Chapter 1

Conall Burke had a million questions, and they all remained unanswered. He drove toward the address Kat had given him, to deal with the case of missing War Dog Bacchus. Conall didn't have a clue what he would do about it, even if the dog were still missing. He understood from the other guys working with Badger on various projects that he and Kat had been locating lost War Dogs for the last year or so, and they'd just received another four cases.

It didn't say much for the War Department that this many War Dogs would be missing, but since hundreds if not thousands or even tens of thousands of these dogs had been trained, maybe the ratio of lost dogs wasn't that bad. This case, well, it struck a little too close to home for Conall. This lost War Dog had been adopted by Michael Stanford, a retired veteran, who had lost a leg.

Conall wondered if his matching injury wasn't part of what was in the back of Kat's mind. She was a devious woman, presumably with the best of intentions, though it often didn't appear that way. He loved her dearly, but he just never quite understood her. No one knew where she was coming from, except maybe Badger. She always came from the heart, so Conall trusted her. Still, when she looked at you, something else was going on in those knowing eyes.

Conall shifted in the driver's seat of his old truck, grateful that he'd been asked to travel a little closer to home than the other guys had. With only one more state line to cross, he played the audio file of the interview on his phone as he drove. He understood a part of the problem was that Bacchus had been placed with an older veteran who was in a wheelchair. He still had some mobility, but the wheelchair was to help him get around a lot easier. The dog was part companion and part guard dog, and everything had been going fine—until the nephew had moved in to help out the old man. Then it wasn't long before the dog started disappearing throughout the day.

It started off as a little bit of straying. Then his absences went longer and longer. The uncle and nephew had no idea where Bacchus went, and any attempt to keep the dog locked up inevitably ended. As soon as Bacchus went out to do his business, he took off. He came back, but there was always a time lag. One of these times, whether coming or going, nobody seemed to know which, he was hit by a vehicle, taken to the veterinarian for treatment, then kept overnight.

According to Michael, when Bacchus was released the next day, somebody other than his nephew picked up the War Dog, and nobody seemed to know where Bacchus went from there.

A neighbor had asked him what had happened to the War Dog. She herself had applied to get one and had been refused, so she'd been keeping an eye on this one and was always friendly with it. When Michael told her what had happened, she reported it to the War Department.

Somehow that had come back down to Badger and Kat. Conall shook his head at the way things filtered through in the military. He didn't have any reason to suspect Michael of anything bad going on, but the fact that the dog's behavior changed after the nephew arrived did raise alarms. The behavioral change in a dog didn't happen for no reason. Conall couldn't say for sure that Bacchus was being abused or in any way mistreated, particularly by the nephew, yet that's when the change had happened. Conall would definitely take a closer look at the nephew.

The other problem was the old man hadn't reported it and apparently hadn't found the missing dog. Now it had been weeks, so it would be all that much harder to track down where the dog had ended up. The vet clinic claimed that they received a note, saying that the dog should be released to the nephew, and it was signed by Michael, the primary caretaker. The old veteran stated that he hadn't signed any such thing, that it was just a complete fabrication, and that he wanted his dog back.

That was an interesting point because, should the note exist, it did release the animal hospital of any kind of liability, but they should have checked with the owner first regardless.

The War Dog had been going in for its regular shots and checkups, and it was not uncommon for somebody else to take the dog in, as the old man had transportation issues, given his wheelchair, and his car was not modified for that. The nephew stated that he knew nothing about the vet visit or about the War Dog being released.

Shutting off the recording, Conall noted his turnoff up ahead. It took another twenty minutes or so to reach the small town where the dog had been living. Then Conall pulled off on the roadside and checked his GPS to see exactly where he was going. He listened to the rest of the audio file, which noted that the dog had served as an IED-locator dog and had done some chemical warfare work as well. He had been injured in one of his last missions, losing one of his legs, and had to be retired.

The dog had recovered from his war injuries and was still healthy, with three limbs intact, but he was no longer suited for the type of work he used to do. He didn't handle loud noises well, which could also explain why he may have taken off. If a vehicle had backed-fired in the area around him or if he'd heard some sound that upset him, he may have just charged off.

