Zuccolin paused. “Could use the girl to tempt him back.”
Lyn kept her expression as blank as she could. She didn’t think Atlas would come back if she didn’t call him. But if they got ahead of him, into his line of sight, and tried to do something to her…she wasn’t sure what decision Atlas would make.
“Fuck that. Dragging her out to bait the dog would take too long, catch too much attention and we’d still have to restrain him.” Obviously Zuccolin didn’t want another encounter with Atlas any time soon. “I’m going to need stitches everywhere. Goddamned lucky he didn’t break my forearm. Call Evans and have him intercept in case the mutt makes it back to those kennels.”
So many people involved. David needed to know. Atlas would get to him and then David would know something was wrong. She twisted her wrists, trying to work at the duct tape around her wrists.
Pain exploded on the left side of her head, blinding her. As she sucked in air, her vision cleared slowly.
“The fuck did you think you were doing, bitch? Think I didn’t see you? Something must’ve tipped you off.” Sergeant Zuccolin was screaming. “Did you think you could message your boyfriend? Jump out of the car? We’d have run you down in minutes. Around here, by the time anyone called that in—if they saw it at all—we’d have been long gone. And trust me, it’s no issue ditching this vehicle.”
Lyn swallowed hard against the fear churning in her stomach. Bad, this was so incredibly bad. She’d figured she couldn’t get away. But Atlas? He was fast, too fast for them to go after even in a car. He’d find his way back to the kennels and to David. He would.
“What did you say to the mutt?” Obviously her new favorite sergeant wasn’t an actual dog handler. “Waste of time. You’re not military and not his real handler. Soon as he gets clear he’s going to go do whatever the hell he damned well pleases. This isn’t the movies. He’s not fucking going to go find help.”
Yes, he was.
Though he wasn’t a Collie with a little boy for a best friend; he was a Belgian Malinois and one of the US military’s best. He’d track the man she’d named because Atlas knew him, trained with him, knew she’d worked with him. Atlas would track his way back to him and bring David back to her.
Chapter Twenty
Cruz tossed the hose to the side and stomped over to the spigot to cut the flow of water. He should’ve brought the damned thing with him, but instead he let the metal nozzle drag across the concrete floor of the kennels screeching and setting his teeth on edge.
Great. He was making his own temper worse. Next thing, he’d head into Philly and look for a good, wholesome brawl.
Because that would be such an incredibly constructive use of his time.
Cleaning out Atlas’s kennel was supposed to have been constructive, actually. It only made him miss the big dog, and by association, the woman who’d helped work with him.
It was easier to focus on the dog.
Cruz had to admit Atlas had been one in a million. An optimal combination of the kind of intelligence, drive—and yes, aggression—a trainer looked for in a military working dog intended to support special forces units in the worst hellholes humankind could create.
There’d been a quiet air about Atlas that demanded respect. His pining for Calhoun had been a final expression of a kind of loyalty rarely found anywhere, in man or beast. It’d been honorable, simple in its expression and enough to tug at the toughest heart strings. And it’d taken a wisp of a blonde with a heart just as big as Atlas’s to bring him out of it.
Lyn had coaxed Atlas—and Cruz, too—to live again. Not merely exist.
Maybe Cruz had been mourning the loss of a good friend, but he hadn’t been struck as hard as Atlas. Nothing so noble. Because he’d never let anyone in that way. He’d been coasting along, trying to find a place to fit in again. Lyn had caught him up with her conviction and her good intentions and wound Cruz around her finger every bit as much as Atlas.
And now they were both gone.
Finally finished pulling in the hose and looping it on its hook, Cruz left Atlas’s empty kennel to dry and went into the shed where they kept grooming tools and the various dogs’ gear. Lyn hadn’t taken Atlas’s gear. But then, they hadn’t practiced much with it in their training sessions to date. Most of what they’d covered had been leash work. Cruz had been planning to take the lead with Atlas more before getting Atlas into his harness for some of the more specialized training.