“I was . . . between jobs at the time and happened to be there when Hawk arrived, and we took to each other from the very first meeting. He was a gift when I was in a very bad place.” Reaching down, she stroked her fingertips over his back and he sighed in response. “In the end, we saved each other.” She looked up to see Webb’s eyes on her, compassion in their depths. “Sorry, that was probably more than you wanted to know.”
“Actually, no. That sounds like the real story to me. Do you mind if I ask what put you in that place?” He held up a hand to stop her before she spoke. “And we hardly know each other, so if you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay too.”
“I have a feeling that you actually might know a little about this. Ever lost a colleague on the job?”
His face clouded and she had her answer before he spoke. “Yes.” His answer was short, tight, and without any elaboration. Touchy ground.
“Then you’ll get it. I was with the Richmond PD as part of their K-9 unit. Deuce was my patrol partner and he was shot and killed while we were trying to apprehend a serial rapist. He brought the guy down, but he didn’t make it.” She took a deep breath to try to control her emotions as her voice wobbled. “He died in my arms.”
Webb reached out and covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry. That must have been a heartbreaking loss for you.”
Meg blew out a long breath and took a few seconds to pull herself together. It never ceased to amaze her how, even years later, Deuce’s loss was a gaping wound that never truly healed. “I couldn’t stay on the force. They offered me another dog, but I couldn’t do it. I resigned and went back home to lick my wounds.”
Webb had been about to take a sip of his coffee, but he froze with the cup at his lips, and then set it down untasted. “That’s not being fair. You lost your partner, but you make it sound as if you wimped out and should have been able to do better.”
“I bet the guys would have done better.”
“The guys might have looked like they were doing better, but they would have been a mess. You were the smart one. You stepped back while you were adjusting to your new reality so no one, human or animal, suffered if you weren’t at the top of your game. A man would just brute force his way through that scenario, and who knows what the fallout might be. You carry a gun, and control what could be a lethal weapon. That’s a responsibility to take seriously.”
She considered him for several seconds as the noise of street traffic and pedestrians rose around them to cover the silence. “You’re pretty astute.”
“I’ve been there.” Again that flat tone of voice.
Moving on. “Well, within a week of Deuce’s death, Hawk landed on our doorstep. He gave me something to focus my energies on at a time that I desperately needed a reason for getting out of bed in the morning. For the first week he needed almost constant care, and by the time he was more independent medically, we were bonded. I could tell right away that he was smart, but as he got better and gained weight, it became clear how really smart he was. Mom and Dad encouraged me to train him, but there was no way I could consider training him as a police dog. It was a journey for both of us, but we trained in search and rescue and certified in area search, trailing, and first responder disaster/human remains detection. Now, a few years later, he’s a damned good tracker and SAR dog.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. He’s kick ass.”
“I like to think so, and that’s all on him. In the end, the animal community is pretty small, so I caught wind of some talk that the FBI K-9 program was looking to expand. I’d been working for Mom and Dad all that time at the rescue, but I was starting to get restless. The rescue was perfect while I was getting back on my feet, but truthfully I missed the life of catching bad guys. I felt like I was good at it and could contribute, so I figured why not? and applied. We tried out, were accepted, and the rest is history. I moved to Arlington with my sister Cara, who runs a dog-training school, and that’s where we are now.”
“Great story. A real left turn in your life, but it was kind of a right-place-right-time scenario that was good for both of you.”
“It really was. But enough about me. Tell me about you. Did you always want to be a firefighter?”
Meg settled back in her chair and ate her sandwich while he entertained her with the story of growing up in a family of firefighters and never wanting to do anything else. When he told her about his connection with an animal rescue—this year’s firefighter calendar where he was Mr. June—she laughed and told him she was going to have to hunt down a copy for herself and her sister because what’s not to love about shirtless hot guys and puppies?
She jerked when her cell phone alerted an incoming text message. “Sorry, have to get this. Can’t ignore anything right now.” She flipped open the message and quickly scanned it, stiffening as she read.
“What’s wrong?” Webb asked. “Has he hit again?”
“Tried to. The balls on this guy.” She looked up to meet his eyes. “He went after the NSA.”
“Damn, that is ballsy. You said ‘tried to.’ Did they catch him first?”
“Sadly no. According to my coworker, the bomb didn’t go off, but they didn’t catch the bomber either.” She pushed back from the table and jumped to her feet. “I have to get back now. Hawk, come!”
“Of course you do.” He politely rose to his feet as she gathered her things, thanked him for the company, and rushed off down the street at a jog, Hawk keeping pace at her side.
It was only as Meg was pushing through the doors of the Hoover Building that she realized she didn’t even know what firehouse he was out of or how to contact him if she ever wanted to see him again.
