Ambush (Michael Bennett #11)(43)

I stared down at the small key cupped in my palm. The same questions kept running through my head. If this was the “intel” the Alpha sought, how had it come to be in Dougie’s possession? And why had he hidden it instead of turning it over to someone who would know what to do with it—whoever that might be?

Instead, he’d left the compass with me. And later that night he’d died.

The key taunted me with its mute simplicity. Perhaps this was the key to a storage bunker holding Saddam’s gold. Or an entrée into the location of those weapons of mass destruction we never found. If I stood in front of Cohen’s home with a sign that said FOUND IT, would the Alpha relieve me of the key and tell me Malik and I were safe now?

Olly olly oxen free.

Right. If I kept this up, pretty soon I’d find myself hunting alligators in the sewers or watching for the mother ship.

A block over, someone fired up a lawn mower. Clyde and I both jumped. I looked in surprise at my partner. Clyde could sit through a barrage of artillery fire and not twitch a muscle. That was part of his training.

But a lawn mower set him off?

“Buddy, we gotta go see your trainer. I think you’re coming down with a case of nerves.”

Clyde kept staring out the window as if ready to take on the lawn mower if it got close and made an aggressive move.

“Exactly.”

The little girl and her tricycle zipped by on the sidewalk.

“Kaylee! Kaylee, you turn around right now,” her mother called.

The girl kept going, her head thrust forward like she was hoping to break Danica Patrick’s record at the next Indy 500.

Somewhere behind us, an engine growled to life. I looked in my side mirror. A black SUV came around the corner and rumbled down the street at the pace of a fast walk. I shoved the key into my pocket and my Glock into my waistband. Clyde and I got out of the Land Cruiser.

The mother had ditched her coffee cup and was moving at a fast trot down the sidewalk. The truck kept pace with her. The little girl was still far ahead of both of them.

Clyde’s eyes were already on mine, ready for a command. I gestured toward the girl, then shouted, “Guard!”

Clyde took off like a rocket. As soon as he began to run, the truck driver revved the engine. I heard the gear drop into place, and the driver accelerated.

“Kaylee!” screamed the mother.

I broke into a run, heading toward Clyde and the little girl. Clyde had all but closed the gap. No doubt he would terrify both the girl and the mother. But my concern was the truck. I threw a glance over my shoulder.

The SUV popped up onto the sidewalk and swerved toward me.

I yanked my Glock free from the small of my back and pivoted on my heel, racing into the nearest yard. As the truck pulled alongside, I spun and went into a crouch, gun up.

“Police!” I yelled.

I caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure in the cab as the driver yanked the wheel in the opposite direction, dropped off the curb, and accelerated back onto the street.

At the end of the block, Clyde had corralled the girl on her tricycle and herded her onto the grass. Her eyes were wide with terror.

I ran after the truck, but the driver gunned the engine and sped down the rest of the block, racing past Clyde and the girl and disappearing around the corner with a squeal of tires and not so much as a flicker of brake lights.

The mother and I reached the girl at the same time. I called Clyde back to my side while the woman snatched up her daughter from the tricycle. The little girl burst into tears.

The mother looked at me and then Clyde with a mix of horror, anger, and gratitude.

“I’m sorry if we scared her,” I said. “Clyde is trained to protect.”

“That’s his name? Clyde?”

I told Clyde to offer a paw. The woman—her name tag read Sandy—squatted and turned the little girl toward Clyde.

“See, sweetie? He’s a guard dog. Like a guardian angel.”

The little girl wiped her nose and stared at Clyde. Clyde kept his paw out, and Sandy reached around her daughter and shook it. When she stood again, I ordered Clyde back a couple of paces.

Sandy stroked the girl’s hair. “Jimmy would have grabbed her.”

“What?”

“My ex. He’s been threatening to take her.”

“That was your ex-husband?” So sure was I that this was a move by the Alpha that I struggled to recalibrate.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.” She swept the girl’s hair back. “You probably scared him off for good.”

“You need to report him,” I said. “Get a restraining order.”

“I will.” She looked sincere.

I pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “Call me if I can help.”

As Clyde and I walked back up the street toward the Land Cruiser, I glanced at the house next to Ellen Ann’s.

The teenager was still on the front stoop.

Still texting.

I wondered if he’d ever looked up.



The next item on my list was to go to Denver Pacific Continental headquarters and talk to my boss. Since I was going to pursue Kane’s killer, I might as well try to make it semi-legit.

Going into work would also give me the chance to catch up on the latest buzz surrounding Kane’s murder. All cops feel the murder of another cop. But railroad cops form their own unique clan, regardless of whether we’re freight or passenger, and Kane’s death would hit hardest among my fellow bulls.