Talon: Combat Tracking Team (A Breed Apart) (11 page)

The trail banked right and down. The cedar leaves provided little protection against the brutal summer heat. Aspen jogged around the bend, sweat dripping down her spine, her neck and temples. The swallow seemed to stick in her throat, the air so dry and dusty. With the lead wrapped around her waist and clipped to Talon, she glanced down at the animal she’d come to think of as a part of herself. Maybe that’s the way it’d been with Austin. Living day in and day out with a dog, becoming one, moving as one. She’d never dreamed she’d be able to run with a dog lead coiled around her waist.

His tongue hung out, pink and wagging.

Down the path, she made her way back to the house. At the bottom of the trail, she slowed, walked a few circles with her hands on her hips. She tugged a water bottle from the pouch that hung from the nylon cord. Squirting some in her mouth, she closed her eyes. Swished the liquid that quickly went from cool to warm on her tongue. She swallowed then aimed some at Talon. He lapped it up, tail wagging.

The grief that had been hers for the last five days—well, longer, but amplified over the last several days—tightened around her chest. She smoothed Talon’s yellow fur. “Sorry, old boy.”

At six, Talon didn’t act or look his age, but there was something “ancient” about the war dog. He’d seen more combat than she had as an assistant in the JAG office. The brown eyes, rich and deep, saw a lot.

“I’m sorry he didn’t come back, Talon.”

The Lab ducked when she said his name. Her heart cinched at the brokenness that engulfed her life. Losing Austin, seeing his once-strong, indomitable dog now cowering.

Remembering what the trainers and Heath had said, she rubbed him behind his ears. The T-touch soothed him almost instantly. She eased up and planted a kiss beside his ear. “I really thought…” Emotion in her throat was raw. “He seemed like someone who…”

Who would what? Care about Austin as much as you? Champion your cause?

Aspen plopped onto the ground, hugging her bent knees as she wrapped an arm around the bulky build of the Lab. She stared off over the land that sloped down into a valley. “I thought we’d get some answers.” Her lower lip trembled, but she let out a shaky laugh. “Even fantasized we’d get Austin back.”

Talon twisted around to look at her as if he understood. As if to say he wasn’t giving up so she shouldn’t either.

Aspen buried her face in his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Somehow, we’ll get answers.”

Oh God, why…?
She felt teased, taunted by God. She’d prayed, believed. She’d never stretched her faith as far as she had over the last year, refusing to believe rumors of Austin’s death. Just when she’d surrendered and released the idea of finding him, here came this guy who seemed to have the answers.

No, not just answers, but the guts to do something about what he believed—that he’d seen Austin somewhere in Africa. She’d become convinced once again that there was a chance to find out the truth. To resolve this once and for all. For the last two years since the incident, she’d put her life on hold.

Then Markoski vanishes. Just like Austin.

Talon came up off his haunches, his gaze to the north.

Aspen glanced in that direction. A second later, Trinity bounded around the corner, trailed by Heath. Aspen stood and brushed off her backside.

“Hey.” Heath came up, his expression tight. “Wanna come up to the house?” The terse way he said that drew her up short.

“Something wrong?”

He hesitated then glanced back. “Just come on up.”

Back up at the house, she found Timbrel Hogan there with her infamous Hound of Hell, Beowulf. Beside her at the glass table sat Khaterah, Jibril’s beautiful veterinarian sister, who talked with Jibril. A tray of finger sandwiches sat on the table.

Still catching her breath, Aspen dropped into a chair. “What’s going on?”

“Well,” Timbrel said, “we got tired of waiting for your troublemaker to show back up.”

“My
troublemaker?”

“Yeah.” Timbrel adjusted the ball cap that shaded her brown eyes. “You know, Mister SexyKillerBlueEyes.”

Aspen laughed. “So because he has ‘killer blue eyes,’ he’s trouble?”

“One hundred percent.” Timbrel reached for a sandwich and tossed it to Beowulf.

