her crouch, Fiona rolled her eyes. “No, you clean off the puke, then you wash the sheets.”

“Not those sheets. He heaved like a drunk frat boy.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“I didn’t eat the damn kibble.”

“No, but you didn’t have it stowed where he couldn’t get to it, or better yet in a lidded container. Plus, he’s probably not ready to have free rein in the house. You should put up a baby gate.”

His scowl only deepened. “I’m not putting up a baby gate.”

“Then don’t complain when he gets into something he shouldn’t while you’re sleeping or otherwise occupied.”

“If I’m getting a lecture, I want more coffee.”

“In the kitchen.” Once he’d stomped out of earshot, she let the wheezing laugh escape. “He’s mad at you, isn’t he? Yes, he’s very mad. He’ll get over it. Anyway”—she gave Jaws a kiss on his cool, wet nose—“it was his own fault.”

Rising, she walked to the back of the truck to get a look at her tree.

She stood there, grinning still, when Simon strode out with his own mug of coffee.

“You got me a dogwood.”

“It seemed appropriate when I bought it yesterday. But that was before this morning when I was reminded dogs are a pain in the ass.”

“First, it’s a beautiful tree. Thank you. Second, any and everything that depends on us can be pains in the ass. He booted on your bed because when he felt sick and scared he wanted you. And third”—she laid her hands on his shoulders, touched her mouth to his—“good morning.”

“Not yet.”

She smiled, kissed him again.

“Marginally better.”

“Well, let’s plant a tree and see what that does for you. Let’s put it over there. No . . .” She changed direction. “There.”

“I thought you wanted it back in the woods, where the stump was.”

“Yes, but it’s so pretty, and back there hardly anyone will see it but me. Oh, there, back there, just on this side of the bridge. Maybe I should get another one for the other side. You know, so they’d flank the bridge.”

“You’re on your own there.” But he shrugged, opened the truck door.

“I’ll go with you, give you a hand.” So saying, she hopped nimbly in the back of the truck and sat on the bag of peat moss.

He shook his head but maneuvered the truck around, eased to the bridge and parked again. When he got out to lower the tailgate, she slung the bag of peat moss over her shoulder.

“I’ll get that.”

“Got it,” she said, and jumped down.

He watched as she carted it over to the spot she wanted, set it down. When she came back, he took her arm. “Flex,” he ordered.

Amused, she obeyed, saw his eyes register surprise when he tested her biceps. “What do you do, bench-press your dogs?”

“Among other things. Plus, I just have excellent protoplasm.”

“I’ll say.” He climbed up to pull the tree to the tailgate. “Get the tools, Muscle Girl. There should be an extra pair of work gloves in the glove box.”

The dogs sniffed around but soon lost interest. He said nothing when she hauled over the bag of soil he’d bought to mix with the peat, still nothing when she walked back to the house trailing the dogs.

But he stopped digging to watch her walk back carrying two pails like some lean-muscled milkmaid.

“My hose won’t reach this far,” she told him—and he was gratified she was at least a little winded. “If it needs more water, I can get it from the stream.”

She set the buckets down. The dogs immediately began to lap at the water.

“I don’t know why I never thought to plant something pretty here before. I’ll see it whenever I come home, go out, from the porch, when I’m training. Them,” she corrected, “if I put one on the other side of the drive. Want me to dig awhile?”

It was probably stupid to take that as a challenge to his manhood, but he couldn’t help it. “I’ve got it.”

“Well, let me know.” She walked off to play with the dogs.

He’d never considered tough especially sexy, but despite the willowy frame, the soft coloring, the apparently bottomless patience, the woman had an underlayment of steel. Most of the women he’d been involved with hadn’t lifted anything more challenging than an apple martini—and maybe a five-pound free weight at a fancy health club. But this one? She shouldered a sack of dirt like a seasoned laborer.

And damn if it wasn’t sexy. And it made him wonder just what that body would look like, feel like, when he got her naked. Maybe he needed to push a little harder on that goal, he thought, and put his back into the digging.

She came back when he cut open the bags of soil and peat to mix into the hole.

“Hold off on that a second, and I’ll do it. But I want to show you something first.” She stepped beside Simon, then signaled Jaws—hand command only. He trotted right over and, when she pointed, sat. “Good dog, good.” She slipped him one of the treats she never seemed to be without. “Stay. Go on and get down to his level,” she told Simon.

