“Thank you for taking the time with my daughter,” the father said as he rose.
The words warmed Carter’s heart. He worked hard to uphold not only the code of the NYPD to protect and serve, but also his faith. Not that he and Frosty wouldn’t take the bad guys down in a heartbeat, but he’d do so with humility and as much kindness as possible.
Frosty’s attention jerked to something behind Carter. The dog didn’t alert, but his eyes were fixated on whatever had drawn his focus. Carter could feel a presence hovering.
He glanced over his shoulder. His gaze snagged on a pair of red pumps below well-shaped calves disappearing into a gray pencil skirt.
The reporter?
Two hours ago, his brother Noah, the interim chief of the NYC K-9 Command Unit, had called to warn Carter a reporter wanted to interview him regarding the upcoming national police dog field trials and certification competition, which would be held in two weeks. Carter and Frosty were favored to place high in the public demonstration competition.
A burn of anger simmered in Carter’s gut. The way the press had hounded his family the past five months after the unsolved murder of his oldest brother, Jordan, bothered Carter. He had no patience for pushy journalists.
Turning back to the family, he said, “This is the uptown train. The downtown tracks are beneath us. You’ll want to get off at Fulton Street. And then walk toward the water. It’s easy to find.”
“Thank you, Officer,” the woman said.
The father held out his hand, which Carter took. “We appreciate your help.”
The family turned and walked away.
Carter took a moment for a steadying breath. To Frosty, he murmured, “Work.”
The dog’s ear perked up, indicating he knew he was back on duty.
“Officer Carter Jameson?”
The honeyed voice, with just a hint of an accent, tripped down his spine.
Unnerved by the visceral reaction, he arranged his features into a neutral expression and turned around. “Yes. May I help you?”
The beautiful woman facing him was tall with long brown hair that floated about her cream-colored, silk-clad shoulders. Brown eyes framed by long lashes stared at him, and her full lips were spread into a tentative smile.
His gaze swept over her. She was dressed to impress, in her fancy blouse and gray pencil skirt. The red pumps were impractical. Though she had on a sturdy-looking cross-body type purse, not so impractical. The flowery notebook and pink pen in her manicured hand would have delighted his daughter, Ellie.
She tucked her pen behind her ear before holding out her hand while gesturing with the notebook to the newsstand that sat in the middle of the platform. “I’m Rachelle Clark with NYC Weekly.”
He grasped her hand, noting the softness of her skin and the crazy frisson of sensation racing up his arm. “I can’t say that I’ve ever read that particular one.”
There were so many local NYC-centric newspapers and magazines keeping those living in the five boroughs up-to-date on the happenings, Carter couldn’t possibly read them all.
She extracted her hand. “You don’t want to know what’s going on in your own community?”
Tucking in his chin, Carter said. “I didn’t say that.” He narrowed his gaze. “I believe my brother told you I was working.”
She had the good grace to grimace. “True.” Her smile reappeared. “However, he did tell me where to find you, so I took that to mean he wasn’t opposed to me asking you some questions.”
“Did he now?” Carter would have to chew Noah out for throwing him to the wolves, or wolf, in this case.
“How about this?” Rachelle said. “I can follow you around the rest of your shift. Just observe. I won’t ask any questions.” Her accent deepened into a definite Southern drawl. “I won’t say anything. Just think of me as a little shadow.”
Yeah, right. An attractive shadow. Like having her dogging his steps wouldn’t break his concentration. He looked down at Frosty, who looked up at him with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
“We’ll take a break right now,” he said. “You have five minutes.”
“No, no, no. It would do my article so much good if I could see you in action. Even if it’s just for a little bit. Then when you’re off duty, I can interview you.”
Carter rubbed at the tension in the back of his neck. “Like I said, five minutes.”
Her gaze darted to his partner then back to him. “He’s a handsome dog.”
“He knows it,” Carter told her.
She laughed slightly but didn’t reach out to touch Frosty. Carter wondered if she was afraid or being respectful.
He strode away toward a locked closet built into the staircase, fully aware of his “shadow” following. He tried to ignore the hint of lavender wafting off the woman as he brought out water for Frosty, who lapped it up thirstily. He grabbed his own thermos and drank deeply, his eyes on the reporter watching him.
She glanced around. “Was there a race today?”
“For a reporter, you’re not very well-informed.” He barely suppressed his amusement when surprise and a bit of annoyance flashed in her chocolate-colored eyes.
She recovered quickly and said through smiling lips, “I don’t cover sports.”
He couldn’t contain the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A walkathon for diabetes. Hardly a sport.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you expecting trouble?”
Only the kind tall brunettes posed. He shook his head, dislodging that thought. “No. We’re just patrolling as a precaution.”
“Right.” She made a note in that flowery book of hers. “I suppose the walkathon could be a target like last month’s Fourth of July celebration.”
She was correct, but he didn’t comment. No need to give her any more fodder on that score. Two of his fellow K-9 Unit members and their dogs were there when a bomb detonated in a park on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Thankfully, no one was hurt.
“Did that bombing have anything to do with your eldest brother’s murder?”
Carter glanced to her sharply. “Your five minutes is up.”
“No, it’s not,” she countered. She tapped the gold watch on her slender wrist. “I have two more minutes. How close are you to solving your brother’s murder case?”
“I thought you wanted to talk about the field trials?”
Her nostrils flared slightly but her smile didn’t slip. “I do. Are you and Frosty competing?”
“Yes, we are.”
“How many events will you participate in?”
“All of them.”
Her dark eyebrows drew together. “Which are...?”
“Obedience and agility. Articles and boxes, which are timed. Apprehension with gun and without gun.”
She wrote furiously in her notebook. “Could you elaborate on those?”
“Not now.” He tapped her watch. “Time’s up. You can attend the public demonstration.”
A new flood of people rushed down the stairs toward the train platform. Carter carefully watched the throng and Frosty for any signs of an alert as the dog inhaled the air in short little bursts and sniffed at each person as they walked past him.
It