Page 8 of K-9 Justice

The transplant scar—doubled in thickness now—prickled with awareness as Carson watched the slow rise and fall of Ivy’s shoulders. Secret exchanges of information, coded messages, slipped documents—they were nothing compared to being with Ivy in person. Feeling her pressed against him, hearing her breathing change as he got close. He’d taken a risk going to that apartment last night. Now, faced with the possibility his cover withinSangre por Sangrehad been blown, Ivy was all he had left.

A stab of regret cut through him. Rising through the cartel’s ranks hadn’t been a singular event or a solitary one. The men and women—the soldiers—he’d fought beside had become friends in a sense. People who considered him one of their own. He’d laughed with them, mourned with them, fought with them.Most of them were dead now, but there were a few who’d gone to ground. If he wanted to find the bastard who’d killed Dr. Piel and the three women before her, he’d need their help.

“It’s rude to stare.” Ivy shifted on the bed, careful not to wake Max. They’d both learned early on how illogical a German shepherd could be when ripped out of her beauty sleep, and they’d paid for it several times in the way of torn clothing and chewed shoes. Neither of them could risk it at this point. The clothes they were wearing were all they had for now. But all Carson could do right then was admire the sunrise coming through the window framing Ivy’s face. “How long were you going to let me sleep?”

“As long as you needed,” he said. “Figured you could use the rest before we decide where to go from here.”

“And by here, you mean using a cartel property as a safe house.” The severity in her expression had drained in sleep, leaving a hint of the woman he remembered before they’d gotten themselves in this mess.

Coming here might not have been the best choice, but they’d made it through the night. He probably wouldn’t have been able to say the same for a Socorro property.Sangre por Sangrehad learned the locations of each and every hideout Ivy’s operatives utilized. Carson didn’t know where upper management had gotten the intel, but he hadn’t been willing to risk putting her in more danger. Not when he’d just gotten her back. Keeping her here—close—was his only option. “Not going to let me live that one down anytime soon, are you?”

“No.” She maneuvered out of bed with nothing short of grace despite her constrictive clothing and the sidearm holstered beneath her blazer. Her blouse had earned a few more wrinkles, almost making her human. She let her hand sweep down Max’s back. “I can’t believe how big she’s gotten. I remember bringing her home the night you came home from the hospital. Neither ofus could even get off the couch after the surgeries, but she didn’t seem to mind. She just wanted to be held, and we all ended up asleep in the living room of your tiny apartment.”

A warmth he’d convinced himself he’d been cut off from a long time ago prodded at his chest. That night had changed everything. Given him a small glimpse of the future he’d do anything to have. With Ivy. Little did either of them know it would be one of their last together. “A lot can change in two years.”

“Yeah.” She seemed to come back to the moment right then. Stiffening. Treating him as though he were a stranger despite her very blood coursing through his veins. “Does this place have coffee?”

“Already brewing.” Carson dipped for the duffel bag at his feet. He tossed it Ivy’s way. She caught it, but he hadn’t expected anything less.

“I’m going to get cleaned up. I think there’s still glass in my bra.” His former partner disappeared into the attached bathroom. Within seconds, the sound of water hitting tile emerged underneath the door, with a thin veil of steam escaping with it.

It would be easy to cross this room, to open that door and reclaim what they had. He’d strip her free of that makeshift armor she presented to the world and join Ivy underneath the water. He’d memorize her body—her taste—all over again and remind himself what he’d been fighting for all this time.

But he wouldn’t.

Max stretched across the bed, rolling to her back. The German shepherd was still half-asleep. As though these four walls could protect them from what was coming. Carson knew better. There was no escaping the cartel. Least of all for him. And he wasn’t going to take Ivy down with him.

He peeled himself away from the bedroom door and forced himself down the hall. Mere weeks had passed since the last time he’d holed up in this compound. Upper management had given him the responsibility of recovering a large fentanyl shipment moved from one of their distribution warehouses during a Socorro raid. Scarlett Beam and her DEA partner had torn the place apart in an attempt to recover the boySangre por Sangrehad abducted to force the DEA agent’s compliance. Billions of dollars in fentanyl had simply disappeared into thin air. No trace. No witnesses. No profit for the cartel.

