Chapter 2 - For a moment, I thought I had misheard him.“They came for the dog?”
Butch nodded.
His face had lost every trace of the arrogance from five minutes earlier.
“They've been asking about him.”
“Who?”
He looked toward the broken window.
“They don't use names.”
I pulled him upright.
“Then give me something.”
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
A fourth gunshot shattered the remaining glass.
I dragged him behind the counter.
Rex pressed against my leg.
He was shaking.
Not from fear.
I knew that tremor.
Adrenaline.
Memory.
The sound of gunfire could drag a military dog backward through years in less than a second.
I knelt beside him.
“Eyes on me.”
Rex looked at me.
“Stay.”
His breathing steadied.
I stood.
The SUV had started moving.
I reached for the nearest table and flipped it onto its side.
The gunman fired again.
The bullet struck the table leg.
I grabbed my phone.
No signal.
Of course.
The same dead zone that had made me stop at this diner had suddenly become very convenient for someone.
I looked at Butch.
“You said they were asking about Rex.”
He nodded.
“Three weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I swear.”
I grabbed his vest.
“Who else knows I'm here?”
His eyes flicked toward the waitress.
I turned.
She was crouched behind the register, hands trembling.
She looked terrified.
Too terrified.
I walked toward her.
“Ma'am.”
She wouldn't look at me.
“Who knew I was coming here?”
“No one.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
She raised her eyes.
And I saw the truth.
Not fear.
Recognition.
“You know what Rex is,” I said.
She swallowed.
“I know what people have told me.”
“What people?”
She didn't answer.
Butch suddenly shouted.
“Get down!”
I dropped.
A bullet punched through the wall where my head had been.
Rex barked.
The sound snapped through the diner like a gunshot of its own.
I looked toward the back door.
Three men entered.
Black clothes.
Tactical boots.
No club colors.
No patches.
Professional.
The first one carried a suppressed pistol.
The second had a compact rifle.
The third looked directly at Rex.
Not me.
Rex.
The dog stood.
His ears flattened.
His body changed.
Muscles tightened beneath his wet fur.
I whispered his name.
“Rex.”
He looked at me.
I nodded once.
“Go.”
Rex exploded forward.
He didn't attack the armed man.
He went for the rifle.
The soldier fired.
Rex twisted.
The shot missed.
He hit the man's chest.
The rifle flew.
I charged the second man.
He swung the weapon like a club.
I caught it.
We slammed into the wall.
His elbow struck my jaw.
Pain flashed.
I drove my knee into his thigh.
He buckled.
I stripped the weapon.
The third man pulled a knife.
I slammed the rifle stock into his wrist.
The knife fell.
Behind me, Rex had pinned the rifleman.
The man's eyes widened.
“Impossible.”
I glanced at him.
“What?”
He stared at Rex.
“You're alive.”
My blood froze.
Not because of what he said.
Because of how he said it.
Like Rex had already been declared dead.
Like he knew what had happened to him.
I grabbed the man's jacket.
“Who are you?”
He smiled.
Then bit down.
I recognized the movement.
Suicide capsule.
I jammed my fingers between his teeth.
Too late.
He convulsed.
His eyes rolled back.
Dead.
I stared at him.
Military training had taught me many things.
One of the most important was this:
Professional men do not kill themselves to avoid answering questions unless the answer is worth dying for.
Rex was still standing over the second man.
I looked at the dead soldier.
Then at Rex.
“Where did you come from?”
Butch was staring at me.
His voice was barely a whisper.
“That's what they wanted to know.”
“What?”
Butch pointed at the dead man.
“They wanted to know where you got him.”
I frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
Butch's eyes shifted toward Rex.
“He wasn't rescued.”
May you like
My stomach tightened.
“He was assigned.”
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