None.
“Please, please, please,” I whisper. A cold wet nose nudges my hand, and I collapse to my knees, wrapping my arms around Max’s large neck. He’s warm.
The team works fast—IV in, oxygen mask secure, tourniquet right around his thigh. Time screams by.
Noah’s body jolts as they lift him onto the backboard, strapping him down to keep him stable.
Above, thethump, thump, thumpof the blades cut through the air as the ropes sway from the rescue rig.
There isn’t time for me to say goodbye. They hoist his limp body into the basket, and signal to lift. He rises slowly, the men in the helicopter working hard to keep the basket from tangling with the trees.
Make it. Make it. I love you.
The wind rushes around the clearing as the helicopter flies off and I’m left clutching Max like he’s my last lifeline.
Out of habit, I reach for my nose ring, wanting to twirl it to ease my worry, but it’s not there.
Hedid this.
I jump up, scanning to find Raven on the ground, unmoving. Agents crouch over him, administering lifesaving care, and the blood rushes to my ears. I stare, unblinking, as the emotions cascade over my shaking body.
They’re workingsoquickly. Working to save a man who tried to kill one of their own.
It’s insane.
But as I think that guilt sweeps in. Noah would do the same. He’d press to rescue anyone. He has.
I blink away the tears, averting my eyes to where the DEA swabs the tables.
“Ma’am, I need to take your statement, and we will get you home, okay?” an FBI agent says, approaching me.
“No. I need to go to the hospital.” I fold my arms, wringing my hands together. I don’t want to talk to these people.
“Ma’am?”
“Please.” K-9 units prowl the perimeter, and when another agent moves toward us with a leash in hand, I frown. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“My name is Agent Battle, ma’am. I’ve been instructed by the NPS to take K-9 Max into custody.”
“What? Why?” I lean into Max, my hand groping for his collar.
“K-9 Max is the property of the National Park Service, ma’am. Handler Sullivan will be notified if he makes it home.”
“What do you meanif?”
“When, ma’am.WhenRanger Sullivan makes it home—I apologize.” The man rolls his large shoulders, rustling the navy windbreaker with the letters FBI stamped across it.
In my peripheral, a white sheet is draped over Raven’s body.Good. He can’t hurt anyone else. He can’t hurt me.
“Ma’am?” Agent Battle’s blue eyes study me.
I swipe under my eyes. “What?!”
“The dog.”
I realize that my hand is coiled around Max’s collar, and the world feels like it’s moving on without me. The voices working around me blur into static, and my grip grows tighter around Max’s collar.
He stands in a contact heel next to me, patient and putting up with my frantic fingers tangling in his fur. His eyes comb over the woods, panting lightly. I drop to my knees, the awful feeling they’re taking him away thick in my throat.
