Lone Wolf

by Sara Driscoll

  Meg snapped out of her shock at seeing Hawk, her eyes cataloguing everything at once. He looked uninjured except for a bloody furrow running along his right hind leg, but from the leap he’d just taken, it must not have been serious. Dragging her gaze from her dog, she scanned for the weapon, but it was gone, likely over the edge.

  She needed to get her dog away from that madman. “Talon, off! Down!” Meg commanded.

  But Mannew had a handful of Hawk’s fur as they struggled for balance and the upper hand. Hawk’s furious growl alone told Meg he wasn’t going to let go, not while Mannew had hands on him. They staggered backward, the heavy weight of his backpack overbalancing Mannew, his feet slipping on loose bits of rock. Shock registered on his face, then terror as he hung momentarily suspended.

  Man and dog disappeared from view.

  Meg’s terrified scream met only open air. “HAWK!”

  Chapter 31

  Indication: A trained behavior or a reinforced response by which a dog notifies its handler of a find. It is the dog’s way of saying, “Eureka! I found it!”

  Friday, April 21, 2:32 PM

  Miller’s Knob, Great North Mountain

  Outside Perry, West Virginia

  For a split second, sheer terror froze Meg to the spot.

  Hawk . . . gone?

  But then adrenaline kicked in with a rush that nearly left her light-headed. Can’t assume. Have to check.

  She half ran, half stumbled to where she’d last seen Mannew struggling with her dog, took a deep breath, and peered over the edge of the precipice.

  Vertigo tugged at her at the sheer drop—easily sixty feet straight down into boulders and unforgiving forest. She bore down, forced the spinning to stop, forced herself to really look into the abyss.

  No way to survive the fall.

  Meg felt hysteria building. Not again. Not another lost in the line of duty. She reached up, her hand closing on the necklace around her neck, crafted from Deuce’s ashes. Can’t do this again.

  She forced herself to calm down, giving herself a mental shake, preparing herself to confront her worst fears.

  Meg got down on her belly and commando-crawled forward to be able to look right over the edge. She held her breath, trapping the moan fighting to escape . . . and looked. Then blinked and looked again. Harder.

  Nothing.

  What the hell?

  “Hawk?”

  In response, a low whine and frantic scrabbling met her ears.

  Not dead.

  “Hawk!” She cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled it this time. She pulled herself to her knees, wrapped the fingers of her left hand around a sturdy root, and leaned out into thin air. And nearly let out a startled scream.

  They were on a narrow ledge, twenty feet below. Hawk lay flat on his belly, all four feet braced, his teeth buried in the shoulder of Mannew’s nylon jacket. Mannew himself was three quarters off the ledge, both feet dangling, with only his hands for purchase. And if he didn’t get back on the ledge soon, he was going to go over and risk taking her dog with him again.

  It was such a temptation to tell Hawk to release, letting Mannew simply fall to his death within thirty seconds. The dog had clearly halted his fall and risked his own life to save that nasty piece of—

  She forced herself to focus. “Hawk, hold.” She hauled herself back up and scooted further along the ledge to a small outcropping that gave her a full view of the ledge below. She leveled her gun at Mannew, aiming for the middle of his back, knowing a single shot would end it. And send him straight down to the bottom of the outcrop. “Mannew, you’re done. Pull yourself back up.”

  “Get him off me!”

  “I tell Hawk to let go and he will. You’ll fall and I’ll only need to rescue him because you’ll be nothing more than a bloody smudge on the rocks below. If I think you’re going to try to go off and take Hawk with you, I’ll give the command. Make a choice, Mannew. He’s going to live either way. I don’t give a rat’s ass about you.”

  Pounding footsteps to her left announced Brian and Lacey’s arrival. “Meg! I heard gunshots.” He was out of breath, barely getting the words out. “What happened? Where’s Hawk?”

  “On a ledge down below with Mannew, who is currently making the most important decision of his life.” Meg raised her voice so he couldn’t mistake her words. “Choose, Mannew, or I’ll choose for you.”

