Primal Force (17 page)

Jori was between Hoodie and the door.

Nothing.

Who robbed a convenience store at seven thirty in the morning when traffic would be at its maximum? One desperate amped-up dumbass.

*   *   *

Jori was cross-eyed angry when she exited Law's cruiser to buy herself coffee. He wouldn't apologize? She didn't need him to drop even a dime on her. She'd buy her own damn coffee.

That's what she couldn't get over. She'd lost a night in restless agitation over his inexplicable behavior. Then to get a call from him before dawn making some crack about how he was probably interrupting her beauty sleep. She should have told him where to go and how to get there, and then packed and driven back home.

As if getting her a cup of coffee would make up for his Neanderthal—wait, that might be disparaging Neanderthals. She'd recently read something about them being more intelligent than formerly thought.

She pulled open the door, bells jingling. The air inside rushed out to greet her like a drunken Santa, wrapping her in a too-familiar embrace and greasy peppermint breath. It took her three steps to realize that everyone else in the store was staring at her. No, not her. But staring all the same.

A creepy-crawly sensation zipped up the back of her neck into her scalp as she saw too late what was going on.

Oh God. Oh God.
The words went into a permanent loop in her brain as she realized that a robbery was taking place.

A scraggly man in a hoodie stood at the counter talking loud and fast. His head swiveled toward her, exposing a lean face, sunken eyes, and wisps of long brown hair sprouting from the edges of the hood. He shouted something at her.

She couldn't hear him above the roaring in her ears. She could only stare dumbly back at him. His hand was in his pocket. Something bad was in his pocket.

Another of the customers motioned her back but her legs no longer worked.

Only when the man in the hood turned away to shout at the cashier to hurry could she move.

She turned her head back, telescoping her mantra into hope as she sought through the plate-glass window the gaze of Lauray Battise. He would make it okay. She knew that with absolute certainty.

*   *   *

Hoodie pushed through the doors, shouting over his shoulder, “No police!”

Law held his breath as Hoodie took but a few more steps, then he moved rapidly to place himself between the perp and the store door. No going back in.

“Police officer. Stop. Drop your weapon.”

Hoodie stopped short, turning to look at Law. He saw the gun, going bug-eyed and slack-jawed with amazement.

Law steadied his weapon, his voice loud and sharp. “Stop. You're under arrest. On your knees.”

“Fuck that!” Hoodie dropped the bag of cash and took off across the parking lot, using both weapon-free fists to pump the air as he ran.

Law was after him even before he'd completed the split-second decision: shoot or pursuit. The reasoning took a slow second.

No way to know if the pocket held a gun, knife, or nothing.

There were bystanders in the parking lot and beyond. A shot might go astray.

No K-9 to chase down Hoodie's sorry ass.

Pursuit.

Hoodie beat sneakers across the concrete, heading for the street and traffic. Law could hear sirens closing in fast as he gave chase. All he had to do was get Hoodie on the ground and hold him until the cavalry arrived.

Law increased his stride and pace. Each footfall jolted his left side, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but that he didn't trip, didn't fall. He was closing in on his target with each step.

“Stop. You're under arrest.” The words exploded out of him.

He caught Hoodie by the back of his jacket with his gun-free hand and jerked, hard. The action sent them stumbling then sprawling onto the curb and half into the street.

He didn't think about his prosthesis as they went crashing onto the concrete. Or as Hoodie thrashed around, kicking and bucking, knocking them both repeatedly against the curb. All he felt was the shot of satisfaction that he'd outrun a sumbitch who had two good legs, and taken him down.

“You're under arrest. Hold still, dammit.”

*   *   *

“Good takedown, Trooper Battise.” The Springdale police officer, a young man fresh out of the academy grinned as he glanced back at his vehicle where Hoodie sat cuffed and sobbing like a child. “Outrun by a one-legged man. He won't live that down in lockup. Wait till my sergeant hears about this.”

Law smiled and nodded, still a little winded as he sat on the curb. He needed to get up but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like what happened when he did.

“Law.”

