Men of Courage (9 page)

But there was no pity to be found in his. No censure, either. “I’m here now, Haley. And I’m trained for this. We’ll go find Digger. Recon and me.” His grip tightened. “Not you.”

She began to shake again, and tears threatened, which made no sense. He was going to help her. He was going to get Digger. “I can’t—won’t—
sit here and wait,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ve come this far, I—”

And then she was in his arms, tight up against that glorious, secure expanse of chest, and she couldn’t help it, she reveled in it. Even for just a moment, just long enough to get her bearings, to find her strength, her control. Digger needed her and she’d be damned if she’d let him down when she’d come this far, gotten this close. “I can’t let him down,” she whispered.

Brett tipped her chin up, looked down into her eyes. And grinned. It was a shocking, blinding thing, seemingly so out of place amid all the terror and destruction. And yet it was the perfect thing, the perfect gift. The shining beacon of confidence she needed to latch her own shaky foundation to.

“Then let’s go get him,” Brett said. And with her hand tucked firmly in his, they turned to face what lay ahead.

I
T HAD BEEN EIGHT YEARS
and he was a long way from that gangly sixteen-year-old who’d fantasized about having the right to touch Haley Brubaker. But as he held her hand while they made their way along the side of the road, well away from the edge of the snaking split that ran down the center of it, to the second house on the road, he realized he was still the same dumb goober.

Her house was likely halfway to the ocean, her four-legged companion possibly lost forever…and here he was, thinking about how touching her felt even better than he’d imagined.

They rounded the bend in the road and she halted with a gasp. “Oh, no. Oh, my God.”

“Yours?” Brett felt his heart turn to lead. All that remained of the house that had once stood on the lot to their right were foundation shards and half a deck that was no longer attached to anything. It bobbed drunkenly, barely supported by the one piling left standing.

Haley shook her head. With her hand covering her mouth, she stumbled forward, as if she was going to go and look down the side of the mountain. “Oh, my God.”

Brett pulled her back. “Don’t. You don’t know how stable the ground is.” He didn’t want to explain about the other dangers, such as aftershocks. She was operating on a thin enough wire as it was, whether she realized it or not. “No cars,” he noted with relief. “Do they work outside the home?”

She nodded. “The Smithing house was fine, and they’re just right down the road.”

“Don’t try to make sense out of it, Haley. Tornados, hurricanes, floods, there is no rhyme or reason to any of the devastation they cause.”

Then she spun around to face him, clutched at his forearms, her eyes bright with hope. “One house down,” she said. “They said one house down! Which means—” She broke free and took off running before Brett could do anything to stop her.

He sent Recon off with her and followed at a run. “Stop, Haley,” he called, knowing it would do little good at this point. “Watch where you’re stepping. The ground is unstable.”

She was already off the road, cutting through
the shrubs and trees to the house he saw beyond. It was up on a sort of promontory. No trees around beyond it, as if the earth simply fell away. It was nothing less than a miracle that the house was still there. But he was trained to know just how deceiving looks could be in a situation such as this.

“No!” he shouted, hitting his stride at a dead run, whacking limbs out of his way as he came into the clearing. Recon was right on her heels as she cut the last corner and raced up her drive. His legs were easily half again as long as hers and yet some sort of super, adrenaline-powered rush kept her just out of his reach. “Haley, stop!” he commanded, his heart pounding more in fear than from exertion. “You could send the whole thing down! Stop!”

She literally skidded to a stop not ten feet from the double doors of her detached garage, stood like a frozen statue as she pulled herself together and studied the ground around her, then the building in front of her, obviously looking for signs of structural damage.

“You can’t always see it,” he said, coming to a stop beside her. “This thing barely clings to the side of this huge pile of rock we’re on as it is. It had to be shaken pretty good when the
quake hit. Just because it looks okay, because that other house looked okay, doesn’t mean—”

“Digger is in there.”

“I know.” He signaled Recon to his side. “This time you have to promise me,” he said, taking her chin in his hand. “We’ll go get him.”

To her credit, she nodded without argument.

“But what if—” she began.

“We’re trained for this.” He tugged his pack off his back and zipped it open, pulling out a long tool that looked like a cross between a claw and some sort of tire iron.

“It’s a Halligan tool,” he explained, noting her expression.

Her mouth dropped open as she spied the gear strapped and pocketed throughout the pack’s lining. “You ran up the side of a mountain with all that stuff?” She looked at him. “And you hardly broke a sweat.”

