Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (75 page)

CHAPTER 2

“AC
One to dispatch,” Tony Parker called over the microphone as he picked up speed and switched on his emergency lights.

“Dispatcher,” a female voice answered. “Go ahead, Mr. Parker.”

“Good morning, Janet. Just checking in. I’m proceeding to the call in Sand Creek.”

“Ten-four, AC One. Be advised AC Four is also proceeding to the scene and has requested you meet at Fifty-third and Meridian to ride together.”

Sarah! What’s that little vixen going to do to try to fluster me this time?

Parker grinned. “All right, Janet. Thanks. AC One out.”

Sarah Hill had become Tony Parker’s right hand over the last year and a half since she’d come on board as one of Sedgwick County’s fourteen animal control officers. Just out of college with a zoology degree, she was sharp and great with animals. She didn’t need to be told what to do. She and Tony worked well together and shared some sort of chemistry.

He loved Julie deeply and had since high school. He needed her. She was a solid place to go when he needed strength. He depended upon her to be there
always
to listen to his complaints about the world and to defend him blindly when he found himself against the odds. But the passion seemed to be growing stale, withering. Their sex life had become too predictable, ordinary, expected, like the old weekly bath, taken every Saturday night whether needed or not.

Sarah was fresh and different, exciting and youthful. She made Parker feel young when she teased and flirted with him. To imagine he could have her at the snap of a finger excited him. Yet, he knew nothing would ever happen. It gave him a sense of security in his married life, a feeling he could never have if he were to have an affair. After all, he spent all of his off time with his family, and the only occasions he was with Sarah, they were busy working.

*-*-*

Sarah Hill sat parked and waiting in her baby blue Ford van at the convenience store on the corner of Fifty-third and Meridian Streets. Parker pulled in alongside, and Hill hopped out of her animal-control van, purse in hand, and trotted over to the Jimmy’s passenger side.

Parker watched as she passed by the front of the Jimmy. He stared at her features: the long, soft, light-blonde hair tucked under the dark-blue Sedgwick County Animal Control cap; the tanned face, pudding smooth with delicate features; the large, vibrant-blue eyes; the generous breasts jiggling under the light-blue blouse as she trotted; the slim but nicely rounded butt poured into dark-blue slacks— the perfect definition of
tight ass
. She had a body that looked great, even hidden in the two-tone blue uniform that must have been tailor fit—none of the other women officers modeled theirs so well.

She jumped in.

“Hi, handsome,” Sarah Hill said in her perky voice. “How about giving a girl a ride?”

“Morning, Sarah,” he said, as he thought,
You’re as unbelievably beautiful as always
.

Parker pulled onto the gravel road and headed north toward Sand Creek.

“Skunk, huh?” Hill wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather take on a bear. It takes forever to get rid of that nasty smell.”

“Yeah, and they’ve really been bad this season. Still better than dealing with the average human, though. Ninety-nine percent are assholes. But animals are different. They aren’t naturally corrupt like people. They’re kind of innocent.”

“Well, you’re in a warm and fuzzy mood this morning. But that’s what I like about you, Tone.” Sarah Hill smiled. “You and I think a lot alike. We have the same passion for animals. Not so much of a passion for our
fellow man
though.”

Parker nodded. “It’s the masters who are the problem, not the pets. Most people don’t understand that about us
heartless
dogcatchers. They think we enjoy chasing and putting down their beloved but neglected pets. They let them run loose only to get run over or poisoned. They abandon them to become a nuisance and eventually starve. They train them to be vicious, causing people to misunderstand and fear them. They don’t get them the proper vaccinations, so their animals get infections and diseases. They don’t spay or neuter them, so their pets give birth to more deprived and unwanted animals. The average animal owner is as irresponsible with their pets as they are with themselves.”

Hill chuckled. “Wow, we’re getting deep. It’s too early in the morning to think this serious. By the way, I liked your letter to the editor.”

“Oh, you saw it? Thanks.”
At least someone appreciated it
.

Sarah Hill’s attention went to her hands. “Ah man! My hands look like hell.” She opened her purse and took out a tube of lotion. “The damned apartment manager still hasn’t gotten anybody to fix my frickin’ dishwasher.” She popped the lid back, squirted out a generous amount and began rubbing her hands together.

She glanced over at Parker’s hands on the steering wheel. “Damn, Tone, talk about lobster hands.”

