Chisolm shook his head. “No known weapons. Last seen northbound.”
Gomez gave him a short nod. “Okay. Cover me. And stay close.”
“You bet.”
Gomez turned his attention back to Cert. “Let’s go, boy. Fuss him up. Get that bad guy!”
Cert yelped and lunged forward. Gomez and Chisolm scrambled after him, with Battaglia struggling to keep up.
“Still northbound through the woods,” Chisolm reported to Dispatch. “Nearing Glass.”
“Copy.”
Chisolm kept pace with Gomez and Cert. The black dog was almost invisible in front of him. The only signs of his presence were the sound of his paws scrambling over the dirt and leaves and the deep huffs of his breath. Occasionally, he let out a yearning whine. Chisolm assumed that was to let his handler know he was still hot on the trail. Of course, with the demon dog, it could simply be a desire to catch up to his prey and get his crushing jaws wrapped around it.
The thought didn’t disturb Chisolm at all. In fact, he hoped Cert went straight for the groin.
Battaglia had fallen back too far to be an effective cover officer. Chisolm kept his eyes trained to the left, right and behind of the K-9 handler. During a track, Gomez focused on his dog, reading the reactions to determine what the dog was sensing. That left him vulnerable. Chisolm’s duty was to protect the handler. He kept his flashlight ready, but avoided using it. He didn’t want to back-light Gomez, thereby making him an easy target.
“Baker-126,” Chisolm’s radio crackled. He recognized James Kahn’s gravelly voice. “I’ve got a vehicle that just crossed Post at Glass. Eastbound. You want me to break perimeter and stop it?”
Gomez reined up with Cert. He turned to Chisolm. “It’s your call,” he said, barely breathing heavy. “But I’ve got a strong scent here.”
Chisolm considered. If Tower was right and the guy lived in the area, the odds were that he’d try to run home. If that were the case, the dog would track directly to his front door. And if the perimeter managed to hem in the suspect, breaking that perimeter now would risk giving him an opening to escape through.
He raised the radio to his mouth. “Negative,” he said. “Hold perimeter.”
Gomez gave him a nod in agreement.
“Copy,” Kahn replied. “But if you’ve got any mobile units, have them check east of Post. There’s not a lot of vehicle traffic out tonight.”
“Baker-127,” came Officer Hiero’s voice. “I got that, from Ruby and Sharp.”
“That’ll work,” Chisolm said, slipping his radio back into the holder on his belt.
Cert whined impatiently.
“Let’s go,” Gomez said. “Get him, boy!”
2301` hours
“I don’t need to go in an ambulance,” Katie argued, her words slightly groggy.
Tower shook his head. “It’s the medics’ call, MacLeod.”
“Then I’ll refuse and they can A-M-A it.”
“You can’t invoke Against Medical Advice when you’re on duty,” Tower lied. “Just take the ride.”
Katie’s jaw set, followed by a wince. Tears formed in her eyes, though Tower couldn’t tell if they were the result of pain, anger or perhaps embarrassment. Maybe some of all of them, he decided, and reached out to touch her hand.
“It’ll be all right,” he said in low voice that he hoped no one else besides the medics could hear.
Katie didn’t answer, but after a moment she nodded in acquiescence.
Without hesitation, the medics raised the gurney and slid her into the ambulance. One medic crawled in after her while the second slammed the door behind them. The second medic turned to head toward the driver’s door.
Tower grabbed his sleeve. “Which hospital?”
“Sacred Heart,” the man answered.
Tower glanced down at his nametag. It read A. Hoagland.
“Is she going to be all right, Hoagland?” Tower asked.
Hoagland gave him a neutral look. “She took some heavy blows to the head. I think she has a concussion at the very least. They’ll do some tests on her up at the hospital to see if she sustained any injuries more serious than that.”
“But she’ll be okay?”
Hoagland bit his lip. “It’s hard to say with head injuries, but she’s coherent now, so that’s a good sign.”
Tower clenched his jaw. “That doesn’t sound too promising.”
Hoagland reached down and removed Tower’s grasp from his sleeve. “Head injuries are tricky, but she looks good right now.” He put his hand on Tower’s shoulder. “She looks like a fighter to me. I think she’ll be all right.”
Tower nodded.
“I’ve got to get her transported,” Hoagland said. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and hurried to the driver’s door. Within another moment, the ambulance’s engine fired to life and it lumbered forward. Tower watched the flashing lights atop the large, white box approached Post, slow, then turned right and disappear down the hill.
2303 hours
Chisolm followed Gomez and Cert out of the bushes and onto the sidewalk. His uniform was soaking wet, but he ignored the chill. Cert charged eastward along the sidewalk. Gomez loped along behind him while Chisolm sprinted to keep up.
About twenty yards from the intersection, Cert stopped. He dropped his nose lower toward the ground, sniffing urgently. Chisolm stopped and drew in deep breaths while he waited. The street was clear of foot traffic. There were no cars. He glanced over his shoulder. There was a single house up the street without any exterior lighting. Other than that, all was clear.
The dog seemed to be wandering in a large circle, searching for scent. He whined again, but even Chisolm could hear that the sound was now frustration, not eagerness. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach.
Gomez didn’t give up. He worked Cert up and down the sidewalk on both sides of the street for several minutes, trying to pick up the scent. They always returned to the same point on the sidewalk, where the dog finally sat down and let out an angry, mournful howl.
“Shit,” Chisolm finally muttered.
Gomez sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “He must have jumped in a car, Tom. That’s the only thing I can figure happened.”
“Shit,” Chisolm repeated. He realized that meant the car that Kahn had seen was probably the suspect. He raised the radio to his lips. “Secure the perimeter,” he said.
“Copy,” the dispatcher replied. “Secure the perimeter.”
The two men stood on the wet sidewalk, brooding. Cert whined, his tone suggesting that he commiserated.
We almost had him. The thought throbbed in Chisolm’s skull. We almost had him and it’s my fault he got away.
Gomez knelt next to Cert and rubbed the dog’s head. “You did a good job, boy,” he whispered. “It’s not your fault.”
“Shit,” Chisolm said a third time. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
2304 hours
At first, he’d fought the terrain, blasting through the bushes and bouncing off the trees. The water from the bushes he forced his way through soaked his clothes to the skin. That coldness jarred him enough. He put aside the absolute ecstasy that hummed through his body and tamped down the rage that was seething and bubbling beneath it. Instead, he focused on his escape.
Instead of blindly running, he dodged and slipped around trees and bushes. That sped up his progress considerably. When the hillside steepened, he leaned forward for balance, even using his hands to pull himself along.
He kept his ears piqued for the sound of pursuit, but for some reason it fell off almost right away. Had he outrun them? Outrun the police? That surprised him, but it made him smile in spite of the cold and the darkness around him.
He hurried forward.
He burst out the bushes and onto the street near his car. Without hesitation, he sprinted to the car, got in and started the engine. Then he sat for a moment, thinking.