Under Fire

Brandon slammed his door, triggering a distant ripple of barks. He flinched. His pulse ramped. He tipped back his head and stared at the crescent moon, dragging in calming breaths to ease the tightness in his chest. Sharp noises still did that to him. But at least he wasn’t face down in the dirt anymore.



Thanks to his dog. And speaking of his dog…



He’d never have expected to be the kind to pay for a pooch-sitter. But since Rachel’s pooch had been poisoned, he wasn’t taking any risks leaving Harley alone, and oddly enough his mutt enjoyed the pack day.



Therapy dogs weren’t allowed into all the places a service dog could go. And as much as he hated to be away from his new pet, he’d known he would need the workout in the gym after his therapy session. So he’d dropped off his Australian shepherd–beagle mix for the day at Catriona Whittier’s business. Catriona, not what he’d expected from a doggy day care… person? Caretaker?



Not that he was sure what a canine-sitter was supposed to look like. A big burly guy who herded the pack? Or a prim, stern schoolmarm type who kept the pooches in line?



Catriona was neither of those. She was… quiet. Peaceful.



There’d been a time he lived for conflict on an adrenaline-soaked field. Football or battle. He was all-in, gung ho, and kicking ass. He’d had no idea how valuable peace could be until he lost it altogether.



He needed to quit staring at the moon and get his dog.



Brandon jogged up the driveway and around the pink stucco one-story on the beach to the fenced waterside area around back. A pricey piece of prime real estate she’d inherited from her parents. Or so Catriona had told him once.



Nearly mile-high palm trees swayed and rustled, roots holding firm against ocean winds that were mere puffs compared to hurricanes of the past. Trees only got that tall over time. Their height testified to her long line of privilege.



Yet she chose to spend her days with dogs rather than the social set.



Barking their heads off at him from inside the house, a dachshund and beagle hooked their paws on the half-open windows, the fans cranked on high.



“Yeah, guys, I know you’re there and I’m on your turf,” he said.



It was easier to talk to the dogs than to people now. He cleared the house and came to the gate, a brightly painted sign illuminated with a spotlight: Wags and Whiskers Doggy Daycare.



He walked under the honeysuckle arbor just before the gate leading to a fenced backyard with privacy wood along the sides and chain link on the end that faced the ocean. The enclosed lawn sported baby pools, tires to jump through, and buckets of drinking water. Oversized doghouses were painted to resemble the main house. Little froufrou pampered fluff balls with bows on their furry ears mingled with the larger Labs and bulldogs.



So different from his boyhood farm where the animals had roamed free… although the scent of honeysuckle was the same. Except in that wide-open childhood, he’d lost more than one family pet to a roadside accident or a neighbor’s buckshot.



The thought of something happening to Harley gripped him. And then, bam. There came that cold sweat again. His feet stumbled on… nothing. They just tangled up.



“Harley?” he shouted, grabbing the fence for balance, searching the yard as motion sensors clicked floodlights on.



Catriona stepped from behind one of the doghouses. “Hey, Brandon, Harley’s inside, zonked out from playing all afternoon. Come with me and I’ll show you her favorite napping spot.”



Catriona trailed her fingers down a wire fence around a dry baby pool with a Dalmatian curled up with her litter of puppies. She wound her way through the pack of dogs, lightly touching each on the head as she passed, fearless, at peace. This calm, collected woman didn’t know the meaning of a cold sweat.



As always, his eyes were drawn to her, holding.



She had ginger hair, whispery fine and swept back with a headband. She always wore jean capris with a loose T-shirt, dark colored. Most likely so the dog fur and muddy pawprints didn’t show. Not that she ever appeared anything other than serene, natural. She never put on makeup but always wore a hint of sunburn on her cheeks and a light sheen of perspiration that glistened better than the high-priced face creams Stella—his last girlfriend—had kept lined up on her side of the bathroom vanity.



Before she’d dumped his ass a month after he returned all loco in the head. Not that he could blame her.



Still, he couldn’t help but think how Catriona was nothing like Stella or any type he’d hooked up with in the past. But he wasn’t the same man now that he’d been before leaving for Afghanistan. A moot point, really, since he wouldn’t be hooking up with Catriona or any woman. He had nothing to offer—in or out of bed. These days, he felt next to nothing, like someone had short-circuited his mainframe.



Given how raw he was today after the therapy session from hell, it would be best for all if he just hauled out of here. “No need to stop what you’re doing. I’ll get Harley and leave a check on the kitchen counter.”



He was a f**king coward.



“Really, it’s okay. I actually took some photos of the dogs, and there are some great shots of Harley.”



Shots.



Crap.



The word shot alone turned his cold sweat downright icy. “Pictures?”



He forced himself to act normal. To pretend.



“A video, too.” A smile lit her pretty hazel eyes. “That dog of yours is a real ham.”



“Thanks. But I should go. Long day”—with the shrink, then pounding a punching bag, trying like hell to get back to work again. To get his military career back on track.



He’d gone to The Citadel military college on a football scholarship, played quarterback. Was pretty much a rock star in his hometown, the golden boy with a bright future in the air force as a security cop.