He grinned and gave her a little salute with his Halligan. “Like I said, I’m trained for this. It’s just nice to know that all that hard work pays off when duty calls.”

“Yeah, I guess it would,” she said faintly, then looked again at his pack. “I guess you are trained for this.”

“I’m not a sixteen-year-old goober, drooling,
pestering his big brother’s girlfriend anymore, Haley.”

“I—I can see that.”

And for a split second, he could have sworn there was a snick of sexual awareness arcing between them. Which was ludicrous given the situation.
He
was aware, but then he always had been. Time didn’t change everything, apparently. His grin firmed, but didn’t fade. “What kind of dog is Digger?”

“Jack Russell terrier.”

“Crated?”

She nodded. “While I’m gone. Otherwise he gets into everything. Pauline had him at her place. She has outdoor runs and—” She broke off, as if realizing she was babbling. “The crate is in the kitchen. It’s straight through the living room and runs the length of the back of the house. His crate is to the left, near the sliding-glass door to the deck. So he can see the birds and squirrels.” Her voice caught on that last part and she covered her mouth again.

He rubbed her shoulder with his free hand. “I’ll get him, Haley, okay? You’re doing fine. But I need you to stay here. The house doesn’t need any more weight in it than necessary. Do you understand?”

She nodded, all big brown eyes and wavering lips. He never remembered her as being particularly helpless. Quite the opposite, in fact. He didn’t think that was teenage hero worship, either. Digger meant a great deal to her. Recon pressed her nose against his hand and Brett understood exactly how Haley felt. “Okay. Good. Stay right here. Right. Here.”

She nodded. “Just make sure he’s okay. And—and be careful. I couldn’t bear it if I caused—”

“This is what I do.” Recon was all but vibrating at his side. “What we do.”

Haley looked down at his dog. “He looks…excited.”

Brett had the feeling she was going to say, “Happy.” Which Recon was. She didn’t understand the stakes. Search and Rescue dogs were trained to think of their jobs as one big game. An overdeveloped desire to play, hunt, seek and find were precisely the traits handlers used to select the right puppy for training. It had taken Brett almost fifteen months to find the right dog. And he’d ended up finding her at the local humane shelter, of all places. He’d known almost instantly she was the one. Recon loved the game,
and she was very, very good at playing it. “She is excited. She lives for this.”

“She? With a name like that?”

“Trust me, she earned it. Now listen, we might take a while. It doesn’t mean anything bad has happened, just that we need to move carefully. Don’t panic. And don’t follow.” He waited for her nod, then moved up the drive and picked his way onto the narrow front porch. The only way to the back door was across the deck. Which hung out over a very steep, very rocky incline that tumbled down to the road below. He’d rather go through the house.

He glanced back at Haley, who was still riveted to the exact same spot, fingers twisting together as she watched him. “Does he have any toys close to the front door? A leash?” he called.

“His leash and collar are on a small table, right inside to the left.”

Brett nodded. It would give him a scent to put Recon on, if they needed to go that far. It was quite possible that tables, chairs, shelves, had all come crashing down. He’d seen too many people reenter houses after disaster struck, houses that looked perfectly fine on the outside, only to stumble back out in total shock at the devastation inside. Digger might be trapped in his crate, or
could have escaped it altogether and still be trapped. Very carefully he went to pry open the door.

Haley called out to him. “Key! Under the clay squirrel. Right by the front step in the garden. I’m sorry, I forgot. I—I left everything in the rental car and didn’t have time to get it when I—”

“Decided to hitch a ride,” Brett finished, flashing her a grin. “No problem.” He calmly retrieved the key. Steadiness was key, patience even more so, in this kind of job. Most SAR teams were made up of one very laid-back human and one very excitable canine partner. His team was no exception.

He eased the door open. The less vibration or pressure he had to put on any part of the house, the better. It could be just as rock solid as ever, but there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. He was glad to see the door swung freely on its hinges. Nothing warped. Digger wasn’t sitting there waiting for them, which wasn’t a bad sign, but he heard no barking or other signs that the dog was aware of intruders. Not a terrier’s nature, as far as he knew.

He signaled out to Haley with a wave. “We’ll
be out shortly.” The “Do not follow us” part was clearly understood.

She nodded.

He looped the leash over the Halligan, lifting it from where it sat on the table by the door, which still stood upright. But one look at the room beyond told him that was about all that had remained intact. His heart tightened for Haley’s sake.

