Audra sat in her car, gripping the steering wheel so tight her fingers were numb. Her father's run down single wide stood less than ten feet away, its broken storm door on the front hanging off its hinges at an odd angle, the front door behind wide-open. Trash, old car parts, and a broken-down lawnmower dotted what was left of his yard, the rest completely overgrown with weeds. The plastic trailer siding was chipped and as broken as the man who lived inside it.

She'd promised herself she’d never come back here, certain there wasn't a force on this earth that could make her step foot on his property.

But she'd been wrong. She'd been so wrong.

There was one thing she'd failed to take into account when making that promise and it was one she didn’t want to think about, let alone comprehend.

But the horrible truth hammered away at the flimsy barriers she’d put up around her heart, replaying the phone call and the funeral over and over and over in her mind.

Tears pricked her eyes and she reached across the console to skim her fingers over the tightly wound fabric of the tri-folded American flag propped in her passenger seat. The same flag that had been draped over her brother's coffin a few days ago.

Pain punched her heart and her fingers reflexively clutched the corner of the flag.

Jeremy was gone.

Dead.

Her invincible big brother had been taken out by an explosion in a foreign country in some remote village in the desert no one has ever heard of, fighting for a cause she didn’t think existed.

When she'd gotten the news they'd shipped Jeremy’s belongings back to their father’s house instead of hers, she’d rushed to the base and confronted a specialist in HR who looked like he’d watched Patton every day on his lunch break. She’d been half way through berating him for the military’s ineptitude with her brother’s stuff before Spc buzz-cut had her removed from the office.

At least Jeremy’s First Sergeant let her know her brother’s service dog, Trigger, who’d been injured in the blast had been sent safely back to the states to live out his days in a loving home.

The thought of her dad laying his hands on anything meaningful to Jeremy made bile burn the back of her throat. The man ruined everything he touched. He’d beaten their mother nearly to death before she took off, abandoning her children to Dale’s alcoholic rages. If Jeremy hadn’t hit his growth spurt at such an early age, she had no doubt in her mind he would've beaten them both to death. But tough times tend to make people grow up fast, and Jeremy and Audra were no exception.

Audra took a deep breath, grabbed the door handle before she lost her nerve and got out the car. Her sandals crunched across a mixture of crumpled trash and scattered gravel on her way to the set of rickety steps leading up to the open front door. She gained the top step and the smell of rotting food and mildew hit her full force.

Choking, she yanked the edge of her collar over her nose, attempting to put some barrier between herself and the stench. "Dale?" She hadn’t called him dad since second grade.

No one answered her, but the sound of a TV playing from the back of the trailer reached her ears. Audra called out louder, "Dale."

He still didn't answer. Her luck he was passed out drunk on his bed and she'd have to wake him up, something she'd learned at a very early age was hazardous to her well-being.

Through the open door, she saw the tattered and torn couches from her past, the same pale green she remembered, only with stains and holes that didn't used to be there. The walls had yellowed from smoke and the fan was missing a blade, making it squeak with each drunken turn.

She did not want to go inside, but saving Jeremy’s belongings from their father was more important than her wants. She had to go inside.

Audra forced one foot in front of the other, crossing the threshold onto what used to be gleaming white and navy linoleum. She didn't bother calling out again, she’d just be wasting her voice. Audra squared her shoulders and marched through the living room/kitchen area, stopping in the open doorway of her father's bedroom. The scene that lay out before her held everything she expected: blaring TV, a stained mattress on the floor and enough liquor bottles to fill a dumpster on the floor.

The only thing missing was Dale.

Audra let out the breath she'd been holding.

She did as thorough a search of the trailer as she could without contamination and then tried to slide open the back patio door, only to find it sealed shut. But through the dirty glass she saw exactly what she'd come here to find – the big black box containing her brother's belongings from overseas.

Audra rushed out the front door, past Dale’s rusty pickup truck and around the side yard, mindful of snakes and whatever else may be hiding in the knee-high weeds.

