lapsed into slumber when the bugle squawked.
Fuck . Did Ackerman really play the horn that badly or did he do it on purpose?
Rising a second time, Toby slipped on his shoes, grabbed his jacket, and made his way downstairs, this time with his dog.
Dylan’s still-open door filled him with concern. The thump of Lt. Ashby’s crutch heralded that man’s trek to the bathroom, on which he had first dibs. Seeing Toby at Dylan’s door, the XO stopped in his tracks.
“ Captain Connelly’s not here,” Toby announced.
A crease appeared on Ashby ’s forehead. He edged Toby aside to peer into Dylan’s room himself.
“ I think I heard her leave a couple of hours ago,” Toby admitted.
Ashby ’s eyes flashed with apprehension. “That’s none of your concern,” he growled, but he thrust his way into the bathroom with haste, betraying his desire to discover where Dylan had gone. Toby was several steps ahead of him.
Remembering her nightshirt, he darted into her bedroom to retrieve it. Then he headed for the stairs with Milly on his heels.
Ear-aching cold socked him in the face as they slipped outside. That hadn’t been just moonlight silvering the lawn earlier; it was frost. She’d picked a hell of a night to go out running.
Kneeling on the porch, he held Dylan ’s nightshirt up to Milly’s nose. The dog had never been trained as a scent dog, but the concept was similar to sniffing out explosives. Who knew? It might just work. “Seek,” he urged, giving her the signal he’d seen rescue workers give their canines.
Milly stared blankly back at him.
He put the nightshirt to her nose again. Seek, he signaled. She sniffed it for the longest moment then looked up at him. There seemed to be a flash of recognition in her eyes before she turned and hopped off the porch—only to squat beside the nearest azalea bush.
Toby groaned. He stuffed the nightshirt into the pocket of his jacket and eyed the path down which Dylan had disappeared hours ago. With a sigh, he started toward it. But then he stopped when he realized Milly was just standing there watching him walk away.
He gestured for her to join him. Icy dew seeped through his sneakers, numbing his toes as Milly turned her back on him, ambling toward the rear of the house and waving her tail like a flag. What the hell?
Chasing after the Lab, Toby caught up with her at the door of the playhouse he had noticed on his first day. Either the militia stored weapons in the little building, or Milly had located Dylan. Hope vied with skepticism as he tugged on the rusty door latch. As it swung outward, Milly tried to dart inside. He edged her aside and stuck his head and shoulders in.
Just enough light pierced the gaps between the planks to illumine Dylan’s red hair. He crawled into the musty space and saw that she was curled up in the corner, her forehead resting on her knees, motionless.
Please be alive . Stretching out a hand, he lightly touched her arm and felt her shivering. Thank God . “Ma’am?” If she wasn’t hypothermic, it’d be a miracle. “Captain, wake up.” He gave her a light shake.
Dylan roused to consciousness reluctantly. As she cracked her eyes, brittle pain gripped her body, keeping her immobile. Her thoughts returned to the dream where she’d been bound in a straightjacket. What if it wasn’t a dream?
The silhouette of a man loomed over her, and she flinched away from him. Her head struck a wall, and the familiar feel and smell of the enclosure in which she sat delivered her to reality.
She had stopped by her playhouse on her way back from the woods. In search of happy memories, she had crawled inside and fallen asleep.
“ You okay, ma’am?”
Sleep beckoned her back into its numb embrace, but pain kept her conscious. Sergeant Burke ’s concerned words focused her attention on the uncontrollable shuddering of her body. Every muscle quivered in a locked position. The cold had seeped into the marrow of her bones.
Fuck . Did Ackerman really play the horn that badly or did he do it on purpose?
Rising a second time, Toby slipped on his shoes, grabbed his jacket, and made his way downstairs, this time with his dog.
Dylan’s still-open door filled him with concern. The thump of Lt. Ashby’s crutch heralded that man’s trek to the bathroom, on which he had first dibs. Seeing Toby at Dylan’s door, the XO stopped in his tracks.
“ Captain Connelly’s not here,” Toby announced.
A crease appeared on Ashby ’s forehead. He edged Toby aside to peer into Dylan’s room himself.
“ I think I heard her leave a couple of hours ago,” Toby admitted.
Ashby ’s eyes flashed with apprehension. “That’s none of your concern,” he growled, but he thrust his way into the bathroom with haste, betraying his desire to discover where Dylan had gone. Toby was several steps ahead of him.
Remembering her nightshirt, he darted into her bedroom to retrieve it. Then he headed for the stairs with Milly on his heels.
Ear-aching cold socked him in the face as they slipped outside. That hadn’t been just moonlight silvering the lawn earlier; it was frost. She’d picked a hell of a night to go out running.
Kneeling on the porch, he held Dylan ’s nightshirt up to Milly’s nose. The dog had never been trained as a scent dog, but the concept was similar to sniffing out explosives. Who knew? It might just work. “Seek,” he urged, giving her the signal he’d seen rescue workers give their canines.
Milly stared blankly back at him.
He put the nightshirt to her nose again. Seek, he signaled. She sniffed it for the longest moment then looked up at him. There seemed to be a flash of recognition in her eyes before she turned and hopped off the porch—only to squat beside the nearest azalea bush.
Toby groaned. He stuffed the nightshirt into the pocket of his jacket and eyed the path down which Dylan had disappeared hours ago. With a sigh, he started toward it. But then he stopped when he realized Milly was just standing there watching him walk away.
He gestured for her to join him. Icy dew seeped through his sneakers, numbing his toes as Milly turned her back on him, ambling toward the rear of the house and waving her tail like a flag. What the hell?
Chasing after the Lab, Toby caught up with her at the door of the playhouse he had noticed on his first day. Either the militia stored weapons in the little building, or Milly had located Dylan. Hope vied with skepticism as he tugged on the rusty door latch. As it swung outward, Milly tried to dart inside. He edged her aside and stuck his head and shoulders in.
Just enough light pierced the gaps between the planks to illumine Dylan’s red hair. He crawled into the musty space and saw that she was curled up in the corner, her forehead resting on her knees, motionless.
Please be alive . Stretching out a hand, he lightly touched her arm and felt her shivering. Thank God . “Ma’am?” If she wasn’t hypothermic, it’d be a miracle. “Captain, wake up.” He gave her a light shake.
Dylan roused to consciousness reluctantly. As she cracked her eyes, brittle pain gripped her body, keeping her immobile. Her thoughts returned to the dream where she’d been bound in a straightjacket. What if it wasn’t a dream?
The silhouette of a man loomed over her, and she flinched away from him. Her head struck a wall, and the familiar feel and smell of the enclosure in which she sat delivered her to reality.
She had stopped by her playhouse on her way back from the woods. In search of happy memories, she had crawled inside and fallen asleep.
“ You okay, ma’am?”
Sleep beckoned her back into its numb embrace, but pain kept her conscious. Sergeant Burke ’s concerned words focused her attention on the uncontrollable shuddering of her body. Every muscle quivered in a locked position. The cold had seeped into the marrow of her bones.
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