“What?” Parker said. “They’re not so bad.”

“Let me see.” Hill pried his right hand from the wheel. “Relax, loosen up. I’m not going to bite you—yet.”

Parker frowned at her.

“What you need is some of this organic hand lotion. It has aloe in it. Great stuff.”

She began rubbing the lotion into his hand. It smelled sweet, like fresh, sliced peaches. It felt nice, sensual somehow. He liked it, but he shouldn’t. He was a married man. Having his hand rubbed by a beautiful young woman seemed a little adulterous—maybe.

Hill grinned. “Nothing like a good, old fashion hand job, huh Tone?”

“Sarah!” Parker said in the same tone he used to tell Nicholas not to be naughty.

She paid no attention. “You have such big, strong hands. Big— long fingers.” Sarah rubbed firmly. She rubbed and massaged his hand. Each finger, one at a time. Rubbing the slick warm lotion into his skin. Each finger, rubbing, massaging, squeezing. Rubbing back and forth, up and down, massaging, squeezing, milking each finger with both hands.

“Okay, I think that one’s done.” She helped to put his now limp hand back on the wheel as if it had become disabled.

“Sarah,” Parker started again, “I don’t think you ought to do this.”

“Sheesh, Tone, lighten up,” Hill said in her playful voice. “Does Julie have that short a leash on you? I mean, it’s not like you’re banging me on the hood of the truck or something.”

What an idea!
Parker thought.

“Come on, hand it over,” She insisted. “You can’t go around with one soft hand and one like an armadillo paw.”

That was reasonable. Besides, it did feel very good. Parker frowned but brought his left hand across slowly. Hill squirted out more lotion and massaged it in.

“Mmmm,” she said. “Now tell the truth. Doesn’t that feel good?”

Parker shrugged. Admitting it would make him responsible for what was happening.

“This lotion is all natural, you know. You can use it on other parts of your body, too—anywhere. And it’s edible.” She smiled up at Parker, scooting closer while putting everything into rubbing the slick lotion into his hand.

“Sarah, I’m a happily married man,” Parker objected. “A wife and two kids. Hell, I’m old enough to be your father. Well, almost.”

Massaging, rubbing, squeezing. “Relax, sweetheart. All I’m doing is putting lotion on your hand,” she said softly. “You act like I’m getting to you. Like I’m trying to talk you into something you
want
to do.”

Parker sighed, frustrated for words.

“All right, Tony, I’ll confess. I am after you. But, if you didn’t like it, you could have stopped me a long time ago—months ago, couldn’t you? Come on now, tell the truth.” She grinned again.

“Why me, Sarah?”

“Like I said, we have the same passion for the underdog. Besides, I’m attracted to you. You aren’t a bad lookin’ man, Tony Parker. And that little bit of gray sprinkled on your sideburns doesn’t say ‘old man’ to me. It says ‘experienced.’”

Gray? Is it that noticeable? Old man?

She massaged, rubbed, squeezed, milked—masturbated every finger. Her touch was firm, yet tender, and she was very good with it.

“Such big, strong hands.” She smiled up at Parker and then drew her face near his hand with lips parted.

Parker’s jaw dropped and he stared.
No! She’s not going to . . . !

Hill kissed the end of Parker’s middle finger. She licked it slowly up and down.

He couldn’t speak.

She took his finger into her warm, moist mouth, drawing it slowly up past the second knuckle. She began sucking and moving her tongue around it.

Lord! Can a man have an orgasm from having his finger sucked?

An air horn blasted.

Parker looked up to see the front grill of a Mack cement mixer. He’d crossed over into its path.

“Damn!” He slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the right as far as he could with his free but slick right hand.

Hill was thrown forward, and he felt a sharp pain on the end of his middle finger as he pulled his hand back to gain control of the steering wheel. The Jimmy swerved and started down into the ditch as the big cement truck raced by. He pulled it back onto the road, and it bounced and slid to a stop sideways to the roadway, gravel flying.

Parker sat staring out blankly. Hill did the same momentarily but broke the silence with a giggle.

“Damn, Tone, was it good for you?”

“Please, don’t ever do that again while I’m driving.”

“Hmmm, maybe later then—at my apartment?”

“Sarah, you know what I mean.”

“Uh-huh, and you know what I mean.”

It took a moment for Parker to regain his composure and resume driving. Within a couple of minutes, they could see the small grain elevator that was the landmark for Sand Creek.