“Do you want this tree planted or not?”

“It’ll only take a second. Stay,” she repeated firmly when Jaws bunched for a leap as Simon hunkered down. “Stay. He’s getting it, and we’ll work on the sit and stay with distance. But I thought you’d like this. Hold out your hand, say, ‘Shake.’”

Simon slid a cynical glance up at her. “No way.”

“Just give it a try.”

“Right.” He held out a hand. “Shake.”

Jaws lifted a paw, plopped it into Simon’s palm. “Son of a bitch.” He laughed, and the dog forgot himself in pride and pleasure to rear up and lap at Simon’s face. “That’s pretty good. That’s pretty damn good, you dumbass.”

Fiona smiled down as man and dog congratulated each other.

“Do it again,” Simon demanded. “Sit. Okay, shake. Nice.” He stroked the pup’s ears, looked up at Fiona. “How’d you teach him that so fast?”

God, they looked adorable together, she realized. The tawny-eyed man with his morning stubble, the young dog who was growing into his feet.

“He wants to learn, to please. He has a strong drive.” She passed treats into Simon’s free hand. “Reward him. He’ll be happy with your approval and affection, but the food reward’s extra incentive.”

She picked up the shovel, began to toss dirt, then peat, then dirt into the hole.

“That’s enough. We need to set the root-ball.”

“I don’t know much about planting trees.” She swiped the back of the work glove over her brow. “In fact, this is my first. Do you?”

“I’ve plugged in a few.”

“I thought you lived in the city before Orcas.”

“I didn’t grow up in the city. My family’s in construction.”

“Okay, but doesn’t that mean planting buildings?”

His lips quirked. “You could say. But my dad’s policy was to buy a tree or a shrub for any new house he built. So I plugged in a few.”

“That’s nice. Your dad’s policy, that’s nice.”

“Yeah. Nice gesture, and good business.”

He hefted the dogwood, lowered the root-ball into the hole. “That’s about right.” Crouching, he opened the burlap around the root-ball to expose it.

Together they dumped in topsoil and peat, mixed it.

“Shouldn’t we cover it more?” she asked when Simon stopped.

“No, just to the height of the root-ball.” He lifted a bucket. “You want to deep-water, and do that about once a week unless we get a good rain.”

It had been fun, she thought, planting a tree with him in the cool morning air. “Once a week, check.”

“I didn’t get mulch. Figured it was going in the woods and I could just use pine needles. You’ll want to mulch it.”

“Okay.” She stepped back. “I’ve got a dogwood tree. Thank you, Simon.”

“We had a deal.”

“And you could’ve picked up a pine and stuck it in the hole from the stump. This is lovely.”

She turned to kiss him, a friendly gesture, but he moved in and made it more.

“We’ve got some time before school starts,” he told her.

“Hmm, that’s true.” She tipped up her wrist to check the time. “Not a lot. We’d have to be pretty quick and pretty motivated.”

“You’re the former track star. You be quick. I’ll be motivated.”

He smelled of the soap from his shower twined with a touch of healthy sweat from the effort of digging. He looked rough, and ready. And the long, hard kiss beside the sweet young tree had stirred her to aching.

Why wait? she asked herself. Why pretend?

“It might be a good way to celebrate a tree planting. Why don’t we—”

She broke off as she heard tires on gravel. “Apparently someone else is early,” she began, then saw the patrol car. “Oh God.” Reaching down, she groped for Simon’s hand.

Davey pulled up behind the truck, got out. “Nice-looking tree,” he said, and took off his sunglasses and hooked them in his shirt pocket. He gave Simon a nod as he walked toward them. “Simon.”

“Deputy.”

Davey reached out to run a hand down Fiona’s arm. “Fee, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but they found another one.”

The breath she’d held came out with a jump. “When?”

“Yesterday. In Klamath National Forest, near the Oregon border,” he said before she asked. “She’d been missing a couple days. A college student, Redding, California. So he moved west and a little south for the abduction, then drove over a hundred miles to . . . bury her. The details are the same as the others.”

“Two days,” she murmured.

“They’ve got a couple of feds going in to push on Perry, to see if they can pull anything out of him, if there’s anything to pull.”

