Page 18 of Tough Justice

“For K-9 officers,” Tori continued, “one dose likewise may or may not be sufficient if your dog has been exposed to gray death. As with human victims, be prepared to administer repeated doses.” She placed her hand on the dog’s back and pointed. “Similarly, the most effective injection site on a dog is the rear thigh.”

Buzzing came to her ears. Deck sat up and checked his phone. He slid off the table, catching Brett and Evan’s eyes first then hers. “We have to go.”

“What is it?” she asked. From the way he clenched his jaw and seriousness of his face, the presentation was over.

“A judge just signed off on another search warrant.”

Chapter Six

An hour later, Deck had printed out his ops plan, gotten it signed by ASAC Rivera, and handed out copies to the twenty or so agents he’d personally selected to participate in the warrant. The PC indicated it was a dealer’s house, and the product would be going mobile shortly. If they didn’t haul ass, all they’d find was an empty house.

In the parking lot adjacent to the SOTF building, Deck outfitted Thor with booties to protect his feet. On either side of him, other officers were busy strapping on tactical and safety gear.

Tori had finished the rest of the training without him. Now, she stood by her car in the parking lot, preparing to leave. Instead of getting into her car, she headed his way. From her determined stride, she had something on her mind.

“I want to go with you,” she said as she began rubbing the backs of Thor’s ears. The tip of his tail thumped against the Interceptor’s rear bumper.

Deck grabbed an extra loaded magazine and stuffed it into a pocket on the front of his vest. “Go with me where?” He reached into the back of the Interceptor, searching for his baton.

“On the warrant.”

His fingers froze around the baton, then he slowly turned to find her watching him, arms crossed, the same determination he’d glimpsed in her stride now gleaming in her bright green eyes. “And do what? Kick the door in?”

“Yes.” Her gaze dipped to his boots. “Do you have a pair of door-kicking boots that will fit me?”

He shoved the baton into another pouch on his vest. Mimicking her stance, he leaned against the bumper and crossed his arms. “No, I don’t.” Though he was sure she was kidding about the door thing. “Even if I did, there’s no way you could accompany us for a ride-along on a high-risk warrant. That takes reams of paper and weeks to get approved. Why do you want to go with us, anyway?”

“Training is one thing, but…I need to do something more proactive.” She uncrossed her arms and stepped closer, so close he could see the gold flecks in her irises that he hadn’t noticed before. “Let me go with you in case something happens to another one of your officers.”

“No.” Rivera would have his head, his arms, and his legs on a platter.

“What could it hurt?” she insisted, advancing even closer.

He uncrossed his arms, straightening abruptly and forcing her to take a step back. “You. You could get hurt.”

“And so could you.” She parked her hands on her trim waist and glared up at him. “I always keep a fully stocked medical bag in my car. My father was a—” She broke off and cleared her throat. “He taught me to be prepared for anything, so I am. Consider this a free house call. I won’t even charge you my usual rate. Hopefully, no one will be exposed like Dan Prince was, but if they are, I’ll be there.”

With more force than was necessary, he yanked down the Velcro strap over his baton. During the seminar, he’d made a comment indicating he blamed himself for what happened to Dan. Clearly she remembered, and now she was using it to try and get her way, something he suspected she was accustomed to. Annoyingly, he conceded she had a point.

Denver paramedics were aces at what they did, but their skills couldn’t compare to that of an experienced ER doctor’s. But he questioned her motives. For someone who’d initially been about as eager as a gazelle was to cuddle up with a lion, now she wanted to be an active part of his team?

Then it hit him—the image of her in the chapel after the teenager had died. Her grief had been about as real as it got. That boy and others like him were the reason she was doing this. That he could relate to.

Normally, he’d need a half-dozen layers of approval, but there wasn’t time. “I’ll agree to this on one condition, and it’s not negotiable.” He paused to ram home just how not negotiable his condition was. “You stay in the truck. You don’t get out of the vehicle for any reason, unless I tell you to.”

She pursed her lips, glaring at him and telling him what he already knew. Dr. Victoria Sampson didn’t like taking orders, especially not from him. “Fine,” she bit out.

“Then let’s get you geared up.” He tugged out a spare body armor vest from the back of the Interceptor. She’d be swimming in it, but it was better than nothing.

“Is this really necessary?” She eyed the black vest like it was a viper ready to strike. “I thought you said I was staying in the car.”

“It is, and you are. I’m not taking any chances with your safety.” He pulled open the Velcro straps on the vest and held it out to her. “Put this over your head.”

She managed to get the vest over her head but not without snagging her ponytail on one of the Velcro straps. “Ouch.”

“Let me help.” Working swiftly but gently, he freed several strands of silky-smooth hair, all while breathing in her scent and wondering if it was from her shampoo or perfume. Either way, he liked it.

He adjusted the shoulder straps, trying not to look at the graceful curve of her neck or the rapidly beating pulse just below her ear. Big green eyes pinned him, freezing him in place for a second. Pretty eyes, too. “Good?”