Chapter 2

USAG BAVARIA GRAFENW?HR, GERMANY

"We're sorry. The board recommends a medical separation."

Davis shook his head, remembering the words of the physician from the Medical Evaluation Board meeting. He stormed down the corridor of the USAG building, replaying the meeting where they'd just deep-sixed his career. He punched open the double doors. They hit the wall with force. Earned him a couple hard looks from soldiers walking by.

In a single moment, his poor judgment call had destroyed years of blood, sweat, and hard work. Worse, killed his best friend. Blood that would always be on his hands. He couldn't even honor Luke's memory by trying to salvage his career and do better. Four months of pushing himself to the limit in rehab hadn't made a difference—evidence that decisions had lasting consequences. But he deserved this.

Davis jammed his cover back on his head.

What was left for him now? Luke, dead. Reza, dead. His career, dead. Fury?—

He whirled and drove his fist into the brick wall of the building. Pain ricocheted through his knuckles all the way up to his bum shoulder. But the pain felt good. Better that than the numbness that kept creeping over him. Dragging him under.

No use taking it easy on his arm now.

"Please accept our thanks for your service."

Anger surged as he recalled the brush-off. He clenched his jaw. Stalked toward the parking lot.

The hearing that ended his career—and any hope for his future—had been insultingly quick. In and out. Tossed aside like years of his service meant nothing. Just another name on the docket. It hurt. More than he wanted to admit. More than the shrapnel ever had.

And he knew there was worse still to come.

* * *

Should have left earlier.

Tapping his steering wheel with his thumb, Davis drove up the dirt road as quickly as he dared on his way to the MWD kennels on base. Didn't want a run-in with the MPs, but he was also about three seconds away from being late for his meeting with Crew Gatlin.

He pulled his truck to a stop and hopped out onto the grassy area near the metal kennel buildings. The meeting with Crew would decide the fate of Davis's former four-legged partner, and being late wasn't going to start things out on the right foot. He jogged toward the structure they were supposed to meet at.

No doubt Crew was already waiting to discuss Fury.

Thoughts of the shepherd sent a pang of guilt through his chest. If he'd just paid attention.

Fury had healed up from his injuries but now refused to work with any other handler. The kennel master reported aggression as well. Couldn't have that, so they'd given Davis two options: adopt Fury, or it was the end of the line for the RMWD. Adoption was the only option here.

But not by him.

Not permanently, at least. Fury had too many workable years left. Years he could spend doing important jobs. Davis couldn't give him that. Didn't know if he even had it in him anymore.

He just prayed Crew would go for this idea.

Just before he stepped into the building, the cell in his pocket buzzed. He slid it out. No caller ID. Whoever this was kept calling but wouldn't leave a message. He declined the call.

Rounding the entrance, he swallowed and took a deep breath to ward off the emotion pressing against his ribs. Crew had a keen eye, and Davis didn't want to invite questions. As predicted, Crew was already standing near one of the training fields, arms crossed, watching some of the handlers work a Dutchie.

The six-two operator turned. Nodded to him. "Davis."

He extended a hand. "Thanks for meeting me."

"Couldn't pass up seeing what retirement looks like."

Defensiveness instantly flared. Davis did his best to shove it down.

Easy.

Crew frowned. "A joke. Remember those? Or have you forgotten how to laugh?"

Didn't feel much like laughing these days. "Something like that."

Crew assessed him for a moment. "Seriously, man." Crew tracked his every move. Likely read the truth about the last few months with uncanny ability. "How you holding up?"

A complicated question. The answers lay in a minefield best avoided. Davis roughed a hand down his neck. "Just peachy," he said dryly.

Dude, seriously. Pull it together before he walks and takes Fury's only chance with him.

"Sorry. Know it's not what you wanted. Doesn't have to be the end either, though." Crew folded his arms. "I know everything's gone to pieces, but there's a handler spot open at ABA if you want it."

A handler? For Crew? The idea sparked, but just as quickly, he doused it. Didn't deserve to take care of Fury anymore. Davis just needed to find the boy a job. Be on his way.

Speaking of the ninety-pound lug, he trotted onto the field with the kennel master just then. Fury jumped and twisted his large frame away from the guy's side. Snapped at the air several times. Ignored a firm command entirely—Fury's behavior didn't change. The kennel master tried a lead correction, but Fury went right back to trying to break free.

"I see he's picked up your friendly disposition," Crew joked. "Thought you said he was ABA material."