“He’s not waiting as long between,” she said. “He’s not as patient.” She shuddered once. “And he’s heading north.”

“He’s targeting the same victim type,” he reminded her, then set his teeth. “But goddamn it, Fee, after that newspaper thing, I’ve got some concerns.”

“He knows where to find me if he wants me.” Panic wanted to beat its wings in her throat. And panic, she reminded herself, solved nothing. Nothing.

And still those wings fluttered.

“If he wants to finish Perry’s work, a kind of homage, he can find me. I’m not stupid, Davey. It’s something I considered when I knew there was going to be an article.”

“You could move in with Sylvia or Mai for a while. Hell, Fee, you can stay with Rachel and me.”

“I know, but the fact is I’m as safe here as anywhere. Safer, maybe, with the dogs.” Her sanctuary. She had to believe it or the panic would win. “Nobody can get near the house without me knowing.”

Davey glanced toward Simon. “I’d feel better if you had more than the dogs.”

“I’ve got a gun, and you know I can use it. I can’t uproot my life on the possibility he may decide to come here in a week, a month, six months.” She dragged a hand through her hair, ordering herself to stay sensible. “He’s not as patient as Perry,” she repeated, “and he’s following someone else’s pattern. They’ll catch him. I have to believe they’ll catch him. Until they do, I’m not helpless.”

“One of us is going to check in with you every day. We take care of our own, even when they aren’t helpless.”

“That works for me.”

Simon held his silence until he and Fiona were alone. “Why don’t you go visit your mother for a while?”

“Because I have to work. And I do have to work,” she added. “I have a mortgage, a car payment, bills. I’ve had to juggle like a circus clown to manage the time and money for a long weekend off.” She picked up the shovel to put it in the back of the truck. “And what happens if he doesn’t go after some other poor girl for weeks? Do I just put everything on hold because of a maybe? I won’t be stupid and I won’t be careless.” Because it made her feel strong and capable, she hauled up the sagging bag of peat. “But I will not let this ruin my life. Not again. And I won’t be taken. Not again. Not ever again.”

“You leave your door unlocked. Half the time you leave it open.”

“Yes, that’s true. And if someone they didn’t know tried to get within twenty feet of the house, or me, the dogs would stop them. But you can believe I’ll be locking up at night now, and my nine millimeter’s going in the drawer next to my bed.”

It took him a minute. “You have a nine millimeter?”

“That’s right.” She tossed the bag of topsoil after the bag of peat. “Greg taught me how to shoot, how to respect a weapon. And after . . . after I started going to the range regularly until I was proficient. I’m probably a little rusty, but I’ll fix that. I’ll fix it.” The words came out too fast, too fast, and she fought to slow them. “I’ll take care of myself. I need my life. I need my home and my work, my routine.”

She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I need it.”

“Okay. Okay.” He glanced toward the dogs. They looked like happy, friendly, lick-your-face-off types. But he remembered the low growl from Newman when he’d tussled a little with Fiona in the kitchen. “Why don’t you cancel your classes for the day?”

“No, no. Some of them are already on the ferry, or heading in. Besides, routine. It keeps me centered.”

“Is that what does it?”

“Apparently. The tree’s still pretty,” she said, calmer again. “It’s still a nice morning, and I still have work to do. It helps.”

“Then I’d better move my truck.” He opened the door. “Teach him something else.” He lifted his chin at Jaws. “Like how to get me a beer out of the fridge.”

“Not altogether impossible. But we’d better nail down the basics first.”

ROUTINE DID HELP, and part of that routine was people, and their dogs. She listened, as always, to clients relating progress, or the lack of it. She listened to problems, and arranged her lesson for the day around them.

She used the first few minutes for walk, heel, sit to get both handlers and pups settled in.

“Some of us are having problems with jumping, so we’re going to take that discipline first today. Puppies jump on us because it’s fun and because they want our attention, and they’re so cute we give in to them, even encourage it, rewarding bad manners—and behavior that won’t be so cute in bigger dogs as they grow. Annie, why don’t you tell us what happened the other day.”