“Hey!” Khat objected.

Timbrel ignored her. “That and the way he took you down. I wouldn’t trust a guy who’d do that.”

Bristling at the way Timbrel was practically telling her what to think about Dane, Aspen shrugged. “I like that he didn’t pamper me.”

“Pamper is one thing. Pummel is another.”

“Hogan.” Heath planted his hands on the table as he looked at everyone. “I made some calls today.”

Silence dropped like a missile, flattening moods and conversations.

“And?” Jibril sipped his tea.

“I would’ve turned this over to Darci, but she’s out of the country right now. So I put in a call to General Burnett.”

Aspen eased forward. “Wait…” Her mind ricocheted over this setup and who he referred to. “You mean the general from Afghanistan—Darci’s boss?”

“Former. He’s a family friend of hers, so I have his home number.”

“Why—I mean, why’d you call him?” Aspen tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. What wasn’t he telling her? “What did you find out?”

“Nothing. Burnett, of course, said he couldn’t tell me anything if he did find something on the guy, but he said he’d look into it.”

Aspen let out a shaky breath. “Oh.” She glanced around the table. “I thought you were going to tell me something bad.”

“If this guy shows back up, I want to know he’s legit. Nobody’s going anywhere with him unless he’s been fully vetted.”

“Wouldn’t that be Khat’s job?” Timbrel snickered.

Heath stretched his jaw, clearly working to temper his frustration. “Look, something about this isn’t sitting right. He went on national television, then came here and talked a good number, then vanishes. I want this guy or his head.”

Aspen sat a little straighter. “I really appreciate your protective nature, Heath.” Her courage rose to the surface. “But this isn’t really your decision. If he turns up again, going with him, searching for my brother is
my
decision.”

“Whoa, chickie.” Timbrel plucked off her hat, brown hair tumbling free. “It’s your decision, but we’re a team. A family, ya know? You’re not alone, and this decision is a big one.”

“She is right,” Khat said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“But you aren’t going to go, Khaterah, if this happens.” Aspen turned to Heath. “Neither are you—wedding in just over a week, remember?”

Timbrel propped her feet on the table and slumped back. “Well, you don’t have an excuse to shove me off the cliff of friendship, so don’t even try. If this thing happens, I’m stuck like glue to you.”

“Why?” The question wasn’t meant to be confrontational, but Aspen had never seen Timbrel show that much interest in their affairs. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because.” Timbrel narrowed her brown eyes. “I’m not letting him get the best of you.”

“Get the best of me?” She tried to keep her words from pitching, but with the heat creeping into her face, it was a lost cause. “I am former Air Force—with the JAG. I am twenty-eight years old and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Timbrel said. “But two girls who can kick butt are better than one. And if this guy shows me it’s necessary, I will take him down. Blue eyes or not.”

“You grounded me!”

“You went dark. I had no guarantees you weren’t dead or under coercion.” A laugh erupted. “I still don’t.”

“I gave you the nonduress code.”

“Mm. So you did.”

Cardinal bit down on the curse that lingered at the back of his throat. This wasn’t about Burnett thinking he’d been captured. This was about the general exerting his
influence
. About the general putting Cardinal’s wings to the flame. Or trying to clip them and force him to be his own personal carrier pigeon.

He turned and strode to the window overlooking downtown Austin. Hand on the cold pane of glass, he steadied himself—memories, virulent and agitated, coiled around his mind. Shoved him back. Away from the glass. Away from the drop. Away from the memory.

He fisted a hand, ready to drive it through anything painful. Being forced to do something was one thing. Being trapped was another. He’d been shut down once before. Ten years ago. But it’d been too late by then. Cardinal had already escaped.

“You know I can get around this.” He’d become good at going off-grid when he needed to. Burnett knew it, too.

“You’re right, I do.” Creaking seeped through the line as the general let out a soft groan of relief. “Which makes me wonder why you haven’t.”

