K-9 Defender
Author
Julie Miller
Reads
18.6K
Chapters
12
Can one woman's K-9 Convince her to trust a determined detective? After a betrayal that almost took his life, Detective Joel Standage is deskbound. A new assignment is his chance to find out if he still has what it takes to be a cop. His mission? Get close to Mollie Crane, a woman who's as guarded — and wounded — as he is. Her service dog, Magnus, trusts Joel before she does. When it becomes clear that his interest in her crime boss ex-husband is putting her in danger, what started as a case becomes personal, and Joel will do whatever it takes to protect her…
Prologue
“You’ll always be a stupid country girl!”
Mollie Di Salvo couldn’t brace for the next blow when it came. She was still woozy from the hands that had squeezed around her neck until she’d nearly passed out and collapsed to the kitchen floor. She couldn’t pull her legs up fast enough and curl into a ball. She swore she heard a rib snap when Augie kicked her in the stomach.
She’d always thought anger was a fiery emotion. But as she squinted through her swollen eyelid at the eyes of her husband, she knew that anger was ice-cold.
This was the worst beating yet.
All because she’d served her granny’s biscuits at the dinner party with Augie’s parents, the Brewers and Mr. Hess and his date. Delicious, yes. But poor folks and country bumpkins ate biscuits. Augie was embarrassed to see them on his table. Embarrassed that the investment bankers he worked with might think he was a poor country bumpkin, too, with no sense about handling their clients’ money.
Embarrassed by her.
Was she trying to sabotage this business deal? A faux pas at this level on Kansas City’s social registry could cost him and his company millions of dollars.
Or something like that. To be honest, once she’d drifted away from consciousness, she hadn’t heard much of his tirade.
Now all she knew was pain.
Mollie’s lungs burned and her throat throbbed as she fought to catch a deep breath. She watched as Augie knelt beside her and clasped her chin in a cruel grip, surely leaving bruises, forcing her to face him. “I’m going out.” His spittle sprayed her cheek. “The staff has gone home for the night, so clean up this mess. And don’t wait up for me.”
She watched the polished black Italian oxfords on his feet, making sure that they were walking away from her and heading out the side door into the garage. She heard men’s unintelligible voices, a car door slam, and then Augie’s latest fancy sports car revving up and driving away.
Mollie pushed herself up to a sitting position and leaned back against the oven. Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, she mentally assessed her injuries. There’d be bruises and swelling, yes—maybe even a cracked rib. But she could survive without a trip to the ER, without telling lies to the doctor and nurses, without explaining why it wasn’t safe for her to talk to the police. She just needed to catch a deep breath.
She reached beneath the neckline of her dress to clutch the engraved silver locket she always wore. To her it was more beautiful than the obnoxiously large sapphire and diamond ring on her left hand. The wedding and engagement rings were all about Augie and showing off that he was wealthy and generous. But her locket was the real prize. It had been a gift from Granny. The one link left to her past when she’d been happy and the world was full of possibilities. She’d been so naive.
She had no more illusions of love. Her Cinderella story had ended just over a year ago, only five months into her marriage. The first slap that Thanksgiving night after an endless extravaganza at his parents’ estate with his entire family and many of their important friends still rang through her memory. She was an introvert by nature, and the days of prepping and late-into-the-night dining, drinking, and partying had left her physically and emotionally exhausted. When they got home, Augie wanted to celebrate their successful evening. He informed her he was horny and ready for sex. She’d kissed him, explained how tired she was and promised that, after a little rest, she’d give him a very good morning.
He’d slapped her, the move so sudden she would have thought she’d imagined it if not for the heat rapidly replacing the shocked nerves on her cheek. No one said no to August Di Salvo, especially not his low-class hick of a wife. She should be grateful for every little thing he did for her. Augie took the sex he wanted that night, and Mollie knew her dream life had irrevocably changed into a nightmare.
Between the family attorney and his parents’ influence, her report to the police the next day had mysteriously disappeared. And the one after that had been pleaded down to a public disturbance and dismissed with a fine.
So, she’d stopped calling the police. She stopped sharing a bedroom with her husband. And she stopped feeling hope.
Now, thankfully, Augie got most of his sex from the string of affairs he had. But Mollie didn’t care that he was cheating on her.
She didn’t have emotions anymore.
She drew in another painful breath. That wasn’t exactly true.
She had fear.
Fear was her constant companion. If Augie wasn’t with her, then she knew one of his friends or beefy bodyguards or even someone from the office or their home staff was watching her. The beautiful trophy wife who straightened her hair and dyed it blond because her husband didn’t think her natural dark curls looked sophisticated. Who wore heels that pinched her feet because he thought they made her look sexy. Who’d married a man because she’d believed the Di Salvo family taking her in, and Augie supporting her through the worst time of her life, meant they loved her.
How could a smart woman be so foolish? Her loneliness and despair had led to some disastrous choices.