If Bacchus had already detached from the old man and had become used to doing different things during the day with others or just solo, it's quite possible the War Dog wouldn't come home. Bond formation between dog and owner was critical, and here, the bond didn't appear to be strong enough to keep him grounded. If the dog didn't like the nephew for some reason, that would be more motivation to leave. It all depended on the strength of Bacchus's bond with the old veteran, if there even were one to begin with.

Conall had plenty of things to consider, but nothing terribly suspicious, just things he needed to question and to check out. He pulled into a small roadside gas station and café, filled up his tank, hoping to find a coffee and a sandwich or something before he stopped in at the old vet's home to talk to him. The old man should be expecting him, but that didn't mean he would be looking for him today. Most people thought that they'd get a phone call or something along that line, but Conall was much more of an in-person kind of guy.

Parking his truck in a back lot, after having filled it up with fuel, he headed inside the café and sat down at a table in the back corner. He preferred to have his back protected and to watch the door. Maybe it was to look for an easy exit; he didn't know.

Conall's tours in the military seemed like a long time ago, yet remnants were still right here with him today in many ways. The PTSD would never go away, but he was managing it and would take that any day. His prosthetic leg with the knee joint was something that Kat was working on, and, so far, they'd done pretty well, and he was pleased with the progress he'd made. Was there more just waiting to be had? Absolutely. But that wasn't on Kat. She had done a phenomenal job and so had the surgeons.

It was easy to forget how far Conall had come in the last year. Still, he used to live another life, one that he loved and enjoyed, but everything was different now. Aside from this mission, he was currently looking after the family homestead, where he had a house to himself, in New Mexico, wondering what his life would be like from here on out. He'd been cleared to go back to work, whatever work that he chose, and he would be on military disability for the rest of his life. That did give him a certain amount of freedom, but it wasn't enough to give him full financial freedom.

So, some sort of vocation would be a good idea. He'd spent a fair amount of time working with Badger's crews, as they built houses to help other veterans, and Conall really enjoyed that kind of work. No pressure, a little money. It had kept him busy, which was good. He just didn't know what he wanted to do from now on. He could continue to do that and still do something else. He wasn't limited to just one side job.

He felt as if he needed to do something more, but the difference between a need and a want wasn't that easy to determine. In reality, he was just bored. This War Dog job—and he wasn't even sure it really was a job—was a change. No money was involved; it was all about helping an animal, and Conall certainly had used these animal skills to his advantage in the Middle East. So, if Badger and Kat needed help, Conall was certainly willing to do his part and to give back.

He was feeling a little edgy these days, and that was probably most of the problem he had being with Badger. Conall wondered if that was why Kat had chosen him for this job, but he didn't know for certain. He wouldn't worry about it now. He was here. He was okay to be here, and, if the War Dog needed him, Conall would do his best to find Bacchus and to help as much as he could. He adored animals of all kinds and honestly found them easier to be with than people, a good share of the time.

He'd heard rumors about Timber wanting to start a sanctuary. That was a hell of an idea, and Conall could see himself helping out with that, but so much mystery surrounded Timber. Thus Conall didn't know what was truth and what was rumor. Still, the guy was fascinating. Timber had a lot of stories, if you could get him to open up and talk. Most of the time, Timber didn't say anything. He just looked at you with that gaze that kind of slipped right into your soul.

"Wonder why they never ask him to do these War Dog jobs?" Conall murmured under his breath. Maybe they would, or maybe it was just part and parcel of all Kat's shenanigans. She seemed to have an uncanny idea of who could do what, like an all-seeing eye, and she chose the people for the job based on that. Hell, Conall didn't know. He just knew he should do this job, based on Kat's urging.

When he sat back with a hot cup of black coffee and a menu to peruse, he smiled as he looked around the small coffee shop. It brought to mind a million of these odd little cafés all around the country. Something was both welcoming and timeless about them, and, for him, it was almost a security. The familiarity allowed him to relax just a little bit more.

Conall considered asking the staff and the customers if they had seen Bacchus, providing them with the photo that Conall had on his phone. Yet something held him back from that. He didn't quite know his surroundings yet, so he thought he would test the waters first.

When a group of young men came in—loud, noisy, and rude—Conall felt himself tensing up. He knew guys like these. They were just the same as so many others all around the world, men who hadn't served their country and had no sense of loyalty because they had never really ever been tested.

