Page 9 of Buried Too Deep

A door opened, but Phin didn’t look up. Not until a cold nose pressed against his arm, a rough tongue licking his skin.

The explosions faded. The screams and pleas subsided. He could hear himself think again. He shuddered out a breath, choking back a sob.

SodaPop.

Phin’s hands were in the golden retriever’s coat before he was even aware he’d moved, and he pressed his face against her neck. Phin hadn’t wanted to be dependent on the dog.

Except that he was. In six short weeks, SodaPop had become his lifeline.

Phin found that he could draw air deep into his lungs.

I’m okay.

He would be, anyway.

Wiping his wet eyes, he looked up. The detective who’d first brought him in was watching him with sympathy. Not pity. Phin knew the difference.

Detective Clancy sat at the table. “Better?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“I served. Iraq in the nineties.” Clancy shrugged. “PTSD’s a bitch. You should have asked for your dog when we first brought you in.”

“I don’t think I was capable of that then,” Phin said honestly.

“Yeah. I get that, too.” Then one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “Your friend Stone’s wife brought the dog in. The desk sergeant told her that she couldn’t bring the dog into the station. I understand she read him the riot act.”

“Yeah, Delores is a force of nature.” Stone’s wife was a tiny little thing. Looked like Tinker Bell, but she did not suffer fools. “She trained SodaPop to be a service dog.”

For me. For free. Phin still couldn’t believe it. It was the most amazing gift.

“They care about you, your friends,” Clancy said. “Not just Stone and Delores. Burke and his crowd, too. I’ve gotten calls every ten minutes from one of them, demanding that I ‘release you.’ ”

Sitting up straighter, Phin lifted his brows. “Will you?”

“You’re not under arrest, Mr. Bishop. I told you that, but I don’t think you heard me.”

Phin remembered now. “Sorry.”

“No need. Can you talk to me now?”

Phin’s hands kept stroking SodaPop’s fur as the dog sat at his side, leaning into him. Nuzzling him. “Yes.”

“Okay. So, from the beginning. You and Stone O’Bannion were approaching Broussard’s building. And then?”

“The door flew open. Made a loud cracking sound. Nearly sent me into a spiral, but then I saw the woman running out and I was distracted. She wore an old-fashioned cloak. Like Red Riding Hood, but gray. The hood covered her face, but her hair was black. Then we heard two shots, so we ran into the building and up the stairs. Joy was on the floor. Bleeding. So I helped her.”

“Medics said you and your friend probably saved her life.”

Phin’s chest loosened. “She’s alive?”

Clancy nodded. “She is. Still in surgery, though.”

Still in surgery wasn’t good. But Joy wasn’t dead, so he’d hang on to that. “You don’t think I did it?” Phin hated that he sounded so hopeful. Like a goddamn kid.

“No. Broussard’s cameras, along with some street cams, corroborated your story.”

Phin dropped his gaze to SodaPop, who licked his hand. “The cops got there really fast after Stone called them.” That had confused him. “Too fast.”

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