Track of Courage (Call of the Wild #1)

Chapter 1

AT THIS RATE, he’d never walk again.

Dawson Mulligan lay back on the padded bench of the leg lift machine, sweat dripping into his ears, his body soaked, his leg burning, his breaths a little vocal as they emerged from his chest. He even sounded like a guy who’d hit the mattresses.

He shook his head and glanced at his adopted dog, Caspian, who sat with his back to him, watching the front door, like he might be on duty or something. Why the dog didn’t sprawl on the gym floor like every other mutt he’d owned, he hadn’t a clue. He looked over at the Doberman-Labrador.

“C’mon, Casp, do me a solid. Fetch me my towel. It’s right there, on the bench press seat.” He motioned toward his towel, which was hanging on the red seat.

Caspian looked over at him and sighed, the equivalent of an eye roll.

“Nice. I’m not entirely sure why I keep you around.”

The dog’s tail thumped once, twice.

Dawson moved his foot so that it rested on top of the pad, set his watch, then closed his eyes against the burn and let his knee sink down to a straightened position.

Three minutes of burning hellfire raking through him, the crowning finale of his daily—no, three-times daily—PT.

Country music played on the loudspeakers of the workout gym in the Tooth, aka, the headquarters for his cousin Moose’s Air One Rescue team.

A local radio station playing, of course, a hit by country music favorite Oaken Fox.

The smell of his recently nuked pepperoni Hot Pockets lingered in the air, along with the reek of his sweat.

He probably should have waited to down the bottle of Gatorade until after his workout.

It wasn’t like he was running any marathons anytime soon. But now his gut ached, and frankly, he’d put on ten pounds since the shooting.

Two more minutes. He should probably add a few sit-ups, work up a real sweat.

Pain sweat didn’t count.

He moaned as he sat up, his heart thumping as his knee turned to flame. Caspian glanced at him, then came over and set his head on Dawson’s lap.

He ran a hand over the dog’s head, not sure why the animal became needy every time he finished PT. Dawson could barely take care of his own emotional chaos, but fine. “Yeah, yeah, I’m almost done.” He pushed the dog away and leaned forward into a stretch. His leg started to tremble. One minute.

“Hey, boss.”

Caspian let out a bark as his former partner, Flynn Turnquist, walked through the door, her copper hair pulled back in a tidy bun, her green-eyed gaze taking Dawson in.

She held up her hands, glancing at Caspian, then over to Dawson’s knee—probably landing on the thick vertical scar that ran from his thigh to his shin—and then back to his face.

She forced a smile. “Not sure why he barks every time I come in. He knows me.”

“I don’t know either.” He put a hand on the dog’s head, and Caspian sat, his tail swishing again.

Flynn wore a pair of black pants, boots, and a heavy wool jacket that she unbuttoned. “Looks like you’re having fun.” She scooted his towel over and sat on the bench press, taking off her leather gloves.

“So much. It’s a party. Tell me they convicted Ravak.”

She sighed. “Hung jury.”

He closed his eyes, bit back a word.

His watch buzzed. Three minutes. He moved his leg off the rack and eased back on the bench. He’d have to put it on the floor, bend it at the knee, but maybe not quite yet. His watch beeped, an elevated heart rate alarm. No duh.

At his feet, Caspian whined, put a paw on his knee.

He again put his hand on the dog’s head, ran his thumb around the floppy ear. “I agree. Not fair.” He looked at her. “What happened?”

“They couldn’t agree on the charge. First-degree murder is hard to prove—not without motive.”

“His motive was revenge.”

“Doesn’t prove premeditation. Could have been a crime of passion.”

“I saw his eyes. He wanted us to watch.” Wanted Dawson to watch. “So he waited until I got there. Until the chief told SWAT to go in—”

“Are you saying he made it look like he panicked and shot the girl?” Flynn asked.

“I’m saying . . .” He put his leg down straight, then closed one eye as he moved it into a ninety-degree angle. Tightened down a groan. “I should have made us go in. I knew Ravak. What he was capable of. We only spent six months watching him.”

She got up and handed Dawson his towel. He glanced at Caspian and raised an eyebrow.

Yeah, bud, that’s how it’s done.

Caspian set his head on his knee. No shame.

Flynn patted the dog. “He’s so sweet.”

“He sleeps with my shoes, carries my socks around the house when he’s lonely, drinks out of the toilet, sneaks my steak off the counter when I’m not looking, and sleeps in my bed. Sometimes in the middle of the night, he sleeps on me. Wakes me out of . . .” Well, he didn’t want to say the rest.