He’d understood a Middle East deployment would come his way. He’d expected and embraced the opportunity. He’d realized it would be tough—he wasn’t delusional. Not then, anyway. He’d been prepped for the possibility of PTSD.



He’d just never really expected it to happen to him.



This fear that gripped his chest like a heart attack without warning. First time he’d heard fireworks after coming home, he’d damn near pissed himself.



Warrior strong?



Fuck.



She touched his arm lightly. “Are you okay?”



“Yeah, sure.” He shook off the fog. How long had he been standing here, staring off into space? “We were talking about videos, right?”



“Exactly. Harley played in the pool to cool off, splashing like crazy. She’s dry now, though.” Her eyes narrowed too perceptively. “Would you like a cup of coffee before you head back out?”



“I just need to pick up my girl.” Something cold nailed the back of his calf just below his shorts. He jolted around hard and fast. Only a dog. A familiar blue pit bull. “Isn’t this one of Rachel’s?”



“Ruby Two. Right. Which is funny, since she’s blue. Both of Rachel’s new trainees are here.” She started toward the house, and he moved in step with her. “She took Disco with her when she stopped by early this morning.”



“Where did she go?” He scratched the tightness in his chest. He’d been planning to call Rachel, to talk about… his dog. The whole pet-therapy gig. Not that he totally bought into it. He just liked having a dog. Nothing more.



“Rachel didn’t say.” Catriona swung open a reinforced screen door leading onto an oversized porch. “Just that she needed some time away and paid for a week’s worth of sitting in advance, not that I ever worry about her settling up. I would give her the time for free in exchange for all the work she does.”



He looked fast, searching for signs she was digging at his problem. He found nothing in her eyes but more of the peace. What would she think of him if he spilled all his whacked-out conspiracy theories? But he kept his mouth shut. Dumping that on her wasn’t fair—hadn’t been fair to Rachel either, she’d just caught him in a weak moment. Once he had his feet on solid ground again, he would get to the root of what he’d heard, find those responsible, and nail their asses to the wall.



For now, he had to bide his time and get his head on straight.



Catriona scratched Tabitha’s head between ears that had been cropped with scissors before the Argentine Dogo been rescued from a Miami street gang. The gentle glide of her fingers against the sleek white fur seemed so damn soothing. “Thank goodness Rachel decided to get away, though, or she could have been hurt in that explosion.”



He looked up fast to her face. “What did you just say?”



“The explosion, it was on Rachel’s block. I thought I mentioned that earlier. Sorry, I’m so used to hanging out with the pooches, I lose some of my people skills.”



She communicated just fine. More likely she’d told him while he was in his fog state. “There’s a fire in Rachel’s neighborhood?”



His mind started racing. This couldn’t be coincidental.



In a moment of weakness he’d told Rachel Flores things he should have kept to himself. Going to the authorities had been every bit as useless as he’d expected. The golden boy was now seriously tarnished. No one took him seriously, and if anything, he’d just put himself and Rachel at risk by telling what he knew. He wouldn’t have said anything at all, except he’d been hanging out with her and with Harley, and the next thing he’d known, he was spilling his guts.



Damn it, where was Harley?



In the house. Right. And once he had his shepherd he could call Rachel. He patted his pocket and realized he must have left his cell phone in the truck.



“I need to get my dog.” He charged past her abruptly, the roaring in his ears almost as loud as the crashing waves hammering the shore. He’d become so dependent on the mutt, he couldn’t face traffic without her for fear a car would backfire and he might…



He didn’t want to consider what he might do.



Her feet sounded lightly behind him. “Are you sure you don’t want some coffee? Or you could even stay for supper.”



He turned to her, stunned. “Huh?”



“Supper. Food. To go with that coffee.” She twirled a bit of honeysuckle vine between two fingers. “Nothing fancy, but I promise there aren’t any dog hairs in it.”



“Because you feel sorry for me?”



“Because I don’t want to eat alone.” She waved him along, walking sure-footedly even as a golden retriever and cocker spaniel played chase in circles around her feet. “Come on, you can help me make the hamburger patties. Gotta warn you, though, we’ll be eating off paper plates. I hate to do dishes, since I already wash so many dog bowls every day. Like I said, nothing fancy.”



Just completely normal. And tempting. But his life wasn’t normal anymore. “Thanks. Maybe another time. I really need to track down Rachel.”



***



Rachel disconnected Liam’s phone with a frustrated jab. “He’s not home, and he’s not answering his cell. I don’t know where he is. And Catriona’s not picking up either.”



She dropped Liam’s phone back into a cup holder between them and hooked her elbow out the open window as they drove along the oceanside road. Streetlamps curved inward overhead, marking the roadway. The moonlight glinted off the murky water alongside, tiny ripples crawling across the surface. The air turned muggy as the after-storm humidity hung in the air and steamed up from the road.



Hot. But not nearly as hot as her town house currently burning to the ground. She tipped her head back on the seat, her chest tight at how close she and Disco had come to being caught in that blaze. How many other people hadn’t been nearly as lucky? She couldn’t bear the thought that anyone was even injured because of her.



Even if everyone walked away, how awful to lose everything. It was only a rental and she didn’t own much, but the mementos she’d collected over the years were irreplaceable.