Carson had made sure of it.

Though a handful of soldiers had paid the price. People he’d gotten to know in this very compound. Through late nights. Rounds of beers. War stories. Family regrets. A hook had caught in him. One that refused to let go. No one else could see it. No one else understood. He’d been tasked to walk a line between two competing worlds, and his loyalties had split over the course of this assignment. His heart and soul had been committed to ending the cartel’s evil influence on innocents, to stopping the destruction they’d caused from the very beginning. But living amongSangre por Sangrehad shown him there were innocents caught on both sides. Family members of soldiers, even some soldiers themselves whose loyalty had been based on fear more than respect. He couldn’t abandon them. Now one of those worlds was on the brink of destruction. What was he supposed to do then?

Carson shoved the memories to the back of his mind as far as they would go at the sound of movement from the hallway. Max’s nails ticked off the tile as she searched for breakfast. “What’ll it be today?”

She gazed up at him with those big black eyes that had seen too much in their short amount of time together. More than a companion should see.

“All right. Pancakes it is.” They were Ivy’s favorite, and since he’d taken the liberty of stocking this place back when he’d been working for the cartel, he was sure they had the ingredients to do it. Carson went through the pantry cupboards surrounding the refrigerator. “Any opinions on toppings?”

“I’m partial to raspberries.” Her voice struck him harder than he expected. As though his entire nervous system had been waiting for a hit of her. Stepping into his peripheral vision, Ivy scrunched a towel into her hair, the ends of which contrasted with her light skin tone across her shoulders and collarbone. She took a seat on the other side of the island. “But I’ll take anything other than a granola bar at this point.”

His breath seemed to catch in his throat. The black tank top and cargo pants weren’t anything special, but they weren’t Ivy. Not the FBI agent and security CEO he’d come to know. The woman across the kitchen from him was the one he’d gotten to know behind closed doors. In the privacy of their homes as they’d figured out how to become more than professionals. More than partners. And he couldn’t help but stare. “You clean up nice.”

“It’s amazing what a toothbrush and a shower can do, isn’t it?” She tossed the towel onto the back of the other bar stool. “There was talk of coffee.”

“Help yourself.” He motioned to the mugs and pot on the counter to his right as he grabbed for the base pancake ingredients. “Sorry to disappoint, but there aren’t any raspberries.”

“I’m not hard to please when it comes to food.” Ivy maneuvered into the kitchen—close enough for him to feel the leftover heat of her shower—and filled two mugs with straight black coffee. The way he’d come to like it given the cartel didn’t spring for sugar and creamer on most jobs. Handing one of the mugs off to him, she seemed to melt at her first sip. “Hunger isthe worst feeling in the world. I’ll do whatever it takes to avoid it most days.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the memories of the few times they’d been caught in the middle of a stakeout without something to eat. He’d never seen a more perfect example of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in those moments. To the point he’d started packing snacks in his vehicle. For her. “I remember.”

A softness filtered across her expression then. “Everything seemed so much easier back then. We took orders, we did our jobs and we went home at night. There wasn’t this…nervousness that followed us around.”

“What do you have to be nervous about?” Making pancakes slipped off his priority list, much to Max’s annoyance as she poked her nose into the side of his leg. But all Carson had attention for was Ivy. For this sudden introspection she seemed to fall into. “You and I are more than equipped to handle anything that comes our way. We’ve proved that a dozen times during our time with the FBI alone.”

“You mean apart from the possibility the cartel could come through those doors at any second and kill us both?” Ivy wrapped both hands around her mug as though it were some kind of life vest. “This feels different.”

“Because we don’t have the resources of the FBI behind us?” he asked. “Or because you think Dr. Piel might’ve been involved withSangre por Sangre?”

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