“Mmhmm.”
“He’s not allowed back in Alaska,” Dodge said.
“So, it’s been sitting vacant for a few years?” Flynn glanced at Moose. “It’s worth a flyover, to see if there’s been any activity.”
He nodded. “I’ll head out to the FBO.”
“I’ll go with you,” Dawson said.
Caspian, however, whined again, this time from the door. Aw. “I need to take him for a walk.”
“Listen,” Moose said. “Even if I see something, the forest there is too dense for me to land. I’ll keep in touch. You be ready to deploy.”
Dawson nodded, then whistled to Caspian. He should have a leash, but he’d lost it long ago. Still, Caspian fell into stride with him. Dawson picked up his parka as he hit the door and headed outside.
The wind swirled off the river, past Starlight Pizza, now closed, and Bowie Mountain Gear, all the way down to the bakery and the Midnight Sun Saloon.
Dawson shoved his hands into his pockets, the sky clearing, finally, blue and pristine. The chill captured his breath in small puffs. Caspian sniffed and then set out in a jog down the street. Found the right place between buildings—good dog—and emerged a few minutes later. He’d have to walk him out of town a bit because he’d forgotten a cleanup bag.
He headed down the street, the smells of the early smoke from the ribs in the Midnight Sun’s smoker haunting the breeze. Vic started them early, to smoke all day and emerge dripping and juicy by dinnertime.
God,please let Vic meether daughter. Maybe Keely didn’t want to see her, but...
It couldn’t end this way. His throat tightened, even as Caspian spotted someone and barked, as if alerting.
Vic. She stood in her parka and a pair of mukluks, on the stoop of the building, staring out into the sky.
Even from here, he spotted darkness in her expression.
He caught Caspian’s collar. “Hey, Vic.”
She seemed to see him then, drew in a breath. “Dawson.”
And he couldn’t ... well ... even with the team inside the sheriff’s office, maybe his idea from last night wasn’t terrible...
Vic blew on her hands. A simple gesture, but they seemed to be shaking.
“Vic, are you all right?”
Her jaw tightened and she met Dawson’s eyes. Swallowed.
And again, his gut—and shoot, it was time tolisten. “Is there something ... I mean ... are you in trouble?”
Caspian picked that moment to wrench out of his grip, jog over to her, sit, and whine. He put a paw up, as if to greet her.
She looked at him. “Reminds me of a dog I had who was trained to help soldiers dealing with stress.”
He glanced at Caspian and suddenly, oh wow. Yes. “Like PTSD?”
“Yeah. He belonged to a friend who died, so I took him. But they’re trained to notice elevated heart rates and sweating and agitated behaviors. They’ll nuzzle their handler to distract them, lean on them, or put a paw on them, or even sit on their feet to calm them. Alert to panic moments. Sometimes even lead them to a different place.”
He looked at Caspian. “Like wake a guy up if he’s having a bad dream?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Maybe sit with their back to their handler?”
“It’s called watching their six. And they’ll often clear a room ahead of their handler, come back, and give the all clear.”