He turned and saw Jori coming toward him. He pushed himself to his feet, wincing against his body's protest of pain. He didn't have time to register it. Jori plowed into him, her arms going around his waist to lock her body into his. He gritted his teeth as he felt a great wave tremble through her. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Law met the gaze of the patrol officer over her head. The fresh-faced officer winked at him and made a jerking motion with his fist. Law frowned and put an arm protectively around her. Had he ever made light of a victim's gratitude? He hoped not. Because right now he wanted to punch his fellow officer in the face.

“Officer Todd, this is Jori Garrison. She's doing a ride-along with me as a representative of the Warriors Wolf Pack organization. We're trying out one of their dogs in a law enforcement environment. Ms. Garrison was in the store when the robbery went down.”

“Oh. Nice to meet you, ma'am.” The younger officer's face sobered. “Sorry about the circumstances. But since you were in the store at the time of the robbery, I'll need to get a statement from you. If you'll step this way with me.”

“Sure.” Jori unwrapped herself from Law's embrace, her solemn gaze probing his. “Are you okay?”

“Nothing a little soap and water won't fix. Make your statement. I'm not going anywhere.”

She glanced down at his torn pant leg, revealing his prosthesis. He could see in her expression that she wanted to ask about it. But she held back. And he was grateful. “I knew you—I just knew.” Her face reflected deep emotion, but she turned away before finishing her sentence.

Law watched her go, waiting until she and the officer were occupied before trying to test his weight on his artificial leg. He'd heard a crack as he hit the pavement. He only hoped he'd be able to make it to his cruiser without assistance. Some hero that would make him. On leave for medical reasons before he was officially on patrol again.

He saw an EMT coming toward him and waved her off. The ambulances had arrived with the police cars. He tasted blood in his mouth and his hip felt skinned to the bone, but he wasn't going to be carried off like a fallen warrior. He'd had enough of hospitals, ambulances, and medical attention to last him at least ten lifetimes.

He shifted his weight, rocking slowly back and forth. Something was loose in the leg but he felt like it might hold him up. However, there was a serious limp in his stride. He just needed to make it back to his vehicle before the euphoria of his takedown wore off and the pain set in.

He was standing by his cruiser when one of the officers finally told them they could leave. He'd let Sam out on a long leash to take care of her needs in a patch of grass by a streetlight. He reeled her back in now.

Sam eyed him eagerly as she came quickly back to his side, catching the backwash of excitement pheromones still rising off him. But also his pain. Alpha was hurt. She sniffed around his strange leg, the one that smelled like metal and oil and electronics, and up to where the sweat of the man himself was strong, along with faint traces of blood.

Whining softly, Sam tried to lick the wound through his trousers.

He did not return the affection. “Get off, Sam.”

Law pushed her snout none-too-gently away. The shaggy-faced rust bucket couldn't help him when he needed really it. Scud would have taken Hoodie without him moving a muscle to help. Sam had no aggressive drive that he had seen. Unless they were out to capture cold cuts, Sam would be of no use.

He turned to open the door and ordered his nursemaid into the backseat.

Sam paused to look at Alpha. He was angry with her. She could not understand why. Her tail drooped and her ears went back. Unhappy Alpha. Unhappy pack.

The loud
mee
-now of protest from the backseat didn't deter Sam. She jumped in and plopped down, taking up all the seat not occupied by the cat cage. This time the protest and sharp claws didn't move her. Instead Sam began thumping the cat carrier with heavy rhythmic swipes of her enormous tail.

Law slid in behind the wheel, suppressing a moan as his stump protested its recent treatment. No time to do anything about it now.

Jori smiled at him as she slid into the passenger seat. The sudden unexpected brilliance of it felt like a light had turned on inside him. She'd never smiled at him like that before.

“You're a hero. Everybody says so. The other police are talking about how amazing it is you could outrun that creep.” Her eyes were shining as she looked at him. “I was so scared. But you weren't. Not at all. I watched through the window.”

Law scowled, not sure how to take the praise. “You should have kept your head down. You didn't know if shots would be fired.”