“All right,” he said, “you get the net, and I’ll get the gunny sack. If I can, I’ll try to put the little critter in the sack first thing and avoid getting us sprayed too much.”

“Okay, Tone. You don’t want me to bring the rifle, just in case?”

“No, I doubt if we’ll need it.”

“Are you like
afraid
of guns or something? I mean, you keep one in the truck—I’m guessing because it’s mandatory—but I never see you get it out, no matter what’s going on. Like last week on that cougar call. I’ve never seen you even look at a gun.”

Parker was slow to answer. “I had a bad experience once. Vietnam. I shot someone.”

“You mean the enemy?”

“That’s what they told us.”

“That was war, Tony. From what I heard, there was a lot of shooting going on.”

“War? They told us it was a
police action
.”

“Did you kill him?”

Parker gazed out the windshield. “Yeah.”

C
HAPTER 3

“O
ver here, over here!” An excited man in overalls did jumping jacks sideways around the corner of the white, two-story farmhouse. His left cheek bulged, full of chewing tobacco. His bare, meaty shoulders and back were bronzed from the sun, and they shone with perspiration.

“Oh, relax Eldon, that varmint ain’t goin’ nowhere,” a tall, big boned woman in blue jeans and a crisp, white short-sleeved blouse said, waving him down. “You always get so darned excited.” She turned to Parker and Hill as they parked. “We’re the Bumfields—the ones that called. That’s Eldon,” she said nodding to the animated man. “I’m Pearl.”

Parker jogged around to the back of the truck, grinned at Pearl Bumfield and yanked open the back window and tailgate. “Tony Parker, ma’am. That’s Sarah Hill.” He pulled out the five-foot-long aluminum-handled net and tossed it to Hill.

“Don’t get too close, Mr. Bumfield,” Parker said, trotting over to the man. He carried a gunnysack in his left hand and wore a thick, padded-leather glove on the other. Hill followed two steps back, holding the net with both hands.

“He’s in the garage,” Bumfield said, hanging onto his straw hat with a green visor built into the brim. “I trapped him in there when he came at me. Scared the hell out of me. He’s the biggest, meanest one I ever seen!”

“You folks stay back,” Parker said, approaching the weathered-gray, single-car garage. His blue, short-sleeved uniform shirt showed evidence of the already sizzling morning temperature by the large dark spots under each arm. His brown leather cowboy boots kicked up a gray dust as he hustled up the dirt driveway, and the gusty wind blew the dust cloud away as soon as it rose.

Parker stepped to the double, side-hinged doors, taking care not to make any noise that might alert the animal. Hill stayed just behind and to his side, watching close for signals. The old wood frame creaked in the gusty north wind that had already forced it to lean precariously after decades of resisting its constant attack. Parker tried to peek into the unlit garage through the crack between the doors but could see nothing. He turned his head to the side and tried to hear the thing he stalked, but still there was nothing.

Parker fumbled with the large bolt fit tightly into the rusty hasp on the doors. His gloved right hand made it doubly difficult, but the bolt finally pulled free, rasping loudly against the steel latch. He let it drop to the ground and slowly pulled the left door open by the hasp.

The cool air was welcome on his face as he looked over the dark room. A greasy, dusty smell filled the dilapidated shack. Then a different scent hit him, a rank odor invading his nostrils, pungent and strong. Parker held his breath and gulped.

The garage was small and had an earth floor. Buckets full of rusted metal pieces cluttered the ground. Broken shelves hung along the walls, laden with fruit jars filled with nuts and bolts and other miscellaneous parts. A half-assembled, antique tractor engine sat in the far corner.

“Are you sure he didn’t get away?” Parker asked, with some disappointment.

“Naw, he’s in there,” Bumfield answered and then spat out some of the brown juice.

“
Grak-ak-ak-ak!
” came a strange snarl from behind the tractor engine, and suddenly, a gym-bag-sized blur of black and white torpedoed toward the doorway.

Hill stepped up and swatted the net down on the angry creature, catching it ineffectively by its hindquarters. She attempted to pin it, but it slipped loose and darted to Parker.

He reached down with his leather glove and snatched it up before it had a chance to do harm. The skunk struggled frantically, clawing and biting at the glove, drooling saliva as he held it by its neck.

“It’s okay, I got him,” Parker called out, holding the skunk up high with the gunnysack underneath.