  Mannew’s hand slipped a notch and Hawk had to dig in further. The abrupt move put too much pressure on the jacket and it made a distinct tearing sound. If the jacket tore, there’d be nothing anyone could do.

  “Let me up!” Mannew bellowed, as if feeling his own mortality starting to slip through his fingers.

  “You’re going to have to help him. Try anything, one single thing, and I’ll end you. Hawk, pull! Come on, boy, pull!” She kept her gun trained on Mannew as he got one foot on a tiny outcropping and with a tremendous groan, hauled himself up, assisted by Hawk, who even though exhausted, dug deep, his legs shaking with the effort as he pulled backward, dragging the man up an inch at a time.

  Meg waited until she was sure Mannew was safely on the ledge, and then called out, “Hawk, release.” The dog promptly let go. “Down boy. Stay.” Hawk lay flat on the narrow ledge, panting, but kept both eyes trained on Mannew, who sat back against the rock and turned to the dog. Hawk bared his teeth and growled low in his throat in warning.

  “I have my gun trained on you, Mr. Mannew, so I suggest you don’t move. Once again, if I think you’re a threat, I’ll shoot. The FBI wouldn’t have a problem with it because that’s a highly trained dog, and he’s worth a lot to them. You’re not worth anything at all.” She didn’t take her eyes off Mannew for one second. “Brian?”

  He knelt down beside her. “I’m here. What can I do?”

  “Have your satellite phone on you?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Please call Craig and let him know the situation. Tell him we’re going to need a helicopter up here for a cliff-side rescue. Make sure they know they’ll need a K-9 harness for one of the rescues. Someone could rappel down, but it would take too long to get here. I don’t want that monster sitting with Hawk any longer than necessary.”

  “Done.”

  Brian made the arrangements quickly, complete with GPS coordinates, and then ended the communication, waiting for Craig to get back to them with confirmation. “We’re all set. He’s going to call in the West Virginia State Police’s aviation section. They’ll be here the fastest and without stepping on any toes.”

  They sat quietly for a moment, Meg’s gun steadily trained on Mannew as he and Hawk stared each other down, both holding absolutely still. At the same time, Meg felt Brian’s gaze on her. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Why are you staring at me?”

  “Sometimes you’re a scary woman,” Brian said under his voice. “You know, if I went for girls, it would probably be sexy as hell.”

  She choked back a laugh, but spared him a lightning fast glance and a cocked eyebrow. “Thanks . . . I think.”

  Friday, April 21, 4:02 PM

  Miller’s Knob, Great North Mountain

  Outside Perry, West Virginia

  Tension thrummed through Meg like a live wire as she watched the West Virginia aviation trooper secure Mannew into the harness at the end of the thirty-foot hoist cable. Hawk hunched miserably at the far end of the ledge—while he was used to helicopter travel, he was used to being on the inside, not underneath the screaming of the rotors and the wind they produced.

  Meg tried several times to call down to him, but knew her words were lost in the vortex of air spinning around her. As much as she hated being near the edge, she forced herself to remain in his sight, using hand signals to communicate. Down. Good boy. But she was worried about the splatters of blood she could see on the rocks around him. She knew the femoral artery couldn’t have been hit, or he’d already be gone, but she wanted him treated now. Who knew how badly he was hurt at this point.


  But protocol demanded the human be rescued first. Meg was willing to defy protocol to save her dog, but part of her knew leaving Mannew there jeopardized the FBI’s case against him and would likely get her suspended. So she had to stand back and let the staties do their job, even if that meant leaving her dog alone on the ledge for minutes longer than she was comfortable.

  The trooper gave a thumbs-up to the hoist chief in the chopper and he and Mannew started to rise slowly into the air. Good thing everyone in the chopper was armed. The moment Mannew was aboard, he’d be contained and restrained. If he tried anything up there, no one would have any compunction about controlling him in whatever way was necessary.

  Brian joined her at the edge to watch with her. “Hanging in?” he yelled over the maelstrom.

  “I’ll be a hell of a lot better when my dog isn’t standing on the edge of a cliff.” She looked around him. “Where’s Lacey?”