Chapter 24
Scent Cone: Scent molecules disperse outward from the source in a conical pattern, forming a scent cone downwind of that point. An air-scenting dog normally works across or into the wind until he locates the scent cone. The dog’s search behavior will change as he works his way along the cone until he reaches the source, which is the quarry he is searching for. The dog will then alert his handler of the find.
Wednesday, April 19, 1:39 PM
Outside Moorefield, Hardy County, West Virginia
The Mason jar rapped jerkily against the lip of the glass as the man poured moonshine with hands he couldn’t still. Sharp-smelling liquor sloshed over the rim, streaming over his fingers and dripping onto the table below. He cursed and slammed the jar down on the table with a crack before downing the alcohol that made it into the glass in one gulp. Then he turned and hurled the glass at the fireplace.
It exploded in a spray of shards, falling like rain over the floorboards. The raging flood of anger dissolved, and he sagged into a chair, his body limp and his head lolling backward to stare sightlessly at the smoke-darkened ceiling.
It was over.
What started as a victorious reign of terror was turning into a humiliating comedy of errors. First a bomb that gave too much of a heads-up so all the occupants—including his real target—escaped. Sure, there had been significant property damage and that was satisfying, but the media viewed it as a failure, so the general population did as well.
And then there was Fort Meade.
What the hell went wrong?
He’d find out exactly what happened when it hit the news, so he could only guess for now. Faulty wiring, loose blasting caps, a dead receiver . . . it could be any number of things.
He blew out a breath bitter with disappointment and reached for the moonshine. Maybe it would wash the taste of self-disgust from his mouth. He tipped the squat jar to his lips to drink directly from it. Fort Meade. The end of the line. The end of his line.
Sooner or later they’d come for him.
So now was the time to act. The bank was going to take his house and land. The animals were already gone. God knows, his family was out of his reach and had been for years.
His family . . . maybe that was the perfect bookend. To end at the beginning. A circle was beautiful beca
use of the way the ends met in perfect symmetry. So perhaps it was time to return to the root of his destruction to make one final statement, a personal one this time. No more remote delivery. No chance of advance warning. This time, he was going to walk in the door and handle things his way.
The grinding pressure in his stomach loosened slightly at the thought. He had time, even if just a few days. Time to plan, time to improvise. Time to put the finishing touches on what would be his legacy in this world.
Then he would go out with a bang and his name would be remembered forever.
Chapter 25
Change of Behavior: Any of a number of behaviors—like turning of the head or a rapid change of direction—that are interpreted by the handler to mean the dog has detected a trained odor.
Wednesday, April 19, 6:24 PM
S Street Dog Park
Washington, DC
Meg stood in the shade of a blooming cherry tree, Hawk lying at her feet. He was off leash and free to run around the dog park with the other dogs, but as if he sensed her tension, he chose to stay by her side instead of playing. Bending, she ran a hand over his thick, sun-warmed fur. She couldn’t blame him; she’d been decidedly on edge ever since the second unsuccessful attack. After two failures, the bomber is going to need to prove himself, even if only to himself. He’s a loose cannon now, and anything could be a target.
The need to do something was nearly overwhelming. Meg hated inactivity, but they were still awaiting the analysis of the most recent drone strike to reveal that last, crucial link. On top of that, she still hadn’t heard from Sarge’s CID contact, and the silence was making her itchy.
Movement across the park caught her attention, and she turned to see McCord and Cody coming through the gate. McCord scanned the park and when his head swiveled toward her, she raised a hand in greeting. He nodded hello and headed for her, dragging Cody with him. Cody, who would rather be frolicking with the dogs, pulled hard against his leash, his head craned toward the green space filled with playing dogs.
McCord gave her a sheepish grin as he approached. “I still need to talk to your sister. As you can see, Cody’s under the mistaken impression he’s in charge.”
Meg laughed and bent to greet Cody. “He’s testing you to see where his boundaries are. They all do; it’s perfectly natural, but it doesn’t mean we have to live with it.” After Cody sniffed her politely, Meg gave him several long strokes. Then she turned to her own dog. “Hawk, say hi.”
Hawk immediately sat up, looked at McCord, and graciously offered a paw.
McCord groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you trying to rub in the fact that Cody is a hot mess?”
“He’s not a hot mess, he just needs some instruction and to learn you’re the master. Hawk, doggy greet.” Hawk immediately sidled up to Cody, who started to leap around him like an excited rabbit, McCord holding on for dear life.
“Let him off his leash,” Meg suggested. She waited while McCord unclipped Cody. “Okay, Hawk, play!”
Hawk tore off for the far side of the park, Cody hot on his heels, giving several high-pitched puppy barks of excitement.
Meg turned back to McCord and then only half succeeded at smothering a snicker at his drooped posture, the leash dangling from one limp hand to coil on the gravel at his feet, his eyes fixed on his retreating puppy. When he turned his head to fix her with a slit-eyed mock glare, she could only grin and shrug. “Sorry . . . You’re giving me the most levity I’ve had in days.”