“Get him in the bag!” Hill said, dropping the net and grabbing the gunnysack with both hands.

Loud, vicious barking erupted, and a large yellow and gray dog appeared from nowhere and jumped at the skunk.

Parker stepped back, startled. His grip loosened, and the skunk took advantage of the opportunity. It struggled free and dropped to Parker’s side then scampered like a squirrel up his chest to the side of his throat. Its sharp, omnivorous teeth punctured deep into the base of his neck just under his collar, and it shook its head savagely, setting a firm grip.

“Jeez-huss!” Parker cried out.

“Dawg, get back!” Bumfield yelled, running at the dog with a garden rake raised above his head. “Damn fool dog, get out of here!”

Parker pulled the skunk loose, its teeth tearing away from deep into his flesh, leaving a half-inch hole. Blood immediately leaked from his neck and under his shirt, seeping through the fabric. He dropped the furious beast into the sack, and Hill hurried to tie it shut as Parker applied pressure to the wound with his gloved hand.

“Oh, for goodness sake! Are you all right?” Mrs. Bumfield cried, running to Parker.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said, still wincing.

“Damn Dawg! Sometimes, I just think we oughta get rid of him,” she said. “Come on in the house, and we’ll get that cleaned up.” Then, insistently, she said, “Come on, now.”

“All right, sure,” Tony said and began to follow the woman, who was scurrying in front of him. Eldon Bumfield threw his rake down, missing the big dog by a couple of feet. He kicked at the air in front of the animal’s snout. Dawg briefly romped as if in play and then trotted around the corner of the house as Bumfield took Parker by the arm to assist him.

Sarah Hill sprinted across the yard and yelled back, “I’ll put this little bastard in the truck and be right in, Tony.”

Oh, great,
Parker thought.
Now there’ll be an ER visit and lots of paperwork.

*-*-*

Tony Parker sat in an overstuffed, forest-green corduroy chair in the Bumfields’ living room with a wet washcloth pressed against his neck. He leaned over a wash pan half full of pink water on the coffee table in front of him. Sarah Hill stooped at his right side with her hands on her knees and concern in her face.

Parker looked around the room. It reminded him of his long deceased grandmother’s house from when he used to visit her as a young boy. Garage-sale-type items, cookie jars, colored glass and pottery pieces filled the lamp stands and shelves along the walls. Newspapers and magazines cluttered the corners in loose stacks. A tapestry depicting a bunch of dogs playing poker hung crooked on the far wall. One dog was passing an ace to another under the table with his toes.

Mrs. Bumfield reached over and gently pulled the washcloth and Parker’s hand away from the wound.

“I think it’s quit bleeding enough to put the bandage on now,” she said. “You’d better go straight to the emergency room. Just send us the bill.”

“Oh, it’s all right. Don’t worry about it,” Parker assured her.

“Don’t worry about it?” Mr. Bumfield blurted. “Son, that critter was mad as a hatter.”

“No, I’m okay. The state requires all the animal control officers to be vaccinated for just about everything. But
you
need to be careful. Keep a good eye out for any animals acting strange—that’s including your dog. If the skunk was diseased, it could have infected others.”

As Mrs. Bumfield applied a gauze patch with white tape to Parker’s neck, a girl about four years old peeked around the doorway. She clutched a small, homemade Raggedy Ann-type doll. The little girl’s large dark eyes gazed up from her bowed face. Stubby pigtails made from dark brown hair stuck out high on her head, and she wore a brick-red dress noticeably similar to that of the doll’s. Her wide smile stretched her lips thin and caused deep dimples on her chubby, freckled cheeks as she twisted her body back and forth nervously.

“Well, hi there, cutie,” Tony Parker said, smiling back.

“Tony, this is our granddaughter, Tricia,” Mr. Bumfield said. “She’s staying with us until her mama gets settled in with a new job out in Denver. Her mama’s just divorced—you know how it is. But—ain’t she a doll?”

Tricia leaned back against her grandfather and took forced, choppy steps as he coaxed her closer.

“Hi, Tricia. I’m Tony.”

Her thin-lipped smile stayed as she squeaked, “Did the skunk bite you?”

Parker grinned. “Just a little scratch, sweetheart.”

Hill chuckled. “I think you’ve got yourself a girlfriend, Tone.”

“You’ve got a pretty doll, Tricia,” Parker said.