Jeremy’s box lay on its back at an odd angle, as if someone had thrown it instead of setting it down with the loving tenderness it deserved. There was a master lock on the front, keeping the lid in place.

Maybe luck was on her side – maybe her father had gone on a joyride with some of his friends and she could take Jeremy’s belongings and escape undetected.

She grabbed the sturdy handle on the end, tipped the box upright and drug it across the backyard, struggling with its weight, but knowing Dale may return any second gave her the added strength she needed. By the time she reached her car and opened the trunk, sweat plastered her shirt to her back. She yanked it into her car, slammed the trunk closed, and then slapped the dirt off her hands and turned to glare at her father's trailer.

A small part of her wished he was here. She could have railed at him. She could have cursed his name. She could have told him she was glad he’d skipped Jeremy’s funeral.

But more than anything else, she felt immense relief.

After dealing with the anguish of Jeremy's death, she might genuinely lose it if she had to confront her dad. Deciding to accept the gift that had been handed to her, Audra slid back into the front seat of her car, sparing the broken-down trailer one last look.

That's when her gaze landed on the cage on the ground a few feet from the steps. A cage she'd completely missed when she'd first arrived. Dread rose inside her and she stumbled out once more, working her way to the waist high wire cage.

When she was just inches from it she stopped and stared, her dismay turning to panic. A bronze colored medal attached to a purple ribbon hung through the holes that made up the roof, a small black leather case lay open on the ground at her feet.

Hand trembling, she bent over and picked it up, reading the name inscribed on the inside.

Trigger.

Her fingers went numb and the case fell to the ground, forgotten.

Trigger, her brother’s K-9 bomb sniffing dog, had been sent home to their father. Any small measure of relief she felt turned into horror as her gaze landed on the very obvious trail leading into the small stretch of woods off to the side. By sending Trigger to Dale, they’d sentenced him to death.

Heart pounding hard enough to crack her sternum, Audra raced to her car, reversed and roared down the dirt path that was her father's driveway. Highway 389 S. was on the other side of that small patch of woods, and for some reason she couldn't identify, she knew with every fiber in her being that's where she'd find Trigger.

She just prayed she’d find him alive.

* * *

The empty echoes of the computers buzzing filled the war room. Diggs paced back and forth, needing to work off the excess energy in his system. Team had made it to the airport and performed a thorough search only to come up empty. Diggs had sat at base and searched through every camera feed within two miles of the damn airport and turned up absolutely nothing. Rainier had disappeared. Again.

And he was done waiting.

He turned to walk out of the room and head to the training facility, hearing the punching bags practically calling his name, when the alert sensors for the perimeter sounded. The team shouldn’t be back for another hour and a half.

And then he saw the video feed and froze, the scene playing out before his eyes so unexpected he didn’t even react for a full ten seconds. But when his brain kicked back into gear, so did his body.

He raced from the war room, a blur as he ran through the mansion and down the miles-long driveway. He barely felt the afternoon sun on his shoulders or heard his boots pounding on the pavement.

Diggs reached the gate, slapped his hand on the digital opener and barely allowed the gate to slide far enough for him to squeeze through. On the northwest corner of the perimeter, the man with the baseball bat he’d seen in the video swayed unsteadily over a bloody three-legged dog on the side of the road.

Rage scorched his veins. No animal deserved cruelty. Diggs had seen enough violence wrought on humans and animals alike in his missions, and he’d managed to turn a cold shoulder to the horror. Death and destruction were part of war. He couldn’t do his job if he broke down every time he saw pain or torture.

But he wasn’t at war anymore and this was his turf. His home. Diggs would rot in hell before he allowed anyone to perpetrate violence on an innocent without justice.

Diggs sniffed the air, picking up the overwhelming scent of stale alcohol. The guy had obviously skipped showers in lieu of supersized burgers at a fast food chain and a bottle of whiskey.