  He pointed back about thirty feet where the German shepherd sat, partially shaded by the few trees hardy enough to grow up here. Her eyes were fixed on Brian and she looked ready to bolt for him if he got too close to the edge of the cliff. “I don’t want her near this drop.” He gave her the hand signal for “down” and she reluctantly dropped to the ground.

  They both looked up in time to see Mannew pulled into the helicopter. As the hoist chief held the line, another trooper cuffed Mannew, sat him onto a bench seat, and secured the handcuffs to a chain. There was no question of his guilt, and Daniel Mannew would never see daylight as a free man ever again.

  Meg felt a small amount of her tension fade. One down, now the more important one to go.

  The hoist chief secured a second harness to the clip on the front of the trooper’s harness, one without the distinctive leg loops and heavy shoulder straps for human rescues. The K-9 harness was heavily banded around the chest and torso areas, with two sturdy attachment points across the animal’s back. The chief slowly lowered the trooper and harness down once more. The gusting ridge wind tugged at the helicopter and Meg could see the pilot fighting to keep the Bell 407 steady.

  Despite the wind, the trooper dropped down precisely onto the ledge and quickly unsnapped the harness. Meg gave Hawk the hand signal for “up” and the dog climbed awkwardly to his feet. Even from the top of the overlook, she could see his whole body shaking, but couldn’t tell if it was from pain or the stress of the attack and rescue. Nevertheless, he stood stock still as the trooper stripped off his FBI K-9 vest, buckled the harness around him, and then strapped on a muzzle. Bending low, he attached the K-9 harness to the two steel clips at his shoulders. When he slowly straightened, Hawk hung from the harness at waist level. Looking up at Meg, the trooper gave her a smile and a nod. Everything’s okay.

  She gave him a small wave back, with a smile she hoped didn’t show how scared she was.

  Looking up at the chopper, the trooper gave another thumbs-up and then they were rising into the air. Meg kept her gaze glued to Hawk’s as they swung, seeing confusion and then fear at the unfamiliar sensation in his eyes. But he never struggled; he just relaxed into the lift, keeping his eyes on her the whole time as they came closer and closer.

  Meg raised her hand partway, wanting to reach out and touch him as he went by, even though she knew a good fifteen feet separated them. Her hand dropping limply to her side, she settled for vocal encouragement. “Good boy, Hawk. Good boy!” From the perk of his ears, she knew he heard her this time.

  Suddenly, the brutal wind caught at the helicopter, jerking it up and away from the cliff, and Hawk and the trooper danced and swayed in ever-widening swings at the end of the cable, in danger of starting an out-of-control spin. The trooper held on to Hawk with a death grip as, above, Meg could see the pilot fighting with the controls, trying to compensate for the vicious gusts coming over the ridgeline.

  Finally gaining control, the pilot swung them up and away from the edge of the outcrop and out of danger of smashing against the rocky wall. Clear of the power of the ridge winds, the hoist chief pulled Hawk and the trooper up steadily. It seemed like hours later, but was only a matter of moments before they pulled Hawk and the trooper inside the cabin. The trooper gave her a thumbs-up and then the door slid shut and the helicopter flew off, banking back the way they’d come, sunlight glinting off its windows.

  The air suddenly seemed oppressively silent and still after the roar of the engines.

  The weight of Brian’s hand landed on her shoulder and she looked up. “He’ll be okay. Lauren and Rocco will meet the helicopter at the helipad, and she’ll make sure Hawk is taken care of.”

  “I don’t want a country vet to look after him if he needs surgery. They’re good vets, but just don’t have the facilities we have at home. If it’s bad, I want to get him back to my own vet.”

  “Of course. But let’s see what’s going on first. I had a good look as he went up and I don’t think it’s that bad. It looked like a long shallow flesh wound. I don’t think the bullet penetrated, just skimmed the surface.”

  Meg let out an embarrassed laugh of relief and scrubbed her hands over her face. “I didn’t even look. I didn’t want to break eye contact with him.”

