Extreme Honor Page 20

  The sergeant yanked her shoulder painfully and she let her leg off the door. It slammed shut and she desperately searched for Atlas in the rearview mirror.

  Her heart leaped when she saw his rapidly shrinking form get to its feet.

  The vehicle slowed. “Do we go back for the fucker?”

  “We got gloves? Any gear to keep him from ripping us up?” The sound of rummaging came from the back of the car.

  “No sir.”

  “Bitch doesn’t have any in her crap either.” Sergeant Zuccolin let out a long string of curses. “No. We’ll never catch the bastard out in the open like this and even if we did he’d rip chunks out of our hides. Let him disappear. Long as he’s not with anyone who can connect him to us, he should just end up in a shelter. He’s been erased from the system so they’ll come up with jack if they scan for his chip and that bastard will scare any shelter into destroying him instead of holding on to him for adoption.”

  Never. Lyn was sure Atlas had understood her. She’d told him to jump, to track David. Atlas hadn’t ever misunderstood her since the day they’d met. He’d have understood her this time.

  “You sure? Orders were to secure the dog.”

  Zuccolin paused. “Could use the girl to tempt him back.”

  Lyn kept her expression as blank as she could. She didn’t think Atlas would come back if she didn’t call him. But if they got ahead of him, into his line of sight, and tried to do something to her…she wasn’t sure what decision Atlas would make.

  “Fuck that. Dragging her out to bait the dog would take too long, catch too much attention and we’d still have to restrain him.” Obviously Zuccolin didn’t want another encounter with Atlas any time soon. “I’m going to need stitches everywhere. Goddamned lucky he didn’t break my forearm. Call Evans and have him intercept in case the mutt makes it back to those kennels.”

  So many people involved. David needed to know. Atlas would get to him and then David would know something was wrong. She twisted her wrists, trying to work at the duct tape around her wrists.

  Pain exploded on the left side of her head, blinding her. As she sucked in air, her vision cleared slowly.

  “The fuck did you think you were doing, bitch? Think I didn’t see you? Something must’ve tipped you off.” Sergeant Zuccolin was screaming. “Did you think you could message your boyfriend? Jump out of the car? We’d have run you down in minutes. Around here, by the time anyone called that in—if they saw it at all—we’d have been long gone. And trust me, it’s no issue ditching this vehicle.”

  Lyn swallowed hard against the fear churning in her stomach. Bad, this was so incredibly bad. She’d figured she couldn’t get away. But Atlas? He was fast, too fast for them to go after even in a car. He’d find his way back to the kennels and to David. He would.

  “What did you say to the mutt?” Obviously her new favorite sergeant wasn’t an actual dog handler. “Waste of time. You’re not military and not his real handler. Soon as he gets clear he’s going to go do whatever the hell he damned well pleases. This isn’t the movies. He’s not fucking going to go find help.”

  Yes, he was.

  Though he wasn’t a Collie with a little boy for a best friend; he was a Belgian Malinois and one of the US military’s best. He’d track the man she’d named because Atlas knew him, trained with him, knew she’d worked with him. Atlas would track his way back to him and bring David back to her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Cruz tossed the hose to the side and stomped over to the spigot to cut the flow of water. He should’ve brought the damned thing with him, but instead he let the metal nozzle drag across the concrete floor of the kennels screeching and setting his teeth on edge.

  Great. He was making his own temper worse. Next thing, he’d head into Philly and look for a good, wholesome brawl.

  Because that would be such an incredibly constructive use of his time.

  Cleaning out Atlas’s kennel was supposed to have been constructive, actually. It only made him miss the big dog, and by association, the woman who’d helped work with him.

  It was easier to focus on the dog.

  Cruz had to admit Atlas had been one in a million. An optimal combination of the kind of intelligence, drive—and yes, aggression—a trainer looked for in a military working dog intended to support special forces units in the worst hellholes humankind could create.

  There’d been a quiet air about Atlas that demanded respect. His pining for Calhoun had been a final expression of a kind of loyalty rarely found anywhere, in man or beast. It’d been honorable, simple in its expression and enough to tug at the toughest heart strings. And it’d taken a wisp of a blonde with a heart just as big as Atlas’s to bring him out of it.

