Chapter 17 #3
“But if she sings, she’ll wreck it. I mean, really wreck it.”
“Let me see that,” Flynn said, and he handed over the flyer.
“It says this is a meet and greet, with a short set. It’s not even a concert.
” She handed it back to him. “And it says there are new songs. So . . .” She lifted a shoulder.
“I’m going. I probably need a date. Should I see if Caspian is free? ”
“You’re taken,” Axel said.
“I think Caspian is too,” Dawson said. He scooped up the phone. “I’m going to make that call.”
“To Keely?”
“I think he means to Caroline’s parents,” Axel said as Dawson got up and hobbled down the hall to the workout room.
Dawson’s gut fisted, but . . .
The phone rang, and he shut the door behind him, then sat on a bench press seat.
“Dawson.”
Caroline’s father had never really blamed him. Tall, with snow-white hair, he pastored a small church in Texas.
“Pastor Bennett.”
“We talked about this. Jonathon.”
“Mm-hmm.” Dawson closed his eyes, his hand across his forehead. Maybe he needed more painkillers.
“I just wanted to check in on you, son. See how you were doing.”
“Actually . . . I . . .”
“Listen. Lottie and I were talking. Maybe you don’t know that we’re grateful for what you did to try and help our daughter.
It’s possible that we didn’t . . . well, I know that her death weighed on you, and we didn’t help lift that burden.
But accidents happen, and we know that, even to strong women like our daughter. ”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t . . .” Keep my promise. “Bring her home.”
“I know. Her sister Heather had a baby girl this year. Named her Caroline. She looks just like her.”
He didn’t know what to say.
“You won’t be hearing from us again, Dawson. But if you ever need anything, please reach out. Caroline cared for you, and we do too.”
Oh. Uh . . . “Thank you. And, Pastor Bennett—”
“Jonathon—”
“Yeah, um. Caroline was . . . I did love her. And I never got a chance to tell her, really, but . . . in the end, you should know, she wasn’t alone.”
“Thank you, Dawson. I know that.” His voice seemed to break a little. “Live in peace.”
Dawson pressed end and stared at the phone. Yes.
He got up, and barking echoed down the hall. Dawson spotted Caspian at the front door, his hackles raised.
Axel got off the stool, grabbed the dog by the collar. “Hey, bud. Friend, not food.” He pulled him back as the door opened.
A man stepped inside. Brown hair, growing out under a baseball cap, a down jacket, a military build about him. He held the leash of a black-and-brown, curly-haired Bernedoodle, who came in behind him.
Dawson took over for Axel. “Sit, Caspian.” The dog sat, his body tight, gaze on the other dog.
“Jericho Bowie. I heard you were back.” Dawson held out his hand. “Moose says you’re joining Air One Rescue.”
“Thinking about it. This your K9?”
Caspian barked, a sort of greeting, but stayed next to Dawson.
“Say hi, Orlando,” Jericho said, and held his leash as the two dogs sniffed each other.
“He’s not really a SAR K9,” Dawson said. “Apparently, he’s a PTSD-trained service dog. I’m going to do some training so we can get him certified to work at the hospital.”
Jericho raised an eyebrow. Looked at Caspian. “Seems to hold himself as if he knows SAR work.”
Dawson looked at him. “He did find . . . well, maybe.”
Jericho knelt in front of him. “Wanna come and work for Jericho? Get a real job?”
“Hey,” Dawson said.
Jericho stood up. “Aw, I’m just messin’ with you. PTSD service animals are highly trained and desperately needed. Is that pizza?”
He pulled the cutting board across the island.
“Help yourself,” Flynn said.
Jericho had already grabbed a piece, dropping Orlando’s lead. The dog came over and sat. “None for you. Not before deployment.” But he did reach into a small pouch on his belt and hand him a piece of kibble.
“You guys going somewhere?” Axel came back to the counter.
“Yeah. I’m meeting up with someone from the US Marshals office. I think it’s a contractor. There’s been an escape, and they want Orlando to track him down.”
“Who escaped?”
He picked up Orlando’s lead. “Some con escaped custody yesterday when they were transporting him to Anchorage. Apparently had help—the sheriff’s car was run off the road. The guy has a murder charge on his sheet. Dangerous.”
Dawson froze. “What guy?” He glanced at Flynn.
“Uh.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“It’s not a priority one manhunt, but . .
. here it is. Oh wow.” He took a breath.
“It’s Conan Sorros.” He pocketed the phone.
“Sheesh, out of everyone . . .” The past flickered briefly on his face and Dawson nodded.
” He dropped a hand to Orlando’s head. “We’ll find him.
He was spotted at an ATM camera here in Anchorage. ”
Everything inside Dawson shut down. And maybe the dark funk wasn’t back, but . . .
Yeah, a cloud had entered his soul. “Why didn’t they tell us?” He looked at Flynn. “Did you know?”
“No. But I did get a missed call from Deke.”
“We need to find out where Keely is staying.”
“Finally.” Flynn put down her pizza.
“Listen, Yenta, it’s not like that. I made a promise.” And this time he planned to keep it.