Chapter 4 #2
"In animal welfare? Yes." She turns to face me, and for a moment the ice thaws just enough to show heat underneath.
"Every dog in this facility deserves the best possible environment.
They work hard. They risk their lives. The least we can do is make sure they're healthy and comfortable when they're off duty. "
The passion in her voice hits me square in the chest.
"My dad used to say the same thing," I hear myself admit. "About the dogs at Iron Creek. He said they gave everything for the job, so we owed them everything in return."
Callie's expression shifts—still guarded, but she’s curious now. "Your father sounds like a good man."
"He is. Stubborn as hell, but good."
"Runs in the family, I imagine."
"The stubbornness or the goodness?"
"I'll let you know when I figure it out."
Before I can respond, a familiar bark cuts through the air.
Ranger.
He's bounding across the training yard, ignoring his handler's recall commands, heading straight for the fence where Callie and I are standing. His tail is wagging so hard his entire back end is wiggling.
He skids to a stop at the fence, shoving his nose through the chain-link, eyes locked on Callie with unmistakable adoration.
"Traitor," I mutter.
Callie crouches down, letting Ranger lick her fingers through the fence. "Hey, buddy. Miss me?"
More wiggling. More tail wagging. More blatant betrayal.
"He has good taste," Callie says, glancing up at me.
"He has terrible taste. He also likes Javi, and Javi once tried to teach him to fetch beer cans."
"Did it work?"
"He fetches them. He doesn't bring them back."
Callie laughs—a real laugh, surprised out of her—and the sound knocks me off balance.
Dev appears beside me, watching Ranger's shameless display of affection. "That dog's been moping since Tuesday. Now I know why."
"He hasn't been moping."
"He knocked over three traffic cones yesterday during training and then lay down in the middle of the course like his heart was broken."
"He was tired."
"He was dramatic." Dev shakes his head. "Just like his handler."
Callie stands, brushing off her knees. "I think I have what I need for the initial assessment. I'd like to schedule follow-up meetings to discuss specific recommendations."
"Whatever works for your schedule," Dev says. "Mercer can coordinate."
I shoot him a look. He ignores it with the ease of long practice.
"Fine." Callie tucks her clipboard under her arm and extends her hand toward Dev. "Thank you for your time, Master Sergeant. Your dedication to these dogs is obvious."
"Just doing my job."
"It's more than that, and you know it."
Dev's expression flickers—not quite a smile, but close. He shakes her hand, nods once, and heads back toward the kennel building, leaving me alone with Callie and a fence full of adoring Ranger.
"I'll drive you back to your car," I offer.
"I can walk. I remember the way."
"I know. But escort duty doesn't end until you're off base."
She considers this, then shrugs. "Fine."
We drive in silence again, but it's different this time. Less frozen, more thoughtful. Ranger whines behind us as we leave the training yard, and I make a mental note to bring him an extra treat later.
"The consultation," Callie says as we approach the gate. "I'll need access to handler training schedules and veterinary records for the dogs. Can you arrange that?"
"I'll talk to Dev."
"And I'll need to observe actual training sessions. Not just the facilities."
"That can be arranged too."
She climbs off the cart and stands beside her car, keys in hand, and turns to face me. "This is a professional arrangement, Captain."
"I'm aware."
"I'm here to do a job. Not to—" She stops, pressing her lips together.
"Not to what?"
"Nothing." She pulls open her car door. "I'll email my availability for the follow-up meetings."
"Looking forward to it."
Her eyes narrow. "Are you always this..."
"Charming? Persistent? Devastatingly handsome?"
"Annoying."
"Only when it's working."
"It's not working."
"Your eye's twitching."
Her hand flies to her face before she can stop it, and I file that tell away for future reference.
"Goodbye, Captain Mercer."
"Goodbye, Dr. O'Connor." I step back as she slides into her car. "Drive safe. Watch out for runaway dogs."
She pulls the door shut without responding, but I catch the corner of her mouth twitching as she starts the engine.
I watch her drive away—past the gate, past Brooks's cheerful wave, past the boundary of Ridgeway Base—and I don't move until her car disappears around the corner.
Dev materializes beside me like a ghost. "You're in trouble."
"I know."
"She's not going to make it easy."
"I know that too."
He's quiet for a moment, watching the empty road. "She's sharp. Knows her stuff. Actually gives a damn about the dogs."
"Yeah."
"Ranger likes her."
"Ranger likes everyone."
"Ranger likes treats and tennis balls. He doesn't run across a training yard for just anyone." Dev claps me on the shoulder, a rare gesture from a man who guards physical contact like state secrets. "Good luck, Bingo."
He walks away before I can respond.
I stand at the gate for another minute, replaying the conversation, the tour, the moment she laughed at my stupid joke about beer cans.
The dog-loving, sharp-tongued, won't-give-me-an-inch vet has gotten completely under my skin.
Ranger whines from somewhere behind me, and I know exactly how he feels.