The man wrapped his meaty fists around the wooden bat and lifted it over his dirty head, completely unaware he was no longer alone. Diggs shot forward, running as fast as his legs would allow. He grabbed the bat and jerked it from the asshole’s grip, sending the man careening to the ground.

The dog didn’t get up. It looked like a German Shepherd, but from the massive amounts of blood matting his fur, it was hard to tell. Motherfucker. Diggs cracked his knuckles around the handle, testing the weight. It was short and wood and heavy enough to break bones.

The guy managed to roll up onto a knee, his bloodshot eyes narrowing when he saw the bat clutched in Diggs’ hand. “Back off before I teach you the same lesson I taught the dog,” he slurred, spit flying from his mouth.

The dog whimpered and Diggs took a menacing step forward. The need to commit an equal amount of violence against the man vibrated around Diggs’ veins. Giving the man a taste of his own medicine was almost too tempting to pass up. Almost. “You’re welcome to try, old man.”

“You ain’t got no right to come between a man and his property.”

“Property? That dog is a living breathing creature. You have no right to beat him.”

The man lumbered forward and spit on the ground at Diggs’ feet. The stench of alcohol was strong enough to melt pavement. “What you gonna do, pretty boy? Call the police?” he said with an accent straight out of the hills of the Virginia coal mines.

“I don’t need the cops to take care of you,” Diggs said quietly.

The steel-threaded threat in his voice must’ve penetrated the man’s drunken fog because he pulled up short and his bloodshot eyes narrowed as he reassessed the situation. “Where you come from, boy?”

Diggs slowly shook his head, letting his fury feel the cold focus winding around his body. Losing his temper would end up getting someone hurt. “Doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you walk away while you can.”

He’d never intentionally harmed a civilian in his life, but this guy had teetered right up to the edge of Diggs’ thin red line. Diggs cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck in a way even a drunk could recognize as dangerous. He wouldn’t kill him. He’d just teach him a lesson in pain. He’d trained with the most elite of the military, and then he’d become the man the elite trained to become. His skills were as natural as breathing.

The guy stumbled closer, tripped on a rock and landed with his hands on Diggs’ chest. Diggs took the brunt and rolled sideways. The guy grabbed his shirt, ripped the fabric, and fell to the ground.

Diggs glanced down at his now torn shirt and fingered the flap of blood-stained material. “That your best shot?”

The guy staggered to a knee, wheezing and coughing. His stench was enough to make Diggs back up a step. “You—” His voice wobbled as he got one foot under his frame and focused on Diggs. “You—” The man’s reddened face paled to ash and his fat lips flapped open and shut.

“What?” Diggs took another step away, not sure what the guy’s new angle was.

“You’re military,” the guy croaked out, grabbing his chest like he was having a heart attack. Which was a very real possibility considering he had to be over two hundred pounds past healthy and smelled like a still.

“Ex-military.” Diggs glanced down. His dog tags, worn out of habit more than anything else, hung through the tear in his shirt.

“You stay the hell away from me. Take the damn dog, you two deserve each other.”

And with that cryptic comment, the guy stumbled across the blacktop and into the woods, muttering incoherently as he bashed his way through the trees and kept going.

What the fuck was that?

The dog whined and Diggs banished the man from his mind and knelt at his side, almost scared to touch him. The dog’s eyes were closed and his breathing was labored. Every other second, he whimpered. Dammit. Diggs should have killed that bastard. “Hold on, fella. I’ve got you now.”

Diggs ran a callused hand over the dog’s slick blood-soaked fur. Suddenly, the dog opened his dark eyes and stared at Diggs. He’d seen that look before, that shattered panicky look with hollowed-out eyes and ragged breathing indicating this was a creature used to living in constant fear. He’d seen that look on his own teammate’s face when they’d been held hostage by Rainier.