  “Of course not, and that’s what he needed. On the other hand, I was free to look at whatever I wanted.” He slung an arm over her shoulders and turned her away from the edge. “Come on. Craig is going to meet us down on Forest Road 92 and he’ll get us to Lauren and Hawk. Easy downward hike; I bet we can be there in twenty or thirty minutes tops. Come on, Lacey!”

  Lacey scrambled to her feet, waiting for them with bright eyes and a wagging tail up the path.

  Meg let out a long, exhausted breath and looked up at Brian as he walked beside her. “You’re right. I’ve had enough of this madman and the chaos he’s caused. Let’s go home.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Chapter 32

  Reward: Anything that a dog dearly enjoys can be used as a reward, including a tennis ball, stuffed animal, a stick, or food.

  Sunday, April 23, 11:14 AM

  George Washington Hospital

  Washington, DC

  “Come on, Hawk. It’s just down this hallway.”

  Meg’s nose wrinkled involuntarily as she passed one of the open rooms, Hawk trotting easily at her knee. Hospitals had a smell all their own—that overriding antiseptic odor, as if they were trying to hide the smell of death and decay that likely haunted the hallways. They overcompensated, and now it was just too . . . clean.

  Meg didn’t like hospitals. In her experience, nothing good ever happened in one. Sure, babies were born, but no one in her circle of friends or family had experienced that blessed event yet. Her only frame of reference was desperate rescues of injured victims and her mother’s terrifying breast cancer diagnosis at such a young age. And then the treatment. Surgery, chemo . . . so many visits. Her mother was the strongest woman she knew and she looked death in the eye, daring it to take her because hell, no, she wasn’t going without a fight. It was a battle Eda Jennings had won, but still, her oldest daughter didn’t like hospitals. Even if one had saved her mother’s life.

  But still she came. When you do search and rescue, part of you becomes attached to the person you’ve saved through the intensity of the moment and the intimacy of the rescue itself. If she could manage the time, Meg always spoke with her survivors one last time before they went their separate ways. It was a reminder to her of the good they could do. The effort was always worth it.

  She glanced down at Hawk, critically eyeing his gait. Brian had been correct in his spot analysis of Hawk’s injury. The bullet had skimmed along the outside of his hindquarter, slicing a shallow furrow through fur and skin. Hawk also had some scrapes and bruises from the fall to the ledge but, all things considered, had come through the experience in better shape than Meg anticipated.

  A vet at a local emergency veterinary hospital in Harrisonburg, Virginia, had cleaned and bandaged the wound. Now Hawk sported a light blue elastic banda
ge with navy paw prints that wrapped around his belly and behind his right leg to cover the whole hip area. Hawk was under strict instructions to not take part in any rescues and to limit outdoor time in an attempt to keep the wound clean for a full fourteen days as it healed. Even with only minimal painkillers, his limp was barely noticeable.

  Meg looked back up to scan the room numbers as they slid past, and then stopped dead as a man suddenly appeared up the corridor exiting a room. Hawk automatically stopped to stand quietly at her knee.

  Todd Webb met her gaze from twenty feet down the hall, one corner of his mouth quirking in a surprised smile. He raised a hand in hello, sidling around a nurse pushing a wheelchair with a blond boy holding a stuffed lion nearly as big as he.

  “Hey.” His smile went right to his eyes, but then cooled slightly as he took in the cut at her temple. “You’ve had an exciting few days. You okay?”

  “Yes. It looks worse than it is.”

  He dropped down to a squat to run one large hand over Hawk’s back. Hawk responded by nudging him excitedly with his nose and fiercely wagging his tail. “How badly is he hurt? The newspapers said he was shot.”

  “He was, but the bullet only grazed him. It looks nasty, but it’s just a flesh wound and won’t take more than a couple of weeks to heal. He seemed a little stiff yesterday, but has been moving more comfortably today.”

  “Good to hear.” Webb straightened. “You’re here to see Jill?”

  Meg laid a hand on Hawk’s wide head. “We are. Things have been a little . . . crazy lately, so this is the first time I’ve made it here.”

  “You caught the guy who put her here. She’s going to think that’s the best reason ever for a delayed visit.”