“It’s not complicated.” He took a careful bite. “I just want to make sure nothing happens to the fence.”
For a kid who said he hadn’t broken it, he seemed awfully invested in making sure it stayed intact.
Chapter 4
Ben
The Summit Falls Police Department sat at the east end of Main Street, a two-story brick building that looked like it had been renovated once in the nineties and left alone since. The American flag out front hung limp in the Saturday afternoon stillness. Half the parking spots were empty.
Donovan walked beside me, hands in his jacket pockets, taking in the lot without making a production of it.
We’d been here every day this past week for the K9 training sessions, but this was different. Saturday meant a skeleton crew. Fewer people around, fewer eyes tracking our movements. Which was the whole point.
Sergeant Eric Vance met us inside the lobby for our meeting with Chief Rawlings. Vance was already smiling when we came through the door, coffee in hand, badge clipped to his belt over civilian clothes. Of all the fellows we’d met, he’d been the most consistently likable.
“Hey, guys.” He shook both our hands, firm grip, easyposture. “Thanks for coming in on a Saturday. Rawlings wanted to touch base on the training before things get busy next week.”
“No problem,” I said. “We’re flexible.”
Vance gestured for us to follow, leading us past the front desk and down the main corridor toward the chief’s office. A couple of officers glanced up as we passed—not unfriendly, just mildly curious. The outsiders were here on a Saturday, but Vance being with us made it okay.
“How’s Jolly handling the altitude?” Vance asked as we walked. “I’ve heard some dogs take a while to adjust up here.”
“He’s fine. We spend a lot of time in Denver, so he’s used to it. Didn’t seem to slow him down at all.”
If only altitude were the problem. Something had shifted in Jolly since we’d moved in. He usually sulked when I had to leave him behind for a few hours—pacing by the door, reproachful eyes, the whole guilt trip. But not since we’d been here. Now, he seemed content to stay at the house. More than content. Almost eager for me to go.
What was that—age? Burnout? I didn’t know.
I’d rented this particular house because it had a nice big yard and a doggie door so Jolly could get in and out when I wasn’t around. But after that broken fence slat this morning, maybe I’d made a mistake. If Jolly was having some sort of neurological issue and was trying to run away… I didn’t even want to think about it.
And I especially didn’t want to think of Kayla Cafferty pulling that milk crate all the way out of her house this morning so she could see me eye to eye over that fence. How she’d stood her ground when I’d suggested her kid had broken the slat. Not aggressive, just certain. Protective.
Given that my own mother had bailed when I was three, it seemed impressive as hell.
Vance’s words brought me back into conversation. “Glad to hear it. Wish I could say the same for some of my guys.” He gave a small laugh.
Vance seemed like a good guy. He wasn’t interested in becoming a K9 handler, which was a shame, because I thought Donovan and I both would recommend him without hesitation just based on being around him for the past week.
Speaking of people we probably wouldn’t recommend… We passed the break room, and Seth Briggson was inside, filling a coffee mug. He looked up when we passed. His eyes stayed on us a beat longer than necessary—just short of a glare—before he went back to his desk.
Vance waited until we’d rounded the corner before he said quietly, “I’m convinced that guy drinks too much caffeine.”
“At least he’s awake,” Donovan said.
We kept walking. The hallway was quiet, weekend-empty, our footsteps too loud on the linoleum. A bulletin board to my left held flyers for a community fun run, a blood drive, a missing cat. Normal small-town stuff.
Chief Rawlings’s office was at the end of the hall, door already open. The chief stood when we entered—tall, gray at the temples, handshake like a vise despite the reading glasses perched on his nose. His office was lived-in. Framed commendations on the wall behind the desk, a bookshelf stuffed with binders and procedural manuals, a coffee mug that read WORLD’S OKAYEST BOSS in chipped lettering.
Twenty years in this chair. It showed in the wear patterns on the armrests.
“Grab a seat.” He waved us toward the chairs across from his desk. Vance took the one near the window. Donovan and I settled into the other two.
Rawlings dropped back into his chair and laced hisfingers on the desk. “So. You guys have been here a week for training. How’s everything going?”
The question was directed at me, and Vance leaned forward slightly, clearly invested in the answer.
“Improving,” I said. “Your entry team’s stacking tighter yesterday than they were Monday. Hallway transitions are cleaner. Communication’s still the weak point—they’re talking over one another during room clears, and a couple of them are telegraphing their movements. But that’s normal for a unit figuring out K9 integration.”