He dipped the leash down to Recon, who immediately went to work. “Find,” he commanded. Of course, Digger’s scent was all over the place, but Recon was trained to air scent and immediately tracked to the kitchen, where the strongest scent emanated from. She picked her way through the clutter and mess with nimble-footed grace. The floor creaked as Brett took a step after her, and he signaled her to stop. He tested the floor in several areas, applying pressure with the tool, then motioning her to continue as he followed at a slower, more careful pace. He continuously checked the walls for cracks, the floor for any unseen gaps. Recon and he trained routinely on huge piles of rubble set up just for that purpose, and, more recently, had experienced the real thing. It had been a bitch of a few months
and both were unfortunately well used to moving over shifting mounds of debris.

But this time it was different. Not because it was any more or less dangerous, but because the shifting mounds of debris belonged to the woman standing out in her own driveway, heart in hand as she waited for him to emerge with the only thing she cared about. It made him wonder why. Not that people didn’t form tight bonds with their pets. He understood that better than most. But she’d said he was the only thing she had in the world. He guessed she still wasn’t close with her family.

Which made him wonder what had brought her back to the west coast, how long she’d been here. To think they both lived in the Bay Area and it had taken a disaster to reunite them. “Just my luck,” Brett mumbled. His normal work schedule with the San Mateo Fire Department was demanding enough. His SAR work had only increased that demand. He and Recon had worked hard toward becoming one of the elite specialty SAR teams, certified by FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency. They’d achieved that goal in the early spring. And had spent the summer proving their worth. He hadn’t regretted his decision for a second.

But it was hell on relationships.

“What relationships?” he muttered, stilling again as the floor creaked. He signaled Recon to stop, then carefully shifted a landslide of books out of his path before testing the floor again. Deciding on his route, he sent her on ahead and continued to pick his way closer to the kitchen. He absently glanced at the titles as he shifted them aside.
Lapidary Journal, Gemologists Today, Jewels and Jewelry.
Her business, perhaps? He shook his head. He’d always figured her as the CEO of some Fortune 500 company. Perhaps his attentions had been a bit more hero-worship-colored than he wanted to admit.

Though the trip across the room to the kitchen was less than twenty feet, he and Recon were forced to stop half a dozen times, their forward progress slow, but thankfully steady and as safe as possible. It was a nerve-racking pace, but he had to do his best to ensure they didn’t all three end up needing rescuing.

Finally Recon made it into the kitchen and it was only moments later she sent up her alert. She was trained to stand and bark when she’d found whatever she’d been sent after. In her case, it was usually people. And not always in time. But her bark wasn’t agitated, as it tended to get when her
“prize” wasn’t as lively as she’d hoped. It was bright, perky, excited. Brett had, unfortunately, had plenty of opportunity these past several months to learn the nuances of Recon’s alerts.

He climbed carefully around the last bookcase, then gingerly slid her kitchen table, now on its side and almost completely blocking the door, to the side. Finally he made it into the kitchen. Digger stood in his crate, or vibrated would be more accurate, tail stub wagging furiously, mouth open in soundless yips. Brett realized why he hadn’t heard the dog bark or signal for intruders. He’d long since lost his voice, poor guy.

“It’s okay, Digger. We’re here for you.” He signaled Recon to cease her alert. She stopped barking, but there was no settling her down. Another buddy to play with! Brett smiled and righted several cane chairs before kneeling in front of the crate. “Yes, Recon, much more fun prize than usual, huh, girl?” He rubbed his dog’s head and gave her a reward from his pocket. Her favorite—dried hot dog pieces.

“Okay, Dig, let’s see about getting you out of here, buddy.” Fortunately his crate was small, so Brett could pick up the whole thing. Despite the dog’s obvious glee in being rescued, in his highly agitated and terrified state, there was no telling
what he’d do if let go. Better to keep him confined. Digger’s leash was tucked in his pack, so he hoisted the crate, and began the arduous climb back out. The house continued to creak ominously and given its precarious perch on the mountainside, he wasn’t taking any chances. Though it was tempting to just head straight for the door, directly over the rubble of furniture, he followed the same careful path he’d charted on the way in, slowed by the dog-filled crate he was now hauling with him. Once outside, he’d get Haley to put her dog on lead, then they were all climbing their way off this mountain.

He sent Recon out of the house first, then hit the front porch the same instant Haley hit a dead run toward them.