Because then Flynn would go all psychology on him and call him damaged on the inside too. That’s what happened when he partnered up with someone who specialized in criminal profiles.

“So, you two are getting along, then.” She grinned and leaned down, giving the dog a face-to-face. “Good boy.”

“When Shep said he was trainable, I thought that maybe I could get him to, I don’t know, fetch something.

Maybe stay when asked. But no. The dog suddenly appears out of nowhere when I get up, right there to trip me.

Or lean against me. I’ve never met such a needy animal.

” He rubbed the top of his knee. “So, will there be a retrial?”

“Yes. I talked with the prosecutor. But”—she reached down as if to help him up, but he didn’t need help, thank you.

He pushed up from the bench. “Don’t start.”

“You should testify. Tell them—”

“What? That I had a gut feeling the guy was going to try and kill his own daughter?” His throat burned even as he said it.

Flynn drew in a breath, her mouth tight.

“Yeah,” he said. “Not a lot of evidence for my hunches.”

“Except ten years on the job.”

He refused to reach for the edge of something to balance himself and instead tried to walk without a limp.

Ha.

Caspian got up and walked next to him. At least he wasn’t getting in his way.

“If the chief didn’t believe me, I don’t think a jury will,” Dawson said.

“It’s hard to justify a headshot made on a hunch.”

He glanced at her, his gut tightening. “Might have saved a five-year-old her life.”

She sighed, nodded.

Caspian, however, nudged up against him. This dog. He petted him a moment and then hobbled out of the workout room, down the hallway, past Moose’s dark office and the empty locker room, all the way to the kitchen area.

A granite-topped island held a couple paper plates of unfinished sandwiches. The uneaten lunch before the team left.

He slid onto a bench at the counter and started to reach for the plates to clean them, but Flynn beat him to it, dumped them into the garbage, and began clearing the lunch debris.

Caspian sat down beside him, his back to him.

The sun hung low, casting the last of the golden light into the day, an early twilight given it was still the first week of March.

Outside, fresh snow layered the ground, although a plow had shoved most of the frosting away from the tarmac and the parking area, piling it into massive drifts around the airfield.

The icy pavement made walking with his bad knee ever so fun.

“Maybe I should take Moose’s advice and head down to Florida for a while, do PT in the sunshine.”

“Oh, but then you’d have to be all bright and sunny, and that would seriously jeopardize the dark funk going on.” She picked up the Hot Pockets wrapper, raised an eyebrow, and then dropped it into the garbage.

“I think that belonged to Axel.”

“I’m a detective, Dawson. I can spot a lie.”

He managed a slight smile. “How are things down in the Special Victim Unit?”

“Lonely. Busy.” She wiped the island with a sponge. “There’s a BOLO out for Conan Sorros. He escaped custody on his way to Juneau a month ago.”

“That’s right. I can’t believe he got away after waiting all this time for trial.”

“The case against the family took a while to put together. It involves the murder of a DEA agent, not to mention a slew of other trafficking and drug crimes. One of the brothers had a plea deal in exchange for testifying, but he was murdered a couple months back. Rumor is that the DA is bringing in a secret key witness to get their testimony secured.” She held out a piece of leftover cheese to Caspian.

The dog just looked at Dawson, as if asking permission. “Go get the cheese, pal.”

Caspian stood up and moved over to Flynn, his entire body wagging. She fed it to him, petted his head. “Did Shep ever figure out who he belonged to?”

“Some guy in Minnesota, but his cell phone has been disconnected. So, he’s ours, at least until we can track down his original owner.”

“Did you get a breed on him?”

“Part black Lab, part Doberman. You can see the Doberman in the brown markings on his face. And his body is leaner than a Lab.”

Flynn crouched in front of the dog and rubbed both her hands behind his ears. Caspian leaned to one side and let out a groan. “Sounds like Axel when I give him a shoulder rub.”

“That’s too much information. I don’t need any details about your romantic life. I get enough TMI being his cousin, thanks.”

She rolled her eyes and got up. “Listen. The DA’s office will be calling you.

If you want Ravak for first-degree murder, you’re going to have to testify.

Otherwise, they’ll be downgrading to voluntary manslaughter.

Five to twenty. But they’re saying the appearance of the SWAT team could mitigate the sentence with aggravating circumstances. ”

He sighed. “I just . . . I can’t . . .”

Her hand landed on his shoulder. “Okay. I get it. I just wanted to warn you, boss.”

He looked up at her. “I haven’t been your boss for a long time. Since you left the Investigative Support Unit and joined me at the SVU.”

“You’ll always be my boss,” she said and winked.

“Don’t.”