Annie from San Juan Island gave her collie mix an apologetic glance. “My niece came to visit with her little boy. He’s three. Casey was so happy to see them, she ran over and jumped on Rory. She knocked him down and he hit his head. He wasn’t really hurt, but he could’ve been, and it scared him. She didn’t mean it.”

“Of course not. Casey’s a friendly, happy dog. Energetic. I imagine most of us have had something like this happen. Or at least scratched legs, dirtied pants, shredded hose.”

“Bruno’s always tearing up my panty hose.” Jake, all 220 pounds of him, got a laugh at the remark.

“We’ll fix that for you, Jake. Like everything else, it takes consistency, firmness and understanding. Do not reward your dog when it jumps. No attention, no smiles, no petting. I find the best command is generally ‘Off.’ Using the ‘Down’ command can confuse them, as we want to use this to get them to lie down. I’m going to use Casey to demonstrate. Go ahead and take her off the leash, Annie.”

She called the dog, who raced over and, as Fiona expected, rose up on her hind legs to jump. Fiona stepped forward, countering the balance. “Off !” Casey’s feet hit the ground. “Good dog. Good girl.” Fiona offered a treat and a rub.

“Obviously it’s going to take more than once, but the dog will learn. The instinct is to step back when a dog jumps, to take their weight. But by stepping forward, the dog can’t get its balance. You use the step and the command—both firm—and when your dog has all four feet on the ground again—not before—you offer praise and reward.”

She demonstrated again. “You and everyone in your family have to get on board with this. The discipline can’t come from just you. Don’t let your kids encourage jumping because it’s fun for them, too. Call her back, Annie, and repeat what I just did if she jumps. Step forward, say ‘Off !’ Then reward.”

Fiona nodded in satisfaction as the routine played out. “Okay, let’s spread out so everyone can work on this. We move on to how to teach your dog not to jump on others next.”

She walked around, offered advice, encouragement. People needed praise and reward, too, she knew, so she doled them out.

She ended the class with a second round of sit and stay.

“Good job, everybody. I’ve got a tip for you this week since spring’s coming: some of you might be planning a garden or have one already started. I just blogged about this, so you can refer to that if and when you need a reminder. You’ll be unhappy if your dog digs up your petunias or tomatoes. Dogs dig for several reasons. Sometimes it’s just because they like it. Sometimes because they’re bored. Regular play, exercise and attention can discourage digging, but not always. You’re not always going to be right on hand when that digging urge strikes. So, fill the holes.”

She got a moan out of several students.

“Yeah, it’s an irritating cycle initially. But a lot of young dogs will get discouraged when the hole they’ve dug keeps getting filled. What’s the point? Also offer alternatives to digging. Playtime, a walk, a chew toy. Distract. But because some will just, well, dig in, I advise you to put a few additives in the dirt you replace. Chili pepper’s a good deterrent, and so is dog poop. Seriously. Sometimes a dog digs to find a cool spot. If you have enough room you might designate some shady spot in the yard for him to dig and clear and hang out in when it’s hot.

“Last, those of you who have no plans to breed your dog and haven’t already made arrangements for spaying or neutering, it’s time.”

She didn’t lecture on the subject. Yet.

As her students began heading out, she strolled over to Simon. “I saw your face.”

“That’s because it’s right here, on the front of my head.”

“The look on your face when I mentioned neutering.” She gave him a poke. “He’ll still be a guy. Balls don’t make the man.”

“Easy for you to say, sister.”

“And what are you going to say the first time he catches a whiff of some sexy bitch in heat and runs off to bang her?”

“Score?”

She poked him again. “And following those instincts, he could get hit by a car on the road, get lost. Now, do you really want to add to the stray and/or unwanted dog population? The number of dogs put to sleep every year just so yours keeps his balls and scores?”

“He’s more into dead fish than sex.”

“For now. Responsibly neutering him will help his behavior. Odds are he’ll be somewhat calmer.”

“Most eunuchs are.”

“You force me to give you literature.” She picked up the ball Peck dropped at her feet, winged it. Then watched the car cruise down her drive. “They timed it.”

“Who?”

“I expect Davey let some people know about what happened. That’s Meg and Chuck Greene, from my unit. First class is over, and I don’t have another today until this afternoon. So here they are to see if I need company.”

She seemed touched rather than annoyed, and Simon took it as his cue to go. “I’ve got to take off.”