Leave it to Fury to, within the first five minutes, screw up Davis's best chance at getting the beast back to work. He could be so stubborn.

Come on, bud. Pull it together. This is your chance.

"He's the best electronic detection dog I've ever seen." Davis frowned at the German shepherd. "Also an incredible landshark. His grips are solid."

"Doesn't matter if he won't work for anyone."

"He'll work."

The kennel master motioned to Davis. Without another thought, he strode toward his former partner.

When Fury saw him, he acted like a switch had been thrown. Instant calm and focus. Panting as he watched Davis.

"He's all yours." The kennel master handed off the lead and a roped KONG. Thankfully, Fury had already been dispo'd for retirement, and Davis had signed the papers taking ownership of him. All with the understanding that ABA would take the thick-skulled shepherd. He tucked the toy in his pocket.

Fury heeled without being asked to. Knew where he was supposed to be.

Why won't you do that for anyone else?

"Ready to work?"

Ridiculous question. These dogs were always ready to work. Least, until life beat it out of them. Just like their human counterparts.

Flashbacks of that night shot through Davis's head. He muscled them back.

He just had to do this one more time. Prove Fury would work.

He gave the signal for the decoy to come out. The guy waddled toward the middle of the field in a full bite suit.

As soon as he saw the guy, Fury was all bark. Gripping the tac vest, Davis straddled the RMWD, who surged. Begged to be freed.

"Ready?" he asked the decoy.

"Yup," the soldier said with a grin. He waved one of his padded arms, taunting Fury. Shifted to the side to receive the bite. Being a decoy was more than just standing there while a dog flung itself at you. It took a lot of training to ensure the safety of both human and RMWD.

Davis unclipped the lead. "Get 'im." He released his hold on the canvas handle.

Fury took off like a bullet. He shot through the steps like the pro he was. They moved through several other demonstrations with ease. Maintaining guard position. Searching for an enemy. Detecting explosives, hard drives, USBs.

If only he'd behave himself this well for other handlers.

After Fury completed the last exercise, Davis tossed the KONG out, keeping hold of the rope.

The shepherd snagged it from the air effortlessly before he was lured into a game of tug.

"Good boy." Davis ruffled Fury's ears instinctively, and the landshark leaned against his leg. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, around the KONG he refused to surrender.

They walked over to Crew.

"Joints?"

"Cleared on his last exam two days ago," Davis confirmed, rapping a hand against Fury's side a few times.

Crew watched Fury for a while.

"What'd ya think?"

"We'll take him. On one condition."

Relief chugged through his veins, confident they could work out any terms ABA might have. "Which is?"

"If he refuses to work with any of my handlers, you step in." Crew's expression dared him to challenge.

"I . . . " Half shaking his head, Davis fought the urge to argue. "If he won't work, I'll step in"—what're you doing?—"to train someone to work with him. I'm confident it can be done."

It was dangerous blowing smoke around someone like the ABA procurement officer, but Davis knew for sure he wasn't taking the handler position. Those days were over. The rest he'd figure out.

"We'll see."

Why did that sound a lot like an ambush? "So we have a deal?"

Fury lay down, happily chewing on his KONG, his teeth squeaking against the hard rubber toy.

Crew nodded. "We have an arrangement, and I expect you to uphold your end. I'm heading out on a buy trip, so I won't be able to take him for a couple weeks. He's your responsibility till then."

Great. What was he supposed to do with him? Davis's cell buzzed again. He yanked it out.

Same caller.

"I'll let you handle that. Try and work on the attitude."

"He'll do better."

Crew walked away. "Wasn't talking about the dog."

Davis accepted the call, shaking his head. "Okay, who is this, and why do you keep bothering me?"

"Mr. Ledger?"

"Speaking."

"This is Randall Cooper. I've been trying to reach you. I'm the attorney for Mr. and Mrs. Reinhardt."

Yanked hard into the past, he struggled to understand why their lawyer would be calling him. He frowned. "Okay. Why do you keep calling? Is something wrong?" Please . . . Hadn't he had enough bad news for one month?

"I'm sorry to inform you, but there was an accident a couple days ago."

His mind instantly went one place. "Is Hollyn okay?"

"We're still trying to reach her."

What did that mean?

"But I'm sorry to have to tell you that Mr. and Mrs. Reinhardt passed away."

What? His gut churned. No. The guy had to be mistaken. "They . . . " He couldn't repeat the words. Ran a hand through his short hair. A hot breeze whipped around him. "Are you sure?"