  Lyn had coaxed Atlas—and Cruz, too—to live again. Not merely exist.

  Maybe Cruz had been mourning the loss of a good friend, but he hadn’t been struck as hard as Atlas. Nothing so noble. Because he’d never let anyone in that way. He’d been coasting along, trying to find a place to fit in again. Lyn had caught him up with her conviction and her good intentions and wound Cruz around her finger every bit as much as Atlas.

  And now they were both gone.

  Finally finished pulling in the hose and looping it on its hook, Cruz left Atlas’s empty kennel to dry and went into the shed where they kept grooming tools and the various dogs’ gear. Lyn hadn’t taken Atlas’s gear. But then, they hadn’t practiced much with it in their training sessions to date. Most of what they’d covered had been leash work. Cruz had been planning to take the lead with Atlas more before getting Atlas into his harness for some of the more specialized training.

  Might be just as well. Who knew what Lyn would’ve done with the knowledge? Whatever information she’d been passing along all this time had to have been fragmented. Cruz cursed himself for sharing anything with her at all.

  He picked up the harness, working over the chest strap and other parts, searching by feel for something out of place. He’d done it a hundred times before and after they’d found the micro SD card under Atlas’s skin. Too obvious for Calhoun to have hidden something in Atlas’s gear and others must’ve searched the same way. But until the bigger video finished going through Cruz’s decryption program, there was nothing else to go on.

  Harris had ended up being a dead end, confirming what Cruz already knew but providing no further leads. The other man was probably subject to dangerous scrutiny for his trouble, too. A pang of guilt hit Cruz at the thought. The man did have a family—one that wanted him—and he seemed to be a genuinely decent guy.

  Doing the right thing wasn’t as straightforward as it’d seemed before going down there.

  Nothing was, actually. And it’d started getting cloudy from the minute Lyn walked onto the kennel property. He should’ve dug further into her story when she’d first shown up. Should’ve followed up with Beckhorn to find out who had approved of her assignment to a military project. Hell, he should’ve paid closer attention. Because she’d played him and he had only himself to blame. Idiot. Jackass. Stupid. A few of the possible ways he could describe himself at the moment.

  He’d fallen hard for Evelyn Jones and all along, she’d been reporting back to Daddy on his progress with Atlas. He didn’t know which hit his pride worse: that he hadn’t even suspected her or that it’d always been about the dog.

  Not fair to Atlas. Everything came back to him and none of it was his fault. Atlas was the catalyst in all of this, in so many ways it made Cruz’s head hurt.

  Cruz placed Atlas’s harness back in its storage crate. He’d pack it up for shipment tomorrow. Today, he didn’t have it in him. He needed to get outside and do something more constructive.

  Rojas was outside, working with one of the big German shepherds they’d rescued recently from a shelter. Three of them had been abandoned after their wealthy owners decided to divorce and leave, too concerned with their own affairs to worry about the futures of the very expensive dogs they’d ditched. Purebred, none
of them older than six months, and all of them solid with basic obedience and the beginning of Schutzhund training in them. Not a one of them socialized for human interaction, unless you counted chasing intruders off private property.

  The shelter hadn’t had the resources to rehabilitate the dogs for normal family homes. The aggression they were already showing, their training, and lack of socialization resulted in the shelter labeling them unadoptable. If Rojas hadn’t pulled them, they’d have been destroyed. Instead, he was working to see if they could be directed to a better life.

  Cruz came to a stop and watched the dog watch him. Intelligence there, and suspicion. “How’s it going with this new batch?”

  “Promising.” Rojas had a good hold on the leash, relaxed but ready to get control if the big GSD lunged unexpectedly. “This guy definitely has potential but he’s got trust issues.”

  “I can see that.” Cruz noted the way the dog let loose a whisper of a growl as he took a step closer.

  “Fooey.” Rojas gave the correction and deliberately continued to talk with Cruz in a pleasant tone. “These boys were all trained in German.”

