8 Kent HarperMonday morning, Kent Harper dressed in his blue winter uniform and black boots. He left his shirt collar open, tucked his regulation bowtie in his trouser pocket, and stowed his Smith & Wesson Military and Police semi-automatic pistol in the lockbox mounted in his Jeep Grand Cherokee.
He was on his way into District Four headquarters when Ursula Endreason caught up with him.
“Stop,” the Washington State Patrol communications officer ordered. The word came out in a mint-scented puff of air and turned into a small white cloud. Her gloved hand seized his elbow. “Let me catch my breath.”
He halted and glanced down at his short, cuddly colleague.
Snowy curls peeped out from under her hand-knit beret and glistened in the weak sunlight. Her plump cheeks were tomato-red, a close m