They thought they knew what made everything work in life, but really, until you've had to prove your point or had to stand up for what you believe in, it was all talk. So, when it came to action, there were a lot of excuses from these bully types.

They sat down not too far from Conall and started hassling the waitress for coffee immediately. He shook his head, as she immediately came over and dropped menus on the table for them, with a coffeepot in hand. She was smiling and jovial, but Conall noted the wariness in her eyes. He watched the byplay with interest, wondering whether these were regulars and if she had to deal with this on an ongoing basis or if this group was here for the first time.

When one guy started to get snippy with her, she shook her head. "No, none of that. I'm not talking to you if you'll speak to me like that."

"If you don't give us that damn coffee like we asked for it," demanded this same guy, "you've got no business complaining. I asked for service, and you should be giving it to me."

She stared at him for a long moment. "Maybe I should call Old Joe out here, and you can tell him that."

"Yeah, maybe you should," he spat. "Shit, I don't even know why I keep coming here."

"I don't know either." She studied him with a wary eye.

Conall noted that she was probably in her mid-fifties or so and looked like she had seen this guy's type way too much. Conall watched carefully as the bully got a little more obnoxious.

Another of the men in his group added, "Calm down, Jake. We're just here for coffee. You don't have to go causing a headache wherever we go."

"I just want coffee too," he snapped, turning to glare at his friend. "Why the hell do you get coffee the way you want it, and I don't?"

"Maybe you need to change the way you ask for it," his buddy suggested, with a jeer.

Jake snorted, crossed his arms, and leaned on the table. He stared up at the waitress. "How about you just go get me what I asked for?"

"We don't have that here," she stated in an irate, yet still considerate tone. "You ask for it every time you're here, and the answer is always the same."

At that, Conall's gaze was caught by a movement behind the counter. An old man, his thick beefy arms the size of hams, stepped out and bellowed, "Is that you causing trouble again, Jake? You know better than to hassle my waitresses."

Jake turned and glared in his direction. "I am not hassling her. She's hassling me. And, just so you know, I just wanted a cup of coffee."

"No, you don't just want a cup of coffee," Joe clarified bitterly. "You want one of those fancy things that we don't offer. You also know very well that we don't offer it here, so why the hell are you still asking? Go down the street. Plenty other coffee shops will give it to you."

"I definitely would if I could, but these guys here?… They all want to come to this place." Jake shook his head. "I don't have a clue why."

"Doesn't matter either way. Now get lost. You don't need to be coming in here, causing trouble all the time. Go find some other place to hassle, if you're gonna act that way." And, with that, Old Joe stepped forward and out from behind the counter, glaring at him. "Don't make me get physical."

At that, Jake snorted. "Old man, you are way past the point of getting physical."

"Don't matter if I am or not," he stated, "because I would go down fighting, and you damn well know it, and then you will have that stench on your hand."

"I am not looking for trouble. I told you that."

Conall just watched with interest, as Old Joe tried to get Jake to take a walk, but Jake wasn't looking for any kind of appeasement. He was out looking for trouble and intent on finding it.

When the waitress came back in his direction, Conall quickly placed his order and watched as she returned to the other table. She asked if they wanted to place an order or if they just wanted coffee.

"You know I want coffee," Jake snorted, then got up, shoving the table back. "If I can't get it here, guess I'll get it somewhere else."

She just stepped out of the way, watching as he got up, either to leave or to cause more trouble. Jake stood by the door, obviously ready to leave.

Conall felt his own muscles tense, as he readied himself for a fight that wasn't even his.

The woman looked over at him and frowned immediately, almost a silent communication between the two of them. When she gave an ever-so-slight shake of her head, Conall relaxed, realizing that this was probably something that occurred on a regular basis. If they could solve it without violence, they would, but the waitress was really hoping not to have any more fights in her workplace.

Conall settled back and watched as Old Joe stayed out front the whole time that the bully was here. When his buddies finally finished their coffee, Jake looked over at the old man. "We ain't paying for this either."

Old Joe nodded. "Yeah, that's what you usually do. Come in here, cause trouble, and walk away without paying. I know all too well that's the only reason you come in here because you figure you can get it for free."

Jake snorted. "Why should I pay for the pathetic sludge you've got here?"

