Page 3 of Rusty's Command

His dad thrust his face into Rusty’s field of vision, and that hardened glare cut through his fury. “Back off!”

Rusty retreated, his hands trembling with unused adrenaline and old ghosts. Soda pressed against his leg, sliding her nose beneath his palm like she sensed the old wounds ripping open. Her solid warmth dragged him back to the present, saving him from the nightmare he’d fought fucking hard to forget.

“Get EMTs down here,” his father barked into his radio.

“I’m gonna sue your ass.” The bastard on the floor grinned, showing blood-covered teeth.

Rusty inched forward.

“Rusty!” His dad raised his finger. “Don’t!”

Rusty raised his hands in surrender and as he backed away, he studied the woman lying on the ground. Her chest rose with a shallow breath, and relief took the edge off his anger. He’d reached her in time. If only he’d acted sooner that night all those years ago. If only he’d answered her calls. If only he’d replied to at least one of her texts.

If. Fucking. Only.

Shaking that bullshit free, he clipped Soda onto her lead, and they returned upstairs.

It seemed like every cop on the Big Island had converged on the tiny house in the suburbs. They probably had. These uniformed men and women were Dad’s crew. He treated every single one of them like they were his own flesh and blood.

Pity my own mother didn’t share the same maternal instincts.

Flashing blue lights and wailing sirens added to the chaos as officers in full hazmat gear converged on the crime scene.

As Officer Molloy marched the perp past in restraints, he turned to Rusty. “See you in court.”

Molloy backhanded him. “Shut up, dipshit.”

“Hey! Police brutality! You all saw?—”

Molloy cracked him again. “Nobody’s listening to you.”

“That’s right, you fuckers all stick?—”

The chief stepped in close and as he whispered something in the perp’s ear, the cockiness drained right out of him. Molloy guided the perp to the open door of the nearest cruiser.

His father’s gaze found Rusty in the crowd and he shook his head at him with that gut-twisting look of disappointment that hurt Rusty deeper than any reprimand.

Rusty stood with his back against the wall and Soda at his heel, waiting for the EMTs to bring the woman up from the basement.

She’s going to live. That’s all that matters.

Finally, paramedics pushed her out of the house on a trolley, and as they loaded her into the ambulance, the chief cornered Rusty by the patrol cars.

“What the hell was that down there?” His dad’s voice dropped low. “You better not have fucked up our chance to nail this prick.”

“What was I supposed to do? That woman was half dead because?—”

“You think I don’t know what that was about? You saw her and lost your head. Just like—” His father cut himself off, but Rusty heard the unspoken name.

Hannah. The woman who’d crushed his heart, then his sanity.

“Go home, Rusty, and cool off.” The chief scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve got enough paperwork from this bust without adding your excessive force complaints to the list.”

At his truck, Rusty ordered Soda into the passenger seat and with blue and red flashing lights strobing in the rear vision mirror he drove away. But instead of heading home, he steered his RAM toward Ohana’s Bar. Before he even turned into the parking lot, Soda’s tail thumped against the seat. She loved this place as much as Rusty did. The giant copper sea turtle that formed the O in Ohana’s still glinted in the afternoon sun, despite the salty island air turning most of the metal seafoam green.

He opened the passenger door,and Soda leaped out and bounded up the stairs ahead of him. The dog pushed through theswinging doors like she owned the place, tail wagging, already familiar with the routine.

Rusty followed, climbing the steps at a slower pace. As he pushed through the door, a blast of cool air greeted him, carrying the mingled scents of grilled pineapple, teriyaki, and the faint tang of salt from the ocean breeze wafting through the open windows.

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