Tricia raised the doll up under her chin. “Grammy made it for me. Her name’s Raggedy A-yun.”

Mrs. Bumfield smoothed down a last strip of white tape. She finished up the dressing by kissing her hand and patting it lightly on the bandage. “There, good as new, Tony.”

Parker took one of the doll’s small hands and shook it. “Glad to meet you, Raggedy Ann. And it’s been a real privilege meeting you, Tricia.” He gently brushed her pretty little cheek with the back of his index finger and then looked up at her grandmother. “Thanks, Mrs. Bumfield. You’re good folks.”

He stood and pulled a business card from his pocket. He placed it next to the phone on a small table.

“Be sure to call me if you need anything. My home number’s written on the card below the office number.”

The Bumfields accompanied Parker and Hill out the door and down the porch steps.

“Oh no, not again,” Mrs. Bumfield said, as they walked to the truck.

Parker and Hill turned and Parker feared the worst.

“Can I ask you to help with one more thing, Tony?” she said, looking up into a large elm tree in the front yard.

“Sure, if I can,” Parker said, stepping back, trying to trace her sight.

“Little Pussy’s stuck up in the tree—poor little thing. Dawg probably scared her up there again. This time, she’s way high.”

Parker looked up to a branch more than twenty feet above. He saw the little gray kitten looking down at them with big, round eyes.

It pleaded, mewing softly.

Mrs. Bumfield stood looking into the elm with her hands on her hips. “I can’t climb trees none too good, and Eldon, he’s too darned fat.”

Mr. Bumfield chuckled. “Hey, watch it there, woman.”

“Shush, Eldon. This is serious. Tricia’s grown real attached to that kitten.”

“No problem, Mrs. Bumfield. I’ll get her.”

Parker hadn’t climbed a tree in years but managed without incident. As they left Sand Creek, a report came in of a buck dear trapped in an east Wichita backyard. They responded, and it took more than two hours to deal with the animal, sedate it and haul it back out to the county to be released. The rest of the day was a jumble of paperwork, stray cats and the rescue of a squirrel that had fallen down a sewer vent pipe and then climbed out of a newlywed couple’s toilet. There seemed no time to visit the emergency room about a simple little bite. Besides, he was confident in his inoculation, and he’d hardly noticed the injury since the morning.

Completely exhausted, Parker got ready for bed early that night with something Sarah Hill had asked on his mind. “Have you had your serum level checked lately?” she’d asked during the drive back to town. He had, three months ago. It was good. Rabies antibody count had been high, as it was supposed to be.

Parker looked over to Julie as he walked into the bedroom from the bath. She lay in the king-sized waterbed, studying a
Good Housekeeping
magazine. She’d probably found a new dessert recipe she would try out soon, or maybe she was reading some clever gardening tips.
God, she’s a great wife
. He sighed and nodded in affirmation of his thoughts. Julie glanced to him with a grin, but soon a look of concern came over her face.

She asked, “How’s the bite, sweetheart?”

“Except for the bandage,” he said, touching the wound lightly, “I wouldn’t even know it was there.”

“The ER doctor didn’t think you’d have any problems—didn’t give you a prescription?”

Parker lied. “Nope. Said it’d be as good as new in a couple of days.” Julie worried way too much. He wouldn’t tell her he hadn’t gone to the emergency room. Why have her bothered by such a little thing, now?

“You go to Via Christi? Who was the doctor? Maybe I know him.”

“Uh, new guy,” he said. “Some kid, really. But he seemed sharp. I can’t even remember his name.”

“Hmm,” Julie said.

Parker couldn’t tell if she was acknowledging what he’d said or she was skeptical. She went back to her magazine.

Parker went to a roll-top desk opposite the bed. He shuffled through various manila folders in the file drawer, pulled out a jacketed, typed report and rolled into bed beside her.

Rabies in Humans
was typed on the cover. He opened the old thesis he’d written in his veterinary school days and began leafing through.

One sentence stuck out:
Only around forty percent of those bitten by rabid animals actually develop rabies when left untreated, if they were not previously inoculated
. Sure, there was a risk, but he’d had the pre-exposure vaccine, even though it was thought to be only eighty percent effective. Figuring it in his head, he came up with the probability: he had an eight in one hundred chance of getting rabies even if the animal was rabid. It was so slim, minute, extremely unlikely. Those were like lottery odds. He’d never won the lottery. He wouldn’t get rabies.