"Why drink it then?" he asked, looking at him with an intensity that confirmed how Old Joe had seen more in his lifetime than he cared to, and he knew exactly what this bully was all about.

"I sure as hell ain't paying." Jake turned to the rest of his crew. The two guys with him flushed and bolted immediately, but neither of them paid either.

Conall stared, then got up and walked to the door, as the waitress called out, "Are you not eating either?"

"Oh, I'm definitely eating," he replied, as he stepped out and quickly took a picture of Jake's license plate, just as the man stepped on the gas pedal, and the vehicle barreled out noisily. Walking back in, Conall sat back down at his table. The waitress looked at him, puzzled, as he shrugged. "With riffraff like that, I like to know who they are and what the hell they're up to."

Old Joe snorted. "They're up to the same shit they've always been up to. They think that they own the world and that the world should pay for them."

Just as he finished speaking, the door slammed open, and Jake walked back in. The waitress immediately stepped forward, "Now what?"

"That asshole," he yelled, pointing at Conall, "took a picture of our vehicle."

She frowned at him. "So what? Maybe he wants a truck like that for himself."

Jake glared at Conall, who just sipped his coffee, completely ignoring him. Jake hesitated, not sure what he should do, and then he snorted. "Better make sure that's all he was doing," And, with that, he stormed back out again.

Conall watched him leave. "Is he always like that?"

Old Joe nodded. "Yeah, the whole gang runs like that." He shook his head. "They come around every once in a while, acting like they're somebody special, somebody who doesn't have to play by anybody's rules, and they get to do whatever they want." He shrugged. "You can fight it all you want, but they would just bring the rest of their gang in here and cause even more trouble."

"Is that what this town is all about?" Conall asked, but he knew better than to expect an answer. "Doesn't sound too good to me."

Old Joe stared at him. "You're obviously a stranger."

"I am. I came into town to see an old man called Michael."

At that, his eyebrows popped up. "Now he's a friend of mine. What do you want with him?" he asked, his voice barely above outright suspicion.

"He lost a War Dog," Conall replied casually. "I'm here to try and find it." He showed them Bacchus's photo and asked if they had seen him in the last couple weeks. Both the waitress and Old Joe looked at him, stumped, shaking their heads. Conall nodded, understanding their hesitation to believe him. "Believe it or not, there are people out there who care when things like that happen."

"I sure as hell wish they cared about other stuff here too," Joe muttered, "like that riffraff you just saw walk out of here."

"Those guys," Conall asked, looking over at him, "live here?"

"Sure do," the waitress confirmed. "Years ago, when they were in high school, they weren't as bad, but they sure weren't good. They didn't give a crap about school, didn't give a crap about anything. It's not a surprise how they turned out."

"And, of course, they never served their country either, right?" Conall asked.

She shook her head. "Not too many people around here do."

"Do they give Michael a problem about that?"

"Sometimes," she said, with a nod. "People around here don't seem to have a whole lot of respect for veterans."

"I see," Conall replied. "That's interesting."

"If you're thinking about bucking against any of them"—Old Joe snorted from behind the counter—"you better get yourself a shotgun because these guys?… They don't play nice."

"Have they ever done any serious damage here?" Conall asked. The more information he had, the better off he would be.

"No, they just come around looking for free coffee."

"Interesting, what about food?"

"Not often. They usually just insult the hell out of us, and then they take off, as if they want to push it, but don't. They probably would if they had a little more balls," Old Joe said, then laughed. "Yet it's to my advantage that they don't. I don't move as quickly as I used to, and this woman here,… Rosalind, she's hell on customers with a fry pan. She keeps it stashed behind the counter here, just for the sake of those unsavory characters, but it doesn't seem to matter. That riffraff has taken over the town."

Conall shook his head. "Sad times."

"Absolutely," Old Joe agreed with a murmur, "but just because it's a sad time doesn't mean anybody gives a shit about changing it."

"You know anything about the local animal clinic?"

"My daughter works there," Rosalind stated. "What's she got to do with anything?"

He frowned at her. "Who said she did? I'm not suggesting anybody had anything to do with the missing War Dog. I'm just asking where I can find the clinic. I want to talk to them because the War Dog was getting treated there, right before he disappeared. I just want to know what kind of shape and condition he was in around the time he disappeared."