“I guess you're right. I wasn't thinking of that. I brought you into that. If I'd only been paying attention before I walked in.”

“Or stayed in the car and let me get the damn coffee.”

“You'd have surprised the thief and could have been shot.”

Law shook his head. “I would have looked first. That's my job.”

She smiled again. Was she flirting? “You were wonderful.”

His knee twinged as he reached for the brace. “I wasn't that great.”

“You looked pretty great from where I was standing.”

He shrugged, not wanting her gratitude. “I'd have done what I did for complete strangers. That's the job.”

“Okay.” He watched her think through that. “All the same, it was me and I'm grateful.”

“Were you scared?”

“Terrified.”

He'd felt it, too, terror for her, standing in the line of fire of a meth head. “By the way, he didn't have a gun. Only a knife.” And knives killed, too.

“Did you know he didn't have a gun when you chased him?”

“I didn't. But there wasn't much of a bulge in that pocket when he came out of the store. And he ran. I didn't shoot him, because the parking lot was full of bystanders. If I'd fired someone else might have caught a bullet.”

“So you ran him down. That takes a lot of quick thinking and calculation.”

“Like I told you, it's the job. If I'd had a real dog with me, I've have set him on the suspect and saved myself the aggravation.” His expression must have revealed his feelings as he glanced back at Sam, because Jori's smile was on the fritz again.

Jori reached up to pet Sam, who'd thrust her head forward to once again check out her Alpha. “Sam has other virtues.” Her gaze was reproachful. “You haven't given her a chance.”

Damn. He'd done it. Put out the light he'd never thought he'd see in Jori's face. He felt suddenly cold and alone, and very sad. He wanted that warming grateful gaze back.

He reached across the console and his computer and touched her cheek. It was too pale and chilled. “I'm sorry about … everything. My fault, not yours.”

She smiled. “Thanks for the apology.”

“I didn't—” Too late. He had. He grinned and pinched her cheek lightly. “How about breakfast now? I could use some decent coffee and some eggs.”

“Are you okay?” She touched his mouth and blood came away on her hand.

He grabbed her hand and wiped the blood on his uniform shirt. It was just an excuse to touch her. “I'll clean up in the restroom. Okay?”

She nodded. “Whatever you want.”

This time he grinned. “Don't offer me open-ended invitations. I'm still the same bastard you thought I was an hour ago.”

“Yes and no.” She met his gaze with a steady look. “You're that, but more. We need to talk.”

He nodded. “Yeah, we do.” And she might be revising her opinion of him again after she heard what he wanted to talk about.

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“What do you mean, Sam's a thief?”

Jori's voice wafted up the staircase to the loft bedroom where Law had retreated to examine his stump. He had felt it swelling inside his prosthesis during the day. The torque and strain of the tumble he had taken had damaged the socket, making a good fit impossible. But he had been determined to finish his shift. Even if his limp was so pronounced by the end of the day, his colleagues were commenting. Now he was paying the price. The prosthesis hurt like a sumbitch.

But he'd made a collar this morning. First in more than four years. He still had what it took. That was worth the pain.

His cell phone chimed. He glanced at the number. Another news channel. He punched
END
and put it back in his pocket. Local radio and TV outlets had been calling all day, wanting to interview him. One of the customers in the parking lot had taken a phone video of his takedown and sent it in to the media. It was playing on all the local channels. A fellow officer said it had gone viral on YouTube. He didn't want anything to do with that. No publicity for doing his job. Certainly not just because he was missing a leg.

“Battise?”

He looked up and smiled. He'd offered to buy dinner, but Jori was downstairs, promising to cook for him if she could find anything in his kitchen. Good luck with that. Best answer her before she came looking for him.

“I taught Sam to bring me a beer while I'm working.” He released his prosthesis and pulled it off. “A few days after she mastered the trick I noticed some franks were missing from the fridge. A few days later some sliced turkey had disappeared. Since she'd been with me all day, I figure she raids my refrigerator in the middle of the night.” He gingerly peeled off his liner. “Your dog's a Snack Hound.”