“Oh, don’t be rude. Wait two minutes so I can introduce you. You didn’t bring Quirk and Xena,” Fiona called out.

“We’re having a people day,” Meg called back.

They got out of opposite sides of the car, met in front of the hood and joined hands before they crossed over. Stopping, Simon noted, to greet the dogs.

“Who’s this handsome boy!”

Simon watched as Meg, a breezy-looking woman he pegged as late forties, stepped into Jaws’s excited leap.

It worked, he had to admit. They’d have to practice.

“That’s Jaws. Meg and Chuck Greene, this is Simon Doyle, Jaws’s human.”

“Simon!” Meg stuck out a hand, then grasped Simon’s in both of hers. “I bought a set of your stacked tables from Sylvia. I love them. I’ve been hoping to run into you.”

“Meg and Chuck live over in Deer Harbor. Chuck’s a retired cop, and Meg’s one of our lawyers. Simon was here when Davey came by,” Fiona added. “And I’m fine.”

“We needed to check the cabin,” Meg told her. “We’ve got somebody coming in over the weekend.”

“Uh-huh.” She didn’t buy that for a minute. “Meg and Chuck have a pretty cabin in Moran State Park they rent out.”

“Since we were so close, we just came by to see if we could talk you into meeting us for lunch. We thought we’d grab an early one at the Rosario.”

“Meg.”

“And we’re entitled to look after you.”

“Thanks, but I’m going to stick close to home today. You can pass that on to the next shift.”

“Where’s your cell phone?” Chuck asked her.

“Inside.”

“I want you to start carrying it with you.” The tap he gave her nose spoke of affection, and authority. “I don’t think you’ve got a thing to worry about, but use that common sense you’ve got so much of. Carry your phone.”

“All right.”

“Are you spending any nights here?” Chuck asked Simon.

“Chuck!”

“I’m not talking to you,” he said to Fiona.

“Not yet.”

“Wouldn’t hurt. You do custom work, don’t you?”

“Are you talking about sex or wood?”

There was a beat of silence before Chuck roared out his big laugh, then slapped Simon on the back. “Maybe we’ll talk sex over a beer sometime. On the wood, Meg’s been after a new china cabinet. Can’t find anything that suits her. This one’s too big, that one’s too small, the other one’s not the right wood. If she could tell you what the hell it is she wants and you make it, I’d stop hearing about it.”

“We can talk about that. You’d want to show me the space.”

“If you’ve got time this afternoon, after three.” Chuck reached in his wallet and pulled out a business card. “Home address is on there.”

“Okay. More like four.”

“That’ll work. Well, come on, Meg, let’s get this party started. You?” He pointed at Fiona, then kissed her cheek. “Put your phone in your pocket.”

“Yes, sir, Sergeant Greene.”

“You take care, Fee. We’ll see you this afternoon, Simon.”

They walked back to their car as they’d walked from it. Hand in hand.

“They’ve been married over thirty years, and they still hold hands,” Fiona murmured. “He was a cop for twenty-five, down in San Francisco.” She waved as they drove out. “They moved here about ten years ago, and he runs a tackle shop. He loves to fish. She does real estate and some family law.”

“Did they get married when she was twelve?”

“Oh, boy, she’d love that. She’s in her late fifties, he had his sixty-third birthday in January. And yeah, they both look easily ten years younger. I think it’s love and happiness. Or just lucky genes.”

She picked up the ball one of the dogs had dropped hopefully at her feet, threw it again. “I’m telling you because I always want to know about people, so I tend to give backgrounds, but also because it might help you with the design.” She tilted her head. “Since you’re so strict about it. Anyway, Chuck figures everybody can find every place on the island. I can give you directions.”

“I’ll find it.”

“All right. I’ve got to go clean my house, do some laundry and other exciting domestic chores before my afternoon session.”

“I’ll see you later, then.”

He called the dog, headed for his truck.

He didn’t kiss her good-bye, Fiona thought, and sighed a little, thinking of the Greenes holding hands.

He boosted the dog in, hesitated, then shut the truck door and strode back to her. He gripped her shoulders, drew her up and into a kiss that was hard and brief and satisfyingly hot.

“Put your phone in your pocket.”

When he went back to the truck, drove off without another word, she smiled after him.