Classified K-9 Unit Christmas. Lenora Worth

“It’s too risky.”

      “But I need my weapon. It’s what I’d do if I were here alone. I’d get to my weapon and go after him.”

      “But you’re not alone, and right now, I don’t want to argue about it.”

      Nina squirmed and held on to the jar of hot chocolate. “I don’t like your being here, but I’m glad you are.”

      “You are a paradox,” he retorted.

      Sam’s woofs sounded like questions. “What’s the plan?”

      “I vote we make a run for it now,” Nina said, her tone decisive. “I won’t sit here and wait to die.”

      “Okay.” Thomas helped her up and gave her his coat. “Put this on. We’ll go out the kitchen door and use our vehicles as a shield if he starts shooting.”

      “That’ll work,” she said, already preparing. She summoned Sam and ordered him to guard. “For now,” she told Thomas.

      The marshal went ahead and slowly cracked open the side door. The burst of cold air nearly took his breath away, but the blast of the next shot caused him to duck down and slam the door again.

      “Are you sure you want to go out there?” he asked Nina.

      “What choice do we have?”

      “Once we get out, I can circle back and take him,” Thomas replied. “If he’s still here.”

      Nina nodded, concern in her eyes. At least she hadn’t argued with him.

      While Nina hadn’t parked her vehicle under the carport, she had pulled it up alongside the open garage. But when Thomas tried to open the door again, and wider this time, it moved only a couple inches.

      “He’s blocked us in. What do you have in that trash can?”

      “I just emptied it,” she said. Then she let out a breath. “I have a potting bench right next to it. He must have wedged it against the can.”

      “Nina?”

      She eyed the situation from behind him and then carefully placed her hot chocolate mix in a nearby cabinet. “We’re trapped,” she said, her tone calm, all things considered. “He’s trapping us until he can find a way in.”

      “But we’ll find a way out,” Thomas said. “If I can shove the table away a few more inches and we run fast, we might be able to get out before he returns to the garage. He must be making his way around the house and back.”

      “It’s that or die trying,” Nina said. “I need my weapon. I think I can get to it in the linen closet.”

      “No. No time.”

      He could tell she wanted to argue, but she clamped her mouth shut and silently glared at him in the muted moonlight. Then she called “Come” to Sam.

      “Okay then,” Thomas said, glad for another small victory. “On three, we crouch and run toward my truck.” He turned and pulled his coat over her head. “Keep that on, okay?” The coat’s suede skin and shearling lining might shield her from the shooter’s aim if she kept running.

      “Okay,” she said in a reluctant whisper, followed by, “Thomas, thank you.”

      “Don’t thank me yet,” he said. Then he shoved against the door and heard the potting table groaning. Thomas grunted and pushed his way through, ignoring the spattering of shots all around them. Both the trash can and the heavy potting table actually served as deflectors.

      Nina hurried along behind him, Sam bringing up the rear in silence. The next shot tore a hole in the tin carport roof. Thomas shoved her ahead of him, behind his truck. “Get underneath,” he said, urging her to crawl between the big tires.

      “Sam, come,” she called again. The K-9 got on his belly and did as he’d been trained to do.

      Soon, they were safe under the truck’s heavy armor.

      Thomas lay on his belly, his chest and head lifted, and listened for the footsteps he knew would be coming. It didn’t take long.

      “I’ll try to sneak around,” he whispered against Nina’s sweet-smelling hair.

      The crunch and cracking of boots hitting snow and dirt stopped him. Too late.

      Nina pointed to the left.

      Thomas nodded. If he could take aim, he could at least maim the intruder.

      The man inched within a few feet from them in a matter of seconds. Nina pointed to Sam. Thomas nodded. What better way to take the man down and keep him alive to talk?

      Nina raised herself up, about to sound the attack command, when they heard sirens on the road.

      The man turned and took off running. Nina shouted, “Attack!”

      Sam bolted from under the truck and went into the woods, following the scent of the stranger. Nina pushed away Thomas’s coat and started to follow, but he pulled her back. “Wait for backup.”

      “Give me your weapon,” she shouted. Snow was falling all around them now, and her house was full of bullet holes and scattershot.

      Thomas shook his head, glad when Max West stalked toward them and asked, “Agent Atkins, are you all right?”

      “Yes, sir,” Nina answered. Then she launched into a full report, Sam’s fierce barking making her fidget. “I need to pursue the suspect, sir.”

      Max put his hand on her arm. “We’ve got it covered. Why don’t you let the EMTs check out your injuries?”

      “I don’t have any injuries,” she retorted, anger marking each word.

      “Yes, you do,” Thomas said, taking her by the arm.

      She was bleeding from her left shoulder.