One Lucky Hero (14 page)

Of course, Dean would have to be blind not to compare Casey to Violet and her own defense mechanisms. After she'd thrown him out last night, he'd driven around for a while before going home, seething. It wasn't right that she carried this burden alone.

If only they realized Dean really did want to help Casey, and not just because he was Violet's little brother, although he couldn't deny that was part of it. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her wide, tear-filled eyes. The worry and pain written all over her face had made him want to ignore her wishes and stay.

But Casey, too, had been getting to him, especially in those brief moments when he brightened. Like when Apollo accomplished another command and Casey slipped to his knees to give him a hug and a biscuit or two.

Moments like that showed Dean who Casey was beneath all the anger and distrust, and Dean wanted to erase all the bad for him. To look after the three of them, Daisy, Casey, and, of course, Violet, and keep them safe.

But if he pursued Violet, it would mean taking on all her problems as his own. And despite the fact that she'd been surviving for ten years taking care of two kids when she was basically a kid herself, she was struggling, that much he could see. Did he want to take that on, knowing he wouldn't be staying?

News flash, hotshot, what makes you think she wants you to? She's made it pretty clear she isn't interested in you.

Except her kisses said otherwise.

At the time, she'd made him so frustrated and furious that it had been a choice between kissing her and shaking her, and he'd chosen the former. And man, what a kiss. He'd been so caught up in her that when Best had knocked, he'd almost told him to fuck off. It had only been the brief flicker of panic in Violet's eyes that had told him not to push for more.

He wanted more from her, though. It wasn't fair or right, but he would never stop craving her if he kept denying what was between them.

God, what a selfish bastard he was. His life had been good, filled with stable, loving parents and a supportive extended family, while she had needed to grow up way too fast just to compensate. She'd told him she didn't have anything left for him, but at this point, he'd take anything from her. Even if it was just her friendship.

Not that she'd ever believe him, though, especially when he mauled her in visiting rooms.

What Dean needed was an olive branch. Something to show her that he could be trusted. That he could be her friend.

Suddenly, an idea struck him, and Dean picked up the phone, dialing.

“This is Sergeant Kline.”

“I was thinking about taking a group out a week from Saturday for a community service project. You in?”

“Sure, what's the project?”

“Home improvement. Let's recruit ten of the kids who have been here awhile and want to earn some extra privileges. I figure we'll leave about oh six hundred and be back by lunch.”

“Sounds good, I'll enlist the volunteers and let the parents know. What about their dogs?”

Dean grinned. “Best is working Saturday. I'm sure he won't mind ten extra dogs.”

Ten Days Later

O
N
F
RIDAY AFTERNOON
, Violet carried two mugs of coffee into the living room—one for her and one for Mrs. Paulson from Child Protective Services. When Violet had called her back to set up the appointment, she'd wanted to push it off until after Daisy was at Oregon State U and Casey was home, but Mrs. Paulson had insisted on sooner. Violet had given up her afternoon shift to work six until two in the morning, which meant better tips, but she hated getting home so late and leaving Daisy alone.

Technically, she's an adult now, and once she's a full state away, she's going to be on her own anyway.

Which was actually rather terrifying, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Just like there was nothing she could do but deal with Mrs. Paulson head-on. She seemed nice enough; probably midforties with short brown hair and a brown pantsuit. Her eyes seemed a little tired behind her wire-framed glasses, and she smiled as Violet handed her the mug of coffee.

“Thank you. I really shouldn't have another cup, but I have hours to go and not a lot of gas left in my tank.” Mrs. Paulson laughed at her own joke, and Violet smiled politely.

“I can imagine.”

Mrs. Paulson took a sip from her mug and hummed in approval. “Perfect.” She set down her mug and pulled out a relatively thick file. Violet saw Casey's name on it just before Mrs. Paulson opened it wide and licked her finger to thumb the pages apart. When she finally reached a blank one, she pulled out a pen and looked up at Violet expectantly. “Should we get started, then? As you can imagine, we have some concerns regarding Casey's troubles over the last year. I've gathered reports that he's been picked up by the police several times but received only warnings. Has something changed in the home?”