"You're really here hunting a War Dog?" she asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, I'm really here hunting a War Dog," he repeated, with a nod. "They served our country, and they deserve our care."

She nodded. "I always wondered about that, whether anybody gave a damn," she muttered. "It seems like so much of the world's been left to forage it on its own, and nobody cares anymore. Like the liars and cheats abound, and nobody else gives a crap."

"I don't know about that," Conall countered. "We do get ugly pockets of society, but that doesn't mean every place is like that."

A few minutes later, when Rosalind brought out his burger, he settled in to eat it. "Now, if you could give me directions on how to get to the animal clinic, that would be very helpful."

"Sure."

Old Joe handed Conall a piece of paper, as he ate. Once he had it in his head, he nodded. "Okay, good enough. I'll check it out, when I get through with my lunch here."

"Do I need to warn my daughter?" the waitress asked hesitantly.

He frowned again and shook his head. "I'm only here to talk to them. We're not accusing anybody of anything." He didn't say it, but it was obvious that she heard something in his voice.

"She would never do anything to hurt an animal," she declared.

"I'm not expecting to find anybody at the clinic who hurt any animal, including this War Dog," Conall clarified. "I just don't know what happened to it, and I don't have any leads, and I need to find out on my own, without dealing with people distorting events or mixing up memories."

He sensed something between Old Joe and Rosalind, a silent communication or something, but Conall also knew that he was an outsider. Having declared who and what he was and why he was here, he was even more of an outsider, particularly if they knew something about the missing dog. "It would, however, be really helpful if anybody who knows something about the missing War Dog would speak up," Conall suggested.

"What will you do then?" Rosalind asked, her gaze narrowing. "You don't know that anything bad has happened to that dog."

He raised his eyebrows. "No, I sure don't," he agreed, "but I also don't know that anything good has happened. So, until I get to the bottom of this, I'll be checking it out." He got up, put down the money for the bill, including a decent tip, then walked slowly toward the front door. His limp would show, mostly because he'd been sitting for a while.

Old Joe called out, "Good luck."

Conall had little doubt what that meant, as he lifted a hand in reply and stepped outside. Sure enough, there he found the same gang of hoodlums who had raised the stink about the coffee, before he'd taken a picture of their truck.

He looked at them for a long moment, then slowly walked to his vehicle. He knew exactly what their reaction would be to his limp.

The bullies recognized it right away, and they started jeering.

Old Joe came out and swore at them. "You leave him alone," he roared. "He served our nation and did tours in the military. You never signed up, so you don't know a damn thing about what happened to him."

"Don't matter if I do or not," Jake howled, "but he walks like some stiff robot."

"Only until the joint eases off," Conall stated, having heard it all before. After a few more steps, his muscles had eased enough that he could walk a lot more normally. He looked at Jake intently. "Guess you've never been badly injured, huh?"

"No, sure haven't. Only losers get injured," he declared, with a laugh.

"Interesting point," Conall replied. "So, you don't know anybody who's been injured who isn't a loser, huh?"

"No, nobody I know of that isn't a loser." He glanced at the other two men with him. "What about you guys? You don't know anybody who's not a loser who's been injured, do you?"

One of his buddies looked uncomfortable.

Conall nodded. "It's one thing to be following an ass, but it's another thing when it hits a little more personally, isn't it?"

The guy just glared at him.

"This injured person in your life, what would he think of your judgment of him?"

At that, Jake laughed. "That's his father, and he's a loser anyway."

"Hey, that's not fair," the burly guy protested.

"Hell, you know this guy's a loser too." Jake pointed at Conall, with a sneer. "He joined the military and look what happened to him. He ended up looking like this."

Old Joe snorted. "So? It wasn't his fault."

"It is his fault if he made the stupid decision to go into the military," Jake added, with another jeer.

The other guy's face flushed with anger, but he didn't do anything.

"A bully never stops unless you stand up to him," Conall told the guy.

At that, the guy turned on him and glared. "You don't know anything."

"I don't need to," Conall stated, without being intimidated or showing any anger. Why give them ammunition? "I can see it all from here."

"Yeah? What do you see?" Jake snapped.

"That you guys are pieces of shit. You walk around town, don't pay for anything, take from these people, and you abuse them. About the abuse though, I think you verbally abuse everybody around you because you're so insignificant and insecure that it's the only way you can face yourself in the morning. You only feel like a big man if you make the others around you seem to be smaller, by verbally beating up on everybody around you."