“You’re welcome.” He coiled up the leash and jammed it in the pocket of his windbreaker. “I guess we could all use a break. So . . . where are you guys standing now that we all know your arrested suspect can’t be the bomber?”
“Off the record?”
“You know those are a reporter’s three most hated words, right?”
“Sure do. But you and I shouldn’t even be standing here.” She pinned him with a steady gaze. “Why are we standing here?”
“Because I texted you?”
“Nice try, McCord. You can do better than that.”
“Because . . . well, some of the things you said last time we met here stuck in my head and made me realize that doing what you do must be damned hard.”
“Sometimes it certainly can be. Sometimes it’s also the most rewarding job on the planet.”
McCord sat down on a circular bench surrounding a cherry tree. “Tell me about one of those times. So far I’ve mostly just got a handle on the worst part of your job. Put it in perspective for me.”
Suspicion raised its scaled head and hissed as she blinked at him. “Are you writing an exposé?”
He raised three fingers to the level of his temple. “Scout’s honor. Not unless you give me permission.” His hand dropped but he gave her a sideways glance. “I do think you and the team would make a great article. No, scratch that, series of articles. Very inspirational.”
“No, thanks. I don’t do publicity.”
“I think you need to think about it more.” When she started to object, he steamrolled right over her. “But not right now.” He patted the bench beside him. “Now sit. Please. I promise I won’t bite.” He raised a single eyebrow and the twist in his lips told her clearly a more risqué comment had come to mind, but he’d filtered it out of the conversation. “For now, tell me about the rewards of your job. Off the record. While all this crap is going on, I want to hear something positive.”
Meg sat down on the bench, leaving several inches between them. Her eyes locked on Hawk’s dark form as he raced across the grass, Cody behind him, barking like a loon, eyes bright and tail waving like a joyous flag. Loosen up and give him a little. So far he hasn’t given you a reason not to believe him. “You’ve heard all the bad stuff from the last few weeks. How about a piece of the good? Her name is Jill and she was at the Department of Agriculture on the eleventh on a school field trip. Had you ever visited the Whitten Building before the bombing?”
“Yes.”
“You know the World War One memorial down at the one end?”
He nodded.
“She was down there. She was under the balcony when it collapsed and was trapped under a ton of rubble.” The tiniest of smiles touched her lips as she remembered. “Hawk found her. The fire department needed to dig her out, but she was panicky and had been sliced badly by exposed structural steel. Hawk was going crazy up above. He knew she was down there, knew she was hurting. So we sent him down through the rubble to her.”
“Wasn’t that dangerous?”
“Very. But he needed to do it, and she needed him down there. He kept her calm enough for the firefighters to muscle their way through the debris down to her. When they got her up, none of us were sure she’d make it. She’d lost consciousness and a lot of blood. But I got word yesterday she’s out of the worst of the danger and is expected to make a full recovery.” She smiled fondly at her dog, cavorting energetically with his puppy playmate across the play space. “Another save for Hawk.”
“How many is that?” McCord asked. “If you keep track.”
“Oh, I keep track. When so much of what we do involves death, the live rescues are notches on our proverbial belt. So far he’s got fifty-two.”
“That’s amazing!”
“It’s not bad at all. And considering he’s only two years in the field, it’s an impressive start. He’s a smart boy, my Hawk, and a very hard worker. I usually have to make him stop because he’d go until he drops.”
“I get the feeling you’re well matched that way. So where is Jill now?”
“George Washington Hospital. She’s out of intensive care, so that’s good. I’ve thought about going to see her, but hesitated. What if I’m a bad memory that brings other bad memories back for her?”
“Not a chance. Especially if you take Hawk with you. I guarantee she’d be thrilled to see you both. You saved her. If you hadn’t been able to find her, she might have bled out.”
“I guess you’re right. But she’s al
ready been through so much—”
McCord’s phone alerted with a whistle. “Sorry, I left the alert on and the volume cranked so I don’t miss anything.” He pulled out his phone and quickly brought up his e-mail. “It’s likely just another rant from my editor about the shrinking distribution size of the paper but . . .” His voice petered out as he stared at his inbox.
“What?”
“I have another message.”
Meg sat up straight, as if he’d hit her with an electric cattle prod. “From him?”
McCord busily worked the keys. “It’s a message from the SecureDrop system. It could be anyone, but that’s how he’s been contacting me. Give me a sec.” More keystrokes and several new windows, then he simply sat and stared at the screen.
“Well?” Meg’s voice rose an octave in that single word. “Is it him?”
“Yeah. Ready?”
She stared at him, stunned. “You’re letting me see it?”
“You’re going to see it sooner or later anyway. And after what you’ve been through, I think you deserve to see it. We’re on the same team after all, right?”
“Yes. Just don’t let my bosses hear you, a reporter, say that.” She took a deep breath, then let it out. “Okay, let’s see it.”
Lone Wolf Page 17