Cardinal looked away. From what, he didn’t know. The city held no threat. The phone neither.

“What are you running from?”

The truth. The past. The angel
.

“I think you know deep inside, you’re supposed to help this girl. I think the fact that you had a hand in her brother’s disappearance makes you feel like you owe her something.”

My life
.

“But…” A slurping sound tickled the earpiece. Burnett burped. “’Scuse me.” A breathy grunt emitted as he caught his breath. “There’s more to this. You’re antsy. Jittery. Do I need to know something?”

Cardinal killed the line. Thudded his forehead against the wall. He turned back to the hotel room and sighed. He slumped on the bed and stared back out over the city. Then the sky. Clear blue sky with a few streaks of clouds. But mostly sun. Lots of sun. Texas heat that had surely fried his brain. Then why did it feel cold and cruel, like winter?

When he’d left Aspen at the ranch, he’d done nothing but drive—that is, after he’d disabled the GPS. No need for unnecessary monitoring by good ol’ Uncle Sam. Down to the Gulf. Back up. All day spent trying to unwind his mind and body. His muscles ached.

His heart ached more.

At a moment like this in the movies, the hero would tug out a photograph, stare at it longingly, stuff it back in his pocket, then move on forcefully.

He didn’t have a photograph. Refused to allow himself mementos. Anything that could connect him to the past. Anything that could be held against him or used to cripple him. Nobody knew about those things. Nobody would have that much power over him. Ever.

Besides, she’d fallen off the map five years ago.

Bent forward, he laced his fingers and rested his forehead on his knuckles. Going forward with this mission…it felt like the complete undoing of everything he’d worked for. But that would mean abandoning the one man he’d mentored. Trained.

Cardinal had failed him. And sitting here not tracking him down wasted time.

But doing this, with Aspen—

“God…” The prayer died on his tongue. Cardinal closed his eyes, focused. Yearned for some indication, some sign of what to do.

In the distance, a sound resonated through Austin.

Pulled to his feet at the somber sound of bells, Cardinal grabbed his room key and tucked it into his pocket with the phone. Out on the street, he headed toward the capitol. Light peeked at him between the buildings. Then the shadows lengthened. On Lavaca Street, he hesitated before the prestigious First Methodist Church building. Striking with its columns and pale plaster, it certainly bespoke the austere setting. Pretty. Beautiful even, but…no church bells.

Cardinal continued down the street and banked left onto 11th. As he walked the length of the lawn that stretched before the great building of the Lone Star state’s seat of power, he admired the structure. The lines, the dome, the architecture. So dominating. Spoke of power. Prestige.

Power corrupts
.

He’d seen the fruit of that as a boy. In his father. His father’s friends. Even missionaries in country. Everyone wanted power. Those once thought to be nice, kind people had climbed the backs of friends to get to the top.

Cardinal strolled to the corner and looked up and down San Jacinto Boulevard. He crossed the street then glanced right. Block letters adorning a white limestone building drew him down San Jacinto. The darkness in his soul shifted as he crossed onto 10th and strolled along the white stone building to the front steps.

He peered up. Smiled. Bell tower.

As if some force gripped him by the shirt, compelling him into the sanctuary, Cardinal climbed the steps. Inside, he paused. Breath stolen, he waited for the warmth to flood him. He couldn’t explain it. Just…
knew
things were different inside a church.

The great stained supports that arced over the cathedral reminded him of a ship’s bow. The apse bore striking columns that looked like marble, stretching up into the cobalt ceiling, dotted with gold stars. And there in the center hung a stained-glass depiction of Mary. No doubt the one they’d named the cathedral after. And below it, on His cross hung her Son.

Jesus.

Cardinal slipped between two pews. Hand on the row in front, he eased himself onto the gold cushion, his gaze fastened to the altar. The stained-glass windows that gleamed overhead and along the walls bathed him in a warm embrace and a strange glowing wonder.