"Uh . . . quite. I'm calling because you're named in the will. As soon as we're able to locate Hollyn, I can let you know when the funeral is. If at all possible, I need you here for the reading. Otherwise, arrangements will have to be made."

Davis's mind was reeling. The Reinhardts—the closest thing to parents that he'd had—gone. Dead.

" . . . be here?"

He fought the fog clogging his thoughts. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, can you be here? For the funeral."

"Yes." Of course he would. His focus dropped to Fury, and he bit back a curse. He'd have to figure that out too, since the landshark was his for the time being.

"It's here in Abu Dhabi." Cooper rattled off an address that Davis filed away before ending the call. Immediately, he tapped Hollyn's number in his contacts. Straight to voicemail. He hung up.

Fury stared at him. Tilted his head to the side.

Forget waiting.

"Looks like we're going to Abu Dhabi."

* * *

Her head was splitting in two. Alcohol intolerance was no joke.

"You sure you're okay?" Leila asked, swaying to the left as the limo transporting them turned the corner to Hollyn's home.

"Here." Archie leaned forward and rested a hand on the seat, too close to Hollyn's thigh. He gave her a tissue before sitting back, and she blew her nose.

It felt like the five hundredth time. She didn't even want to see what her face looked like right now. Likely something akin to a firetruck. "I'm good. It's just going to take a while to wear off."

She'd been through this once before. On her twenty-first birthday, she'd had a brandy with Dad. An extreme reaction and hospital trip later, she'd found out she was allergic to any and all spirits, as Dad liked to refer to them.

She'd never had another drink in her life. Till now. In the chaos of Leila's friends and their drink orders on the private jet back to Abu Dhabi, there'd been a mix-up. The glass Hollyn had been given had had no Shirley and definitely no Temple. She should have caught that it was a different drink, but sleep deprivation from the long night before had already been playing tricks on her mind. All she'd wanted was her bed and about twelve hours of sleep.

"So sorry, girl." Leila's velvety tone was sincere. "Things were just nuts up there."

Hollyn waved off her friend's concern. Blew her nose again. Her head swam and stomach twisted. She considered telling the driver to pull over because she was about to be sick, but they were less than a block from her parents' villa—and her attached apartment.

Hold on, stomach.

She could not get sick in Leila's limo.

"You look a little green," Archie observed with a slight wince.

Oh good. Red and green. She was just ten months early for Christmas.

Her stomach coiled and heartbeat picked up as Leila's driver slowed to a stop in front of the modern, two-story mansion she'd called home for the last handful of years. White, with several tall windows, a four-car garage, and a small, highly manicured lawn, it was expansive. Contemporary. Much more stark than the log home back in America, where she'd spent her formative years.

Hollyn gripped the door handle. Told herself all she had to do was get inside and lie down. With probably one stop before the lying down part to visit the porcelain throne. She stepped outside, followed by Leila and Archie, and the driver removed her recently purchased bag of clothes.

Archie gave her a hug. For someone with such a thin frame, he constantly surprised her with his strength. "If you need anything, just call me, okay?"

"Will do." Hollyn gave him a weak smile. Turned. She was about two seconds from losing control over her stomach but didn't want to be rude. "Thanks for a fun weekend, Lei." She went to hug her friend, but Leila was staring at the front porch, mouth agape.

"Who is that tall glass of water?" Her friend slid her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, making no effort to hide her interest.

Hollyn frowned. Looked to see who Leila was talking about. Froze.

Tall. Dark. Handsome as ever. Was that . . .

It was. Here. At her home. But why?

"Davis?" Maybe she was hallucinating. Was that a sign of an alcohol allergy and sleepiness too? She felt the world sway and wasn't sure it had anything to do with her bad reaction to alcohol.

He pushed his broad shoulder off the smooth plaster wall he'd been leaning against. A scowl clouded his handsome features beneath his baseball cap. Tree-like arms folded across his chest as he stood next to a huge duffel bag. And—she squinted, stumbled forward—was that a dog?

Definitely had to be hallucinating.

Holograph Davis started to talk to her, but the words came out like something from a Charlie Brown movie. Her stomach had had enough waiting. She felt the contents rising and lurched forward, throwing up in the bushes lining the stone path.

Mid retch, two thoughts sloshed around her mind. When was the ground going to stop swaying? And why had Davis chosen the most humiliating of moments to come waltzing back into her life?