Operation Protector (Cutter’s Code #19)

Chapter 1

“What’s he carrying?”

At his wife’s words Quinn Foxworth looked up from the report he’d been studying.

Hayley was leaning to look out the window beside the front door of Foxworth Northwest headquarters on the east side of Puget Sound.

She was in the entryway, close enough for him to see, but he had no idea what to expect.

He only knew it had to be Cutter, because only their dog could bring on that half-puzzled, half-“what now?” tone in his wife’s voice.

Geez, dog, it’s not even seven in the morning yet.

He was smiling as he thought it.

And then Hayley gasped, dropped the jacket she’d been about to hang on the rack near the entrance, and dashed toward the door. Instantly, knowing Hayley never overreacted, he followed at a run.

When he got through the door, Hayley was kneeling next to their sometimes too brilliant dog. Who was carrying a small, black-and-white puppy with his mouth, so very gently you would have thought it was his own.

At first Quinn thought the tiny creature was just wet.

But the moment he got down beside Cutter and the dog even more gently set the puppy down, Quinn could see that it was indeed wet.

But not with water, though it was raining hard enough to make even the thick-coated Cutter look soaked.

Because the water running off the pup onto the sidewalk beneath him was…

pink. And when Quinn touched him, then pulled his hand back and looked at his fingers, he was sure what the wetness was.

Blood.

“He’s hurt,” Hayley said urgently.

In that moment the little thing looked up at him, and he couldn’t miss the fear and confusion in the big brown puppy eyes. Something snapped in Quinn.

“I don’t see an obvious wound, but let’s get him to Dr. Moore,” he said.

As if they’d planned it out, they each started to move.

Hayley ran inside and grabbed a small stack of towels, while he went and collected their jackets and the keys to their SUV parked in the gravel lot outside the building.

Cutter stood guard until Hayley got there and began to ease the puppy with the jagged pattern of black-and-white patches of fur onto one of the towels.

Then they both headed for the car, Cutter at their heels letting out an anxious whine.

“We’ve got him, boy,” Quinn assured the dog. “But you might as well come along so Dr. Moore can say hello.” He knew the reliable veterinarian would want to. He’d often told them that Cutter was his most remarkable patient in his thirty years as a vet.

Hayley made a phone call as they started down the long driveway.

They knew the experienced Dr. Moore always left time in his busy day for emergencies, so their wait at the homey-looking white building was short.

The presence of the blood—and the Foxworth name, for they’d become a little more than famous in this area—made it a priority.

The young vet tech who made the initial exam agreed with Quinn that there was no apparent wound, but they took the pup back for a more thorough check.

“Poor little guy,” Hayley said as she paced the small room. “He was so scared.”

“Leave it to Cutter,” Quinn said, standing in front of the poster diagramming a dog’s circulatory system, trying to focus on it instead of the trembling little creature they’d brought here.

The dog he was referring to let out a soft woof.

He was well-known here in the small veterinary hospital, and as a certified therapy dog, was the only animal other than the office cat who was allowed the run of the place.

“He’s so polite!”

“He’s so sweet!”

“He makes me feel so much better when I pet him!”

They heard at least a couple of those every time they brought their too-clever dog in, which was actually reassuring for both Foxworths, because it reminded them he was a pet, and not just the canine who had become such an integral part of the Foxworth team, be it at home or on one of their cases.

It had happened so fast that Quinn sometimes forgot about the time before.

But coming to the vet reminded him, because of the deeply etched images in his mind, of when this dog had burst out of the trees and changed his life forever by bringing Hayley to him.

And had risked his life to help them during that operation.

The dog had become the very heart of Foxworth, so often recognizing a case before they did, and knowing how to tell them in ways that were undeniable.

He tried to imagine his life now if it had never happened.

He could not. It made his throat tight just to try.

Because without Hayley he would have no life, not one worth living anyway.

Something nudged at his knee. He looked down and saw Cutter, looking up at him steadily with those amber-flecked dark eyes. He knew the dog had sensed his emotions. Automatically he reached to stroke the soft fur, no longer surprised at the soothing feel of it.

He looked over at Hayley, who was sitting in one of the wooden chairs by the door. She wore her worried expression. And that tightened his throat again, because it was so like her to be worried about this little puppy who had appeared out of nowhere, even if they knew absolutely nothing about him.

When the door from the back of the hospital, where they did all the routine procedures, opened and they saw Dr. Moore himself, Quinn knew Hayley had felt the same little jump as he had.

They’d expected the tech to come back with the results.

But they relaxed a little when he set the page he was carrying down on the exam table and bent to welcome Cutter, who had instantly gone to greet the kindly man who saw to his health.

“And how’s my most clever patient ever today?” the man asked, and Cutter answered with a nudge of his nose and a happy tail wag.

After a moment he straightened and looked at the humans in the room. Quinn had learned a lot about reading people from the woman he so loved, and he had the feeling the good doctor was a stride or two beyond curious.

“Well, leave it to you folks to make my day interesting,” he began.

“Is he all right?” Hayley asked, sounding a little anxious. “We couldn’t see any injury that would have bled, but—”

“He’s fine. No injuries internal or external. He’s a good weight, clean and healthy.”

“So, not a stray,” Quinn said.

“No,” Dr. Moore agreed. “He’s well cared for. We’re getting him all cleaned up now, and he should be out in a couple of minutes.”

Quinn and Hayley looked at each other, and Quinn knew they were both thinking the same thing. “The blood that was on him,” he began.

Dr. Moore’s brow furrowed. “That’s where it gets very interesting. As I told you, it wasn’t his.”

“Maybe his mom?” Hayley asked.

“No,” Dr. Moore said. “So, knowing what I do about the Foxworth Foundation, I went a little further.”

“Hit us with it, Doc,” Quinn suggested.

Then, flatly and with a grimace, the vet said, “The blood wasn’t canine. It was human.”