6. Dawson

Dawson wiped the sweat from his brow and went straight back to taking notes. Barry Denson was talking a mile a minute while pointing to the back entrance of his restaurant.

"We have precautions in place. This shouldn't have happened."

Firefighters moved like busy bees around the lot, and a handful of officers milled around. A couple of paramedics waited off to the side in case they were needed.

Barry's jaw moved from side to side as he stared toward the still smoking remains of the kitchen. "We follow codes to the letter, even when it's inconvenient."

"I understand. The fire marshal will have more questions for you about that." The insurance adjuster would be on Barry's case in a hot minute too, but Dawson didn't want to be the one to bring up that unpleasant fact.

Barry hung his head. The Rock had been a popular restaurant for locals and tourists alike since Dawson was in diapers. The place was Barry's pride and joy.

Barry pushed a hand through his thinning gray hair. "I can't believe this. We'll be shut down for months."

Dawson pocketed his notepad and slapped a hand down on Barry's shoulder. "Don't think about the bad. You know people around here are going to be lining up to help get this place back up and running. Where are we gonna watch the games on Saturdays?"

Barry shook his head, but a grin flashed on his face. "You're right. I'm sure it won't take long. The fire was contained to one part of the kitchen."

Dawson added, "I bet Olivia Lawrence will set up a fundraiser as soon as she finds out."

Man, he couldn't even make it through one call without thinking about her. Especially after their little tumble yesterday. Once he got past the concern that she'd hit her head or he'd flattened her into a pancake, the urge to wrap her up and never let go had clouded every thought.

He'd done a decent job of keeping his hands off her for most of his life, but one touch only fueled the fire. She'd fit perfectly against him, snapping into place like two pieces of a puzzle.

He'd been so caught up in the feel of her against him that he'd completely forgotten to continue his questioning about how he'd ended up as Anna's wedding date. Now, it was a little too late to go back and ask for answers.

It wasn't as if he could back out on Anna. He was a man of his word, even if he'd agreed to something under duress.

Enough about his wedding date woes. Barry was in the middle of a crisis, and Dawson needed to figure out a way to help.

Barry straightened his shoulders and let out a deep exhale. "I'd sure appreciate that."

"I'll check in with you later," Dawson said as he headed back toward his cruiser.

Officer Freeman was sitting in the driver's seat of her car with her head down, probably jotting down notes on the call. Dawson rapped his knuckles against the window, and she lowered it.

"What's up, Keller?"

Dawson propped against her door. "You see that Michigan and Washington game last night?"

Jennifer perked up at the mention of one of her favorite teams. "What a nail-biter."

"I don't think I sat down the entire time."

Dawson's phone dinged in his pocket, and he pulled it out. There was a video from Olivia.

His pulse picked up speed. No matter what he was doing, she had the power to drop-kick him in the chest.

He opened the video and watched as Henry, Hudson, and Henderson jumped on the small trampoline he'd put up in the goat pen last week. The kids took turns hopping and jerking their little legs to the sides like snowboarders catching air.

"Look at this!" Dawson turned the phone around so Jennifer could see.

She watched for a moment before giving a single chuckle. "Those goats have about as much energy as you do."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Dawson said as he typed up a response to Olivia.

Dawson: Can I get a video of you on the trampoline now?

Her response made his grin spread even wider.

Chicken Tender: Not a chance.

Dawson and Jennifer's radios chirped to life, alerting them of a domestic disturbance a few miles away.

Jennifer grabbed her radio from her shoulder. "Officer 415 en route."

Dawson pocketed his phone and followed suit, associating himself with the call. "Looks like it's go time again."

Jennifer didn't look over at Dawson as she started her vehicle. "How much you wanna bet it's the Howards?"

The Howards were trouble. They were either a menace to society or assaulting each other. There was a good chance the call was leading them to the Howards, judging by the address. "I'd take that bet, but I'm not a fan of losing."

Dawson ran through a series of silent prayers as he drove closer to the Howards' property. Jennifer was right, and they parked side-by-side in front of the old house.

"Can we get a premise history on 51 Shades Creek?" Dawson asked as he stepped out of his vehicle.

Nancy from dispatch rattled off a series of recent calls to the residence. None of them were chump change.

Dawson and Jennifer walked up to the single-level, brown house. A rusted, blue pickup truck was parked under a lean-to, and the pressboard front door was slightly ajar. A splintered hole was busted through the bottom half.

Jennifer rested her hand on the gun at her hip as she radioed, "Signs of forced entry. Show us approaching the residence."

Dawson scanned the yard and the woods nearby. Nothing moved–no sign of anyone other than the hole in the door. He stepped up the cinder block steps and knocked on the doorframe. "Blackwater PD."

Jennifer's attention swung from one side to the other, constantly on alert.

Dawson tried again. "Blackwater PD!"

Muffled shouts came from the back of the house. "You called them?" a man shouted.

A woman snapped back, "I had to!"

There were a few curses thrown both ways before Dawson knocked again, louder this time. "Blackwater PD!"

"I'm coming!" the woman yelled in the same tone she'd used with the man. She stomped through the house and flung the door wide. "It sure took you long enough," she snapped up at Dawson.

The woman was sickly thin with skin that sagged and wrinkled over her bones. Her teeth were half rotten, and her mouse-brown hair was matted on one side. She could have been anywhere from forty to seventy years old.

This call was about to go bad in a hurry. Dawson could feel it in his bones.

Another officer associated himself with the call through the radios.

"We got a call about a domestic disturbance," Jennifer said.

The woman scratched her head and laughed. "Oh sure, if that's what you wanna call it. That man in there has hit me for the last time!"

"What is your name, miss?" Dawson asked as he pulled his notepad and pencil out of his chest pocket.

The woman frowned up at him. "I don't think you need my name, do you? He's the one you're here for."

She'd just finished the last word when a deep bark echoed through the house.

Dawson's blood ran cold, and his chest tightened. It wasn't the bark of a lapdog. No, that was a full-grown set of chompers pounding through the house.

"10-91V" Jennifer radioed to dispatch.

A tan dog with short hair standing about waist high bounded around the corner behind the woman, sliding over a rug and the slick floor. Jennifer was beside Dawson, and he swept his arm out, pushing her behind him.

The woman yelled and stepped out of the way, opening the door wider as the dog launched at Dawson. He managed to side-step the first attack, but the dog circled back and lunged again, too fast for Dawson to avoid a second time.

The hot, stinging pain wrapped around his leg. You'd think he'd develop an immunity to things like this after repeated exposure, but the familiar ripping in his skin was just as powerful the twenty-fourth time as it had been the first.