Her granny must be turning over in her grave to see how frightened and abused she had become. She’d grown up without parents, thanks to a rainy-night highway accident when she was four. But she’d been raised with love and enough food to eat, and she’d been taught a solid work ethic and some old-fashioned common sense by her grandmother, Lucy Belle Crane. She was the girl who’d overcome the poor circumstances of her Ozarks upbringing to earn scholarships and work her way through college at the University of Missouri. She had a degree in math education, a year in the classroom under her belt, and a semester’s worth of classes toward her Master’s degree.
Yet here she was, huddled on the kitchen floor of August Di Salvo’s big, beautiful house, afraid to stand her ground with Augie, afraid to call the police, afraid to ask anyone for help, afraid to pursue a teaching job or further her education, afraid to leave, afraid to stay. Afraid. Afraid. Afraid.
Feeling an imagined warmth radiating from the locket in her hand, she pressed a kiss to the silver oval and dropped it inside the front of her dress. Then she braced one hand on the oven behind her and reached up to grasp the granite countertop on the island across from her.
The door to the garage swung open. Mollie gasped in fear and plopped down on her butt. The movement jarred her sore ribs, and she grabbed her side, biting down on a moan of pain and bracing herself for another round of degrading words and hard blows from her husband.
Only, she didn’t recognize the man in the black uniform suit and tie who wandered into the kitchen, surveyed the entire area, then rushed to her side when he saw her on the cold tile floor.
He reached for her with a big, scarred hand. “Let me help you.”
“No, I...” But he was already pulling her to her feet. He wound a sturdy arm around her waist and led her around the island, where he pulled out a stool and helped her to sit.
“Looks like you took a pretty good blow to the head.” His gaze darted to the placement of her hand above her waist. “Did you hit your side, too? Do you want me to call 9-1-1? Or I could drive you to the hospital myself.”
“No. I’ll be fine. I’m just—” the well-rehearsed word tasted like bile on her tongue “—clumsy.”
She smiled until she saw his gaze linger on the marks she knew would be visible on her neck. “You didn’t fall.”
The man was too observant for his own good. The others had been trained to look the other way. Mollie realized she was still holding on to his hand, where it rested on the countertop. She popped her grip open and turned away to pull her long golden hair off her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. “You’re new here.”
Although he frowned at the cool wall of diversion and denial she was erecting between them, he thankfully retreated a step to give her the distance she needed to pull herself together. “I’m Mr. Di Salvo’s new driver. He took the convertible out himself, said he didn’t need me tonight. But I’m on shift until midnight. It’s kind of chilly just sitting out in the garage waiting to work. I was told I could come into the house to get some hot coffee.”
“Of course. Everything you need is right here. Regular, decaf. Cream, sugar.” Moving slowly, but with a sense of purpose, she climbed off the stool and showed him the coffee bar tucked in beside the refrigerator at the end of the row of cabinets. Ever the consummate hostess, she opened the cabinet above the coffee makers, but winced when she reached for the mug above her.
He was at her side in an instant, grasping the mug and pulling it down for her. “Ma’am, you don’t have to wait on me. Can I at least make you an ice pack for that eye? I do have first aid training.”
Ignoring his concern, or perhaps taking advantage of it by continuing this conversation at all, she asked for the smallest of favors. “Would you pull down another mug for me?”
“Sure.”
When he set the mug in front of her, she poured herself some decaf coffee and cradled its heat between her trembling hands. She scooted off to the side, leaning lightly against the counter. “Please. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” He poured himself a mug, fully loaded with a shot of cream.
While he fixed his drink and took a couple of sips, Mollie felt curious enough to make note of his looks. He wasn’t as tall as or movie star handsome as Augie, but then, tall, dark, and handsome wasn’t necessarily attractive in her opinion. Not anymore.
Her would-be rescuer had brown hair and golden-brown eyes that made her think of a tiger. Despite the breadth of his shoulders beneath his black suit jacket, and the unflattering buzz cut of hair that emphasized the sharp angles of his face, the man had kind eyes. Kindness was such a rarity in her small world that the softness of his amber eyes woke a desire in her that she hadn’t felt for a long time now. The desire to step outside herself and do something for someone else—the way she might once have helped a friend in need—the way no one had helped her for more than a year now. “Let me give you some advice, Mr...?”
“Uh, Rostovich.” Had he hesitated to share his name? “Joel Rostovich.”
“Listen, Joel Rostovich. Get out. Get out of this house. Leave your job. Get away from this family as fast as you can.”
He set down his coffee at her dismissal. “You need an ice pack or a raw steak for that eye. If you won’t let me drive you to the ER or a police station, at least let me make sure you get to your room safely, and I’ll bring you an ibuprofen.” He started to pull out a business card. “If you change your mind, you can call—”
“And if you won’t get out, then stay away from me. Don’t talk to me unless you have orders to. Don’t smile. And sure as hell, don’t you be nice to me again.” She tucked the card into the pocket of his jacket and rested her hand against his chest in a silent thanks for his humanity and compassion. Then she turned and slowly made her way out of the kitchen. “It’ll be safer for you that way.”