“No, nothing.” Violet had learned early on that the less she said in these situations the better, especially with her tendency to ramble.

“Has Casey confided in you about any bullying at school?”

No, he hadn't confided in her, not really, but Violet had gone by his school after his arrest and talked to them about the boys who had attacked Casey. After a bit of a fit on her part, they had called the boys and their parents in for a meeting. Violet had agreed not to press charges with the police, who had taken photographs of all Casey's injuries on intake, as long as the boys received some kind of punishment at school. They had all agreed, including the principal.

“There were some boys that he was having trouble with, but I arranged to meet with their parents at school, with their principal moderating. And Casey is seeing a counselor at Alpha Dog.” Violet didn't want to bring up the alleged abuse, especially when Casey hadn't been ready to talk to her about it.

“I see.” Mrs. Paulson took another sip of her coffee and waited a beat before the real interview began. The woman asked her everything from what her hours at work were to how long Casey was alone in the house and how many guests they had during the week. Violet didn't bring up the fact that at nearly fourteen, Casey could technically be his own babysitter, but instead just answered the barrage of questions shot at her, one after another.

And then, Mrs. Paulson asked, “Do you ever speak with your father?”

Violet stiffened, a wave of emotions crashing over her. “No. Not since he left three years ago.”

“I see here that you own a handgun. How is it stored?”

Still shaken from the mention of her dad, Violet's voice wavered. “Unloaded in a safe in my room.”

Mrs. Paulson stared at her, suspicion lurking in her blue eyes. “Do you mind leading me to it, so I can double-check?”

“No, of course not.” Violet stood up and headed back into her bedroom. Opening the closet, she punched in the combination.

“Does anyone else, primarily Casey, have access to the code?” Mrs. Paulson asked behind her.

“No.” Violet stood up and stepped back while Mrs. Paulson squatted down in her place. As she inspected the gun, Violet waited patiently. She'd been up-front with CPS three years ago about the gun, and because she had gone through all the proper channels, taken safety courses, and kept it locked up tight, they hadn't objected.

Mrs. Paulson closed the safe and stood, her lips pinched thinly. “Although the gun is stored correctly, I just want to warn you that having a gun in the house with a child, especially a teenager, is dangerous.”

It wasn't the first time someone had said something similar to her. “I understand all the risks and take every precaution.” Violet wasn't about to tell her that she took Casey shooting and had shown him the proper way to handle the gun, even though she believed that it was the right move for them. Ever since she'd pulled the gun on her dad, she'd been worried that Casey was secretly scared of her or at least afraid of the weapon. She'd thought that if she showed him how to use it properly and helped him get comfortable with it, his nightmares might stop.

Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do to change the fact that his father had attacked him.

Mrs. Paulson walked out of the room with Violet close behind. As she made notes in Casey's file, Violet sat down, trying hard not to worry at her nails as she waited.

Finally, Mrs. Paulson closed the folder and held her hands together. “Well, that's all I need for now. I'm going to stop into Alpha Dog to speak with Casey, but at this time, I don't have any concerns. Very few young women would take on the care of their siblings. You are to be commended.”

Violet hated being praised for doing what she thought was right but kept her mouth shut. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Paulson finished off the rest of her coffee and stood. Violet showed her out, and the minute the door closed, the tight coil in Violet's chest loosened. She had been dreading the meeting all week, worried that Mrs. Paulson would find something that would make her uneasy and worth challenging Violet's guardianship. Violet was beating herself up already worrying about how Casey was doing with the counselor; she'd been by every day this week, and he still wouldn't see her. It hurt, badly, but she had to remind herself that whatever had happened to him, Casey was suffering, too.

A
SHARP RAPPING
sound erupted, startling Dean awake. As his head came flying off his desk, he realized he'd fallen asleep at work again. It was the third time this week, and he was running his hands over his face, trying to wake up when Martinez walked in.

