Page 3 of Mine to Protect

A short, high-pitched whine drew my attention back to the beautiful dog before me. Squatting, putting us nose-to-nose, I scratched down his thick, furry chest, giving him the love he deserved.

“I know, I know,” I said as Benny’s long tongue licked up my cold cheek. “I’m losing it. You don’t have to give me that look.” And like he always did, he gave the ‘you need to get out more’ look with his deep brown eyes. “I will, I promise. One day. Maybe we could find you a friend too.” I swear his eyebrows narrowed. With a huffed laugh I shoved off the ground. “Come on, Benny Boy, let's get home.”

Loading the 110-pound German shepherd into the truck’s small cab was easy; making us both fit was where the challenge came in. After Benny was situated, I climbed in and locked the doors.

And locked them again.

And like always, I locked them again—you know, in case the first and second click didn’t work.

With us secured from the outside world, I buckled Benny in and turned the key. The small engine rumbled to life with ease. Foot against the gas pedal, I pressed down slowly, revving the engine in hopes it would cause the heat to kick on sooner than later, and then pulled out of the parking lot, headed for home.

* * *

“Okay,we have two hours before I start my next shift,” I said to Benny once we were through the cabin door. Once, twice, and a third time, I flicked the multiple deadbolts before hooking the mace on the key ring, slid the knife from my calf into a similar holster tacked to the wall beside the mace, and placed my gun on the entry table. Throat burning from the run and cold air, I shuffled toward the kitchen while blowing hot puffs of breath into my still-chilled, somewhat blue hands. In front of the sink, I squatted and pulled open the cabinet door. Reaching into the dark depths blindly, I wiggled my fingers until the tips brushed against the chilled plastic bottle I searched for.

Hand along the counter’s edge, I hoisted myself off the floor. Staring at the clear water bottle, I carefully inspected the seal under the cap, ensuring each plastic bit was still intact. As I screwed off the lid, the faint crack of the thin plastic snapping free provided enough reassurance that no one had tampered with it while I was out. Greedily I downed half the bottle as I walked toward the only bathroom in my tiny cabin. I chugged the final few ounces from the bottle of water, sat it on the vanity to toss in the recycling bin later, and reached past the shower curtain to flick the nozzle for the shower all the way to the right.

The running clothes had dried, but my skin felt clammy as I shrugged out of the T-shirt and yanked off my leggings. Steam billowed from above the floral shower curtain, filling the space with its humid warmth as I leaned closer to the mirror.

The dark circles beneath my eyes turned the greenish hazel iris a shade darker than normal. At least being outdoors most days gave my fair skin the opportunity to look sun-kissed, bringing out the natural tan freckles along my nose and cheekbones. My strawberry-blonde hair shimmered in the bright fluorescent light, making the varying natural hues pop.

From the outside, I looked like any other sleep-deprived, early thirties woman.

On the inside was a different story. That was where my scars hid. All left by one delusional man. One man who, even after his death, impacted every move I made, every thought I had.

Releasing a calming, shaky breath, I reached across to lock the bathroom door. Once. Twice. And of course a third time. Again I considered my reflection. What would I do if three wasn’t enough to calm my intense paranoia? Would it stop at four? Five? Even the anti-anxiety medications weren’t working anymore. Only my stubborn, overactive mind would scoff at the pharmaceutical company’s attempt to alter its thought patterns. It was a blessing and a curse being so headstrong; I made it out alive because of it, yet sat here paralyzed by it too.

Stepping into the shower, I centered my thoughts on the nearly scalding water warming my chilled skin, letting it dissolve the memories eager to rise from the dark corners of my mind. Soothing scents of jasmine and lavender infiltrated my senses, regulating my breathing and lowering my pulse to a healthier level. In here, behind the locked front door, inside the cabin with film-protected windows, with a dog capable of ripping out a grown man’s jugular—and enjoying it—with a hidden can of mace dangling from the shower head, I relaxed.

Even if I wasn’t 100 percent safe, because no one ever was, the false sense of security all those measures provided allowed fifteen minutes of calmed breathing, regular pulse rates, and, on occasion, remembering happy memories. Sometimes I’d even let myself think about a future. Those thoughts typically involved me happy, safe, and not so alone.

But that was the tricky part. The fact that I had the urge to vomit anytime someone touched me was a significant roadblock to my happily ever after.

Outside the shower curtain, the screech of the cell phone ringing yanked me back to reality. Excess water flicked against the mirror as I shook off one hand to answer the call and turn it to speakerphone.

“Hey, John,” I said as I ducked back under the hot spray.

“What the hell is that noise? Are you in the shower?”

My hands stilled where they were massaging my left calf. “Um, yeah.” Answering the phone while in the shower wasn’t the brightest idea, considering my boss was a guy. But we were so close after working together this long, sometimes his anatomy slipped my mind.

“Seriously, Birdie. That’s really….”

“Unprofessional,” I finished for him with a sigh.

“Distracting. Hey, I need you to stop by the ranger station as soon as you can. We have a missing woman on our hands, and I need you out there. Now.”

“See you in fifteen,” I responded, now working double time on rinsing the excess soap from my legs.

“And do me a favor.”

“Yeah?” I smiled behind the curtain. No way would he let this offense go without some jab or innuendo.

“Think about me while you finish.”

I barked a laugh. Yes, he was my boss, but he was a friend first. We were somewhat partners before his promotion last year to managing the entire park police team. All in all, we had 30 officers for the more than 265,000-acre park. We took care of the animals, maintained order on the trails and campsites, and managed the ever-growing crowds on a daily basis. It was a thankless job, but a gratifying one.

As I shut off the water, I thought back to what John said on the call. A missing hiker wasn’t surprising, it happened often, but that wasn’t the word he used. He’d said missingwoman.

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