Writing this story against the backdrop of New York City was a treat. I lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan as a young adult and the experience was one I treasure. Combining my love of the city with K-9 dogs and handlers was a special joy for me. Plus, working with such a wonderful group of authors and editors is always a blessing.
The next book in the series, Trail of Danger by Valerie Hansen, will be released September 2019—you won’t want to miss it.
You’ll be able to find the whole continuity series on www.Harlequin.com.
Blessings,
Terri Reed
For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.
—Jeremiah 29:11
To the men and women of the NYPD who protect and serve the vibrant city of New York.
To my fellow authors, Lynette, Dana, Laura, Lenora, Val, Sharon, Shirlee and Maggie—thank you for your support and patience with me.
To my editors, Emily Rodmell and Tina James—I so appreciate all you do for me and the books.
And to my faithful friends Leah Vale and Jessie Smith for reading every word and believing in me.
Contents
Note to Readers
The smell of sweaty bodies, garbage from some unseen refuse container and the musty odor of grease from the subway rails lay heavy in the stale August air. Noise bounced off the ceramic tiled walls covered with a dinosaur motif, unique to the 81st Street and Museum of Natural History subway station on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
The place was crowded due to the Central Park Walkathon. People of all ages and ethnicities mingled on the side platforms. Most wore the green shirts of the walkathon, but there were many other obvious tourists, what with it being late summer, along with local subway passengers.
Officer Carter Jameson kept vigilant for any sort of trouble as he and his K-9 partner, Frosty, an all-white German shepherd, moved from the uptown platform to the downtown platform and back again.
A family of three stepped into his path. The father held an adorable curly-haired toddler in his arms.
“We need to get to the South Street Seaport. Is this the right train?” the mother asked.
“Doggy!” the little girl squealed, her arms reaching out for Frosty. She nearly tumbled out of her father’s arms to reach the dog.
The father stepped back, securing his hold on the child. “The dog is working. We can’t pet him.”
Carter appreciated the father’s words. “We are working, but we can take a short break if she’d like to pet him.”
He looked down at Frosty and gave the hand gesture to sit, which Frosty immediately obeyed. “Play nice,” Carter said, giving the dog the verbal signal that at this moment he was off duty.
Part of Carter’s role as an NYC K-9 Command Unit officer assigned to the transit authority was public relations. To let the citizens know they were there to protect and to serve.
“You sure he won’t bite?” the man asked, a wary expression on his face.
“Frosty is used to my six-year-old,” Carter assured him. “She uses him as a horse.”
“That’s a cute name for a cute fellow.” The mother held out her hand for Frosty to sniff. Frosty sniffed, then licked her hand, his tail thumping on the hard concrete platform.
“Doggy!” the girl cried again. The father kept her in his arms but squatted down for the child to rub Frosty’s coat.
From the pocket of his uniform, Carter withdrew a sticker with the NYPD gold shield and squatted down next to Frosty. Holding