Dean could tell by his friend's face that he knew what Dean had been doing.

“Dude, I don't mean to overstep—”

“So don't,” Dean growled. Climbing to his feet, he walked over to his mini fridge and grabbed an energy drink.

“But I'm going to anyway. I know you don't want to talk about what went on over there, but you should at least get that shrink of yours to prescribe you something to help you sleep. Otherwise, you're going to get worn down, and you know what can happen if you let this go too far.”

“I don't need drugs.” Dean chugged until the can was empty and crushed it with one hand. “I'm fine.”

“You aren't fine, man. You forget, I've known you since you first got back and we were in group together. As long as you keep denying that you need help, you'll continue to hit a brick wall. If you want to get back to active duty, you're going to have to open up.”

Dean leaned on his desk with his head down, closing his eyes against the pounding headache that was exploding through his brain.

Martinez, Best, Kline, and he had all been in group therapy together. They also had all been lucky to end up at Alpha Dog, especially after they had bonded over their lack of sharing in group. They had always supported each other and believed that their issues were no one's business but theirs.

Only Dean had made the mistake of telling Martinez about his nightmares, and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

“I'm just having a bad week, is all,” Dean said.

“Does it have anything to do with Casey Douglas's sister?” Martinez asked.

If Dean was going for honesty, he would have said yes, but he didn't want the guys talking more than they already were. Whoever said men didn't gossip was full of shit.

“No, just having a rough time. And I don't know what Best told you, but nothing was ever really going on with her.”

“Really? Then why are you and Kline taking some kids over to her house for community service?”

Martinez watched him expectantly, but Dean was ready for his question. “We're doing it as an olive branch for Casey. The kid has had it rough, and I figured this would be a nice way to get into his good graces.” Dean wasn't going to mention that the branch was being extended to Violet, too.

“If you don't want to tell me about her, that's fine, but I am serious about you getting some help. What if you're driving down the road and fall asleep? Or you stay awake for so long that sleep deprivation makes you hallucinate? You might lose more than your chance to get back into action if you aren't careful.”

“I'll go to bed early tonight. Really, you have nothing to worry about.”

Martinez gave him a doubtful look, then shrugged. “Fine. The main reason I came in here was to let you know that we've got a new intake coming in this afternoon, and Best has gone off to temperament test a few dogs one of the shelters called about. And Megan is waiting in the lobby for her interview.”

Megan Bryce was Martinez's girlfriend's best friend and had come through for Alpha Dog a few months ago when one of the trainers couldn't be at their big charity auction. They'd been putting feelers out for more trainers, and Martinez had suggested giving Megan a shot. Although she wasn't active military, she'd served six years before her knee injury and had the experience and knowledge to help them out.

“You can send her in.” Dean's phone rang, and as Martinez walked out the door, Dean picked up. “Alpha Dog Training Program, Sergeant Sparks.”

“Sparks, this is General Reynolds. How are things going over there?”

The general was in charge of everything and everyone on the base, and Dean knew from having watched Martinez get the shaft from him a few months ago not to be anything but polite. “Everything is going well, sir.”

“That's great.”

For the next several minutes, the general rattled off his weekly list of questions, and Dean answered them dutifully, from how many kids they had taken in to when they would be holding a demonstration for the dog's abilities.

And then, the general surprised him with a boatload of praise.

“You know how important this program is, especially to the community. I know that you want to get back into the field, but I wanted to extend my gratitude for the job you've undertaken. I have heard nothing but praise about you and your staff. Let's hope it continues to grow and do well.”

“Thank you, sir. And yes, I do want to get back to doing my job—”

“Until your psychiatrist gives you the green light, I'm afraid this is your job.” The general's tone wasn't harsh, only firm, and Dean's jaw clenched in frustration. He was so sick of being powerless.

“Well, I'll let you get back to work. Keep me updated, Sergeant Sparks.” The general hung up, and Dean groaned loudly, wishing for something to hit.

Even if it's not what you would have chosen, he's right. This is your life, and you have a job to do.