Diggs lifted his hand, blood sticking to his fingers. A hollow rage formed in the center of his chest.

His gaze landed on the bat a few feet away. He picked it up and held it for inspection, reading the inscription beneath all the blood. The Boom had been etched into the bottom of the barrel, right above the words Little League World Series. The ache in his chest swelled, forcing out the oxygen in his lungs, leaving room only for fury.

The drunk bastard had used some kid’s bat to beat the dog. He’d probably used the bat to beat the kid.

A roar of fury ripped from his throat, and Diggs slammed the bat over his knee, splintering the wood in two. Had he let the man stumble home to abuse his son? He’d find the man as soon as he took care of the dog.

But before he could take a step, an olive-green hatchback came careening around the curve in the road, it’s V4 engine straining with effort. The car skidded to a stop about ten feet past him and with the engine still running, the driver slammed out of the door. Diggs took in two facts at once: the driver was breathtaking and she was furious. Her deep red hair swung in long tendrils around her shoulders and bright green eyes glowed with ferocity.

“Get away from that dog! I’ve got pepper spray!”

Diggs forced his gaze from her face and down to the leather encased can of pepper spray clutched in her fist. She advanced without caution, recklessly uncaring of her own safety.

“I’m giving you one more warning. If you don’t get away from him I’ll spray you!” She kept coming, and he couldn’t help but notice the thick swell of her breasts as they rose and fell rapidly beneath her T-shirt.

Damn, she was gorgeous.

“I warned you.” She lifted the can of pepper spray and Diggs snapped out of his haze.

“I didn’t hurt the dog.”

She glanced at the bat, now one piece in each of his hands. “Yeah, right. Drop it and back away.” She kept her pepper spray raised, as if that could stop him if he actually intended to harm her. But clearly the woman put her personal safety below that of the injured dog’s welfare.

“Look, lady, I didn’t hurt the dog. I saved him.” Diggs flung the bat to the ground and squared his shoulders.

Her eyes flashed and she took another step closer. “Get away from him!”

Diggs lifted his arms in a gesture of surrender and took a step back. Standing here arguing with her would only prolong the dog’s pain.

She edged closer, hand outstretched and ready to spray. “Who are you?”

He couldn’t tell her the truth. They’d spent months burying their identities and hiding from the public. Even if she had no idea who he was, his enemies had the uncanny ability to tap into just about any security system, electronic device, or traffic light. Leaving the compound was a risk—standing out in the road was dangerous.

“Just a guy trying to help an injured animal. I saw another man beating him with this bat. I stepped in to stop him and he ran.”

“What did the man look like?” she asked quietly. Her freckled cheeks had lost some of their rosy glow.

Diggs shrugged, but kept his arms raised. “Drunk. Dirty reddish-grey hair. Like he hadn’t had a bath in a month.”

Her face drained of color and her expression shifted from fury to shell shock.

“You know him?” Seeing her break, Diggs eased his hands to his sides.

She jerked her head to the side, robbing him of her face and lifted her arm to place the back of her hand against her forehead. Her pepper spray dangled from her fingers. “I tried to get here.” Her voice wobbled.

“Hey, it’s okay. I was here.” Diggs dipped his head, trying to see around her arm. She’d shielded herself from him, but he could feel her despair.

“I failed him.”

The dog? “Lady, the dog is still alive.”

She threw her head back and said, “I’m sorry.”

Oh great, of course she would be crazy. Or maybe dramatic would be better. Talking to the sky wasn’t exactly sane, but he didn’t like to think she was certifiable.

Then she turned back to him, tears streaking down her cheeks and he realized she wasn’t any of those. She was truly fearful for the animal.

Not understanding why he needed to make her feel better, he said, “I live less than a half mile away and have the supplies to treat his injuries.”

“You do?” She rubbed her face dry with her palms.

He had years of field medical training and a doctor on staff. If he couldn’t fix the dog, Dr. Averton could. “Absolutely.”