Free Stranger in the Night by Catherine Palmer Page A

Raydell.
    “Where’s the dog?” Joshua tensed. His arm stretched out infront of Liz as she backed against her car. “The kids have gone AWOL. Someone’s taken the dog.”
    “Duke. That’s his name,” Liz whispered. “Do you see anyone?”
    “Get into your car, Liz. Drive. I’ll take care of this.”
    She spotted three silhouettes under the awning of the shuttered building beside Haven. “There,” she whispered, stepping close. “To the left.”
    “I’ve got ’em.” He bent slightly. Something small and shiny materialized in his hand. A glint of silver. “Liz, get into the car.”
    When she didn’t obey, his voice hardened. “Do it now.”
    “This is America, Sergeant.” She slipped her cell phone from her bag and pressed a single, preprogrammed key. “And by the way, I don’t take orders well.”
    As she spoke, the three stepped out of the shadows, the dog at their side. Young men. In the light, she saw their white T-shirts. Haven garb? One held Duke’s leash. The canine whimpered. Were these good kids? Or Hypes?
    A glance at the entwined pair in the distance gave her little hope. They’d be no help. Raydell and Shauntay had other things on their minds.
    “They’ve got the dog,” Joshua said. “They want us to know that. It’s a first step. They’ll try to take you next.”
    “They don’t want me. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this.”
    Sensing a transformation in Joshua that frightened her, Liz touched his shoulder. “The police are on the way—I just called. Relax. We’ll find out what’s going on.”
    She heard him breathing. Sensed the strain of muscle against fabric. Saw the knife in his hand.
    This man would erupt, she understood suddenly. He would kill.
    Before he could move, she stepped around him. At that moment, the dog leaped.

Chapter Five
    C haos. The kind of pandemonium Joshua knew well enveloped the street. As the dog yelped, straining against his leash, adrenaline surged into Joshua’s veins. His mind snapped into combat mode.
    Enemy contact.
    Prepare to engage.
    His body tensed and his heart hammered. Gripping his weapon, he assessed the situation.
    Night. Three humans approaching. Two more at a distance. One dog. Business district—storefronts, sidewalk, street. He sorted priorities. His own safety. The safety of those in his charge.
    Those in his charge?
    There was just one—the woman beside him, too small, out of uniform, unarmed. She didn’t fit his paradigm, and the reality tripped him up.
    “Duke! Duke!” A teenage girl ran toward the dog.
    “Stop, Shauntay! Come back!”
    “Break yourself, Raydell,” she screamed. “Break yourself!”
    Shouts, shrieks. The dog tore free. White teeth bared, fur bristling.
    The enemy materialized, then faded. People pushing, shoving, struggling for position. Joshua saw his opportunity and moved into the action—blocked, protected, surged into offense mode. He knew these moves.
    Yet there were no guns. No explosions.
    Why not? Again—unexpected.
    The knife in his hand flashed. Why couldn’t he see better? He reached for his night-vision goggles. Gone. How had he lost them?
    “Joshua! No—stop!”
    Small bare hands gripped his arm. The woman’s voice called his name again. Joshua!
    He halted, fighting for breath. Blinking back sweat. Trying to focus.
    Two vehicles swung onto the street, lights flashing, sirens wailing. Police.
    He read the word and shook his head. That wasn’t right. It should be written in Arabic, a language he knew almost as well as English. Something had gone wrong.
    The police cars stopped, doors opened. The enemy fled.
    Joshua rubbed his hand over his face, wiping away perspiration as he tried to make sense of it. Where was he? Was this the nightmare again?
    “What’s going on here?” The voice spoke in English, and he saw the face. The order came at him. “Drop the knife! Drop the knife!”
    Who was this man? He couldn’t move.
    “Joshua? Joshua, are you all right?