  Point was to demonstrate to the dog that Rojas would indicate when aggressive behavior was okay and when it was not. Trick was a dog had to trust his handler to let him know. This one, not so big on the faith yet.

  “Huh.” Cruz kept his posture loose and nonthreatening, his gaze locked with Alex’s. “Not unusual for guard dogs. Track down the breeder yet?”

  “Sent them an e-mail. They may not have the resources to place these guys, as old as they are.” Rojas shook his head. “But any breeder worth anything is going to want to know where their dogs went.”

  And if they didn’t care, Hope’s Crossing Kennels would take note of it, too. They worked with breeders across the country to get the best dogs to train for military, police work, and rescue. No way did they want to support a breeder who didn’t care about where their dogs went. Said a lot about those sorts of establishments and none of it good.

  “Any of the three likely for multi-purpose work?” Cruz figured this particular dog wasn’t likely. Not yet. Maybe after a couple weeks’ rehabilitation.

  There he went thinking with Lyn’s line of thought.

  Rojas shrugged. “Maybe one of the other two. This guy’s got a chip on his shoulder. I’m trying to work through it but he responds to Boom better than me.”

  Cruz raised his eyebrows. “Is it a gender thing?”

  “Maybe.” Rojas scowled. “But he’s too rough. Nipped at her hair and ears, shoved her around a little. She can hold her own most times but he’s got to learn better manners across the board.”

  “Ah.” Cruz paused. “Maybe I’ll start an assessment on one of the other two.”

  “Sure. Check them out. I’m figuring they’d be solid for police work but one of them might have the knack for multi-purpose.” Rojas led the GSD away. The big dog kept craning his neck to keep Cruz in his line of sight for as long as possible. Definitely not looking to Rojas as a handler yet.

  Atlas had begun to look to Cruz. Definitely looked to Lyn. It’d been an important step in his retraining. A dog needed to look at his handler to receive a command. But more than the literal meaning, a dog well-bonded to his or her handler was aware of the human on multiple levels. It was the establishment of a strong rapport that made a team effective.

  If he wanted to poke at a sore spot some more, he could admit it’d been Atlas’s willingness to acknowledge Lyn—trust her—that’d made Cruz relax. In Cruz’s experience, dogs had better judgment than humans when it came to character.

  Made it doubly shitty the way she’d betrayed them both. Now she was riding along with Atlas back to a military base to continue preaching her rehabilitation philosophy to someone who might not give her two seconds’ notice. It’d serve her right, but it wouldn’t be in Atlas’s best interest.

  He needed to stop thinking about Lyn. He still had to track down the people responsible for Calhoun’s death and see to it they paid for what they’d done in the way it’d hurt them most.

  The real question he should be asking was whether Lyn’s father was involved. Seemed likely. Maybe that was the lead Cruz needed to follow. He headed for his office.

  “Fooey!” Not a quiet correction this time. Rojas was yards away and straining to hold an eighty-five-pound GSD on a leash.

  Growling low and throwing all of his weight against Rojas, something had set the dog off. Cruz followed the dog’s line of sight to the front gate and saw a sleek Belgian Malinois running at top speed up the driveway.

  What the…?

  “Atlas! Hier!” Cruz called, reaching for a leash—any leash—off the wall.

  Atlas didn’t need to change course. He was already headed directly for Cruz. Then a lean figure cleared the tree line in obvious pursuit, weapon up and aimed at Atlas.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cruz yanked out his smartphone and activated voice recognition.

  “Incoming. Single gunman. Opening fire on Atlas.”

  The text went to Forte and Rojas as a pre-set group.

  Something was wrong. Very wrong. If Atlas was here, where the hell was Lyn? And what could happen to make Atlas leave her? Cruz could imagine several scenarios, none of them good.

  Cruz bent to retrieve his gun from the hidden holster at his ankle. Staying close to the main house for cover, he moved to meet up with Atlas.

  The intruder opened fire on Atlas as the dog approached, but the man had taken the shot on the move. Dumbass. It went wide, kicking up dirt to one side of the dog’s path. Not a surprise.

