“Stop!”
The trapper still aimed his rifle at Caspian, and Dawson cursed his injured knee. “Don’t shoot him!”
But the man had backed away, as if to get a better shot, and from five feet away, Dawson launched himself, throwing his entire body weight into the man, locking his arms around his waist.
They went down together in a terriblewhump, cushioned onlyby the now-trampled snow. Caspian rounded on them, barking as Dawson pinned the guy, his good knee on the man’s arm. He reached for the rifle.
The man grabbed a handful of Dawson’s jacket, pulling him close, as if to hit him.
Yeah, no. He was wired now, the adrenaline hot, a part of him unhinging.
The bad guys didn’t get to win today. His fist balled—
“Dawson! It’s me! It’s Sully!”
He jerked, stilled. Stared at the man.
Golden-brown beard, a flash of fire in his pale-blue eyes.
“Sully?”
Sully Bowie, older brother of one of his buddies in Copper Mountain.
Just like that, the realization shut him down. He scrambled off the guy, backed into the snow, breathing hard.
And Caspian all but launched himself into Dawson’s arms, nearly standing over him, his hackles still bristled.
“It’s okay,” he said, his hand on the animal’s back. Looked at Sully. “What’s going on here?”
Sully looked at Caspian. “That’s your dog?”
Sort of. “Yes.”
“Is he going to bite me?”
Seemed like it, but then Caspian sat, his bottom right on Dawson’s legs. Stopped growling. That felt like the right sign. “I don’t think so.”
“Nice.” Sully put the rifle down and looked at the woman. “Are you okay?”
Dawson, too, looked at her.
Pretty. And scared silent, the way her hazel-blue eyes rounded, looking first at Sully, then Dawson, then Caspian.
Sully got up. “I heard the barking and came to see what was going on. Don’t get a lot of dogs up here signaling like that.”
Dawson glanced at Caspian. Signaling? He turned to the woman. “You okay, ma’am?”
She swallowed, then shook her head, and wouldn’t you know it, her eyes filled. Then Sully took a step toward her, and she drew in a breath, flinched.
Sully halted, his gaze swinging to Dawson, back to her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She gave Dawson a dubious look, and to be fair, Sullydidresemble something out of the wild Alaskan bush. Dawson, however, wore a parka, a normal wool hat, and boots. Like a man whodidn’tmake his living tromping around in the woods dressed in the hides of animals.
Yeah, he might have been a little freaked out too, if he didn’t know the guy.
“I promise, he’s harmless,” Dawson said. He scooted over to her. “I’m Dawson Mulligan. I’m a cop.” Or was a cop. Oh, it didn’t matter. “Are you from the downed plane?”
She drew in a breath. “Are you really a cop?”