There was dead silence all around.

Conall noted that Rosalind had joined Old Joe outside. They had stepped out so they could hear Conall. He walked over to his vehicle, then stopped and looked back at them. "The name's Conall, so…"

Jake jumped in to add, "So, when we need the name for your gravestone?"

"Are you threatening me?" Conall asked, with a small smile in Jake's direction, giving him a lazy look, up and down.

"What are you gonna do about it?"

"First off, it'll take more than you boys to worry me. But now that you have threatened me in public, in front of everybody, I've got absolutely no qualms about putting you six feet under, if you try to physically attack me." He smiled at the bullies, taunting them.

He got in his vehicle, raised a hand at Old Joe, and said, "Thanks for lunch," and, with that, he drove away.

"He did what?"Bethany Wittaker asked her mother in horror. She stared down at the phone. "Somebody braced those idiots? Why would he have taken them seriously in the first place?" She was shocked, looking for a reason, stumbling on her words.

As she listened to her mother's explanation, Bethany shook her head. "So, he's injured? That's not good."

Her mom rattled on about thinking that maybe he was a veteran himself.

"Sure, but you also know those punks are bad news, and the fact that Jake came after your place again just drives me nuts."

"I know, but we can't do anything about it, at least not personally. He and his crew are too slimy for us to even deal with," she muttered.

"I know, but thanks for the heads-up on the War Dog," she muttered. She hung up the phone, staring down at it.

"What was that all about?"

She looked over at Adam, her part-time employee, and shook her head. "Somebody is here about the War Dog, or will be here soon anyway."

"We were expecting that," he said, with a shrug, "so, that's not exactly newsworthy."

"No, but he stopped by Joe's Diner, and Jake and his boys were there, giving the place a shakedown again, not paying as usual."

"That kid is just a piece of shit."

"I know, but nobody ever tells him that.… Apparently this new guy made no bones about it, and they got into quite a discussion that turned into Jake threatening him."

"Threatening him?"

"Yeah, and in front of everybody at that."

"Which won't make a damn bit of difference if just his friends were there," he pointed out. "As you and I both know, Jake has a habit of getting away with all the crap he pulls."

"Isn't that the truth," she agreed bitterly. "In this case, the guy stated that now that Jake had threatened him publicly, he would have absolutely no remorse about taking him down, should Jake ever attack him."

At that, Adam whistled. "That would have been a shock to Jake's ego. He's run pretty wild around this place, and nobody's ever threatened him back."

"I don't even think it was a threat," she clarified. "It sounded more like a promise, at least according to Mom."

"Dramatics aside, it's pretty amazing that anybody even stood up to Jake." Adam chuckled at the thought.

"Yeah, but you know somebody has to. That kid has run wild for far too long."

"Agreed. Just because his daddy owns so much property here doesn't mean that Jake should do what he does."

"I agree with you. It's just a sad day when a stranger comes to town on a completely different issue, one I'm already not too thrilled about, and here we end up with him getting a really bad impression of this place right off the bat."

"I don't think it's a bad impression. It's probably a true impression. You and I both know Jake's gotten even harder and harder to deal with over the years. Thankfully, because of the work we do, we don't have to deal with him much."

"Maybe not," she conceded, rotating her neck, "but it does seem he's getting more out of control. If somebody doesn't do something soon, it'll be bad news for everybody involved."

"You and I both know that's exactly what it'll be, bad news all the way. So, if Jake got put in his place by somebody,… I say it's all good."

"Yeah, and what if he turns around and hurts this guy? He came here because of the War Dog," she shared. "So, it'll hardly do us any good if he gets attacked here because of that punk."

"Even if that happened, it wouldn't be our fault," Adam pointed out, shaking his head. "It's not as if we would have anything to do with it."

Just then the receptionist, Melanie, came into the back. "A man is here to talk to you about the missing War Dog," she announced, her voice rising in excitement.

Bethany shook her head at her receptionist. "It's fine, Mel. I'll go talk to him."

Shooting a glance at Adam, she headed out to the waiting room. Once there, she stopped and frowned. There he was, just as her mom had described. Bethany stepped forward and asked, "May I help you?"