  Thank God the only people at the kennels currently were Cruz, Forte, and Rojas. Gunfire wasn’t new to them. But shit, Rojas and Forte would be irritated as hell if any of them caught a bullet. Cruz was already pissed. Worse, any of the dogs on the property were at risk.

  Gunshot or no, Atlas wasn’t deterred or distracted. True to his training, he headed straight for his objective: Cruz.

  Another shot fired. Cruz cursed and took aim. He didn’t want to put a bullet in a person if he didn’t have to, even if he was on Hope’s Crossing Kennels property, but the asshole was shooting at his dog.

  Suddenly he heard the sound of other dogs barking on approach and he grinned. Atlas reached him as three German shepherds streaked past them toward the intruder. Rojas must have set them loose. Perfect distraction and with three of them, the gunman wasn’t likely to have time to single out a target and hit any one of them.

  Handy to have rescued Schutzhund-trained guard dogs on hand. Socialization was not a primary concern at the moment. They had the experience and training to do exactly what was needed—intimidate the hell out of the intruder and potentially neutralize the threat.

  The man stopped in his tracks and even from this distance, Cruz could see him go pale at the sight. Hell, Cruz wouldn’t be thrilled in the face of the oncoming canines either. He’d be looking for a tree or wall to climb. Fences weren’t a safe bet because most German shepherds and Belgian Malinois could climb those even without specialized training.

  Backpedaling, the man tripped and fell on his ass, his baseball cap falling off to expose more of his face. And he looked incredibly familiar.

  Cruz put a leash on Atlas as Rojas and Forte arrived, armed and looking grim. The three men advanced on the man cowering in the center of three GSDs. Now that they had him at bay, if he so much as moved, they’d be on him ripping and tearing. Two of them were holding position—barking and snarling—making one hell of a racket. The third and largest was bristling and baring his teeth, but he was silent.

  Dangerous, that one. He was the likeliest to break and attack the man physically.

  Rojas must’ve shared the assessment, striding around to leash the biggest dog first. Forte took a position between the other two and leashed them.

  “I wouldn’t relax if I were you.” Cruz figured it was only fair to warn the man. “There’s enough slack in all these leashes to let these
dogs ruin your day.”

  Possibly his life. It all depended on how far things went. The three GSDs were trained to rip and tear, possibly break bone. Atlas was trained to go for a kill bite.

  Speaking of Atlas, now that the intruder was essentially neutralized, Cruz turned his attention to the big dog. Panting heavily, Atlas must have run a decent distance at high speed. If he’d known his way, he might’ve gone as fast as he could. No telling where he’d been freed and how familiar he’d been with the area. Lyn and Cruz had taken Atlas for long walks as far as five to eight miles away in both directions along the main road next to the kennel. So chances were, Atlas had been close to home when he’d gotten loose.

  Taking a knee, Cruz ran his hands over Atlas checking for injuries. No blood, no bullet holes or grazes.

  “Any damage?” Forte made the question curt, expressionless. No need to give the prisoner any impressions to go on.

  Cruz shook his head. “No. He’s run hard though. He’ll need to be cooled down.”

  Not an immediate need but soon. There was a higher priority and Atlas would agree.

  Forte nodded sharply, then focused on the intruder. “You want to tell me why you are on my land, opening fire on a dog under our care?”

  “Dog’s not yours.” The other man’s answer was sullen, belligerent.

  “And you would know, wouldn’t you?” Cruz jerked his chin at the man. “This is the guy who was following our lady friends in New Hope.”

  The man knew Lyn’s name for sure but he might not know Sophie’s. No need to give him information.

  Still, at the mention of Sophie, Forte’s grim expression darkened and chilled. Not a good combination for the intruder. “I think we’re going to have a little chat while we wait for the police to arrive then.”

  “Get up.” Rojas barked out the words.

  “Fuck that. Damned dogs will eat me.” The intruder grimaced, but didn’t move a muscle. He was staring at Atlas.

  Seemed the man had seen what a working dog could do. Maybe he’d witnessed what Atlas specifically could do.