“Okay.” Gabriel scrubbed a hand over his face.
“The call I just got was a specific request that we get Whiskey out to the family’s trailer.”
“Whiskey specifically?” Gabriel looked down at his dog, completely unperturbed by what was happening, softly snoring with her ears dangling out of her nest and draping on the ground. She didn’t look like a hero.
“Whiskey’s got a reputation in the field for having an unbeatable nose. They had a search K9 and a tracker working the area, and neither one was able to fix on a specific trail.”
“So they still don’t know the direction of travel?”
“They have two missing kids and a set of parents that are hysterical with worry,” Reaper said. “What often happens on a search is that the parents go out and look. Then they call their support teams in—neighbors and friends. In this case, the mom works for a church, so the whole congregation came over to help find the kids.”
“That’s why there was no track.”
“And the scent cone—the smells that fall off a body and move with the air—that cone is full. Most search K9S are trained to detect a random human scent. That way, when a team goes out to work their section of a search grid, they know they’re looking for a missing hunter, and the dog knows he’s looking for a human. And that’s why we need a K9 specifically trained to smell all the scents, latch on to the correct one, and follow it to the end. And Whiskey is one of the best in the state at doing just that.”
“Of course. She’s right here with me,” Gabriel said. “I can bring her anywhere you need me to. I just need to know if there’s any equipment in her bags that needs to come with her. Are you the one who will be handling her? Do you know how long she’ll be out?”
“I sure appreciate your willingness to help,” Reaper said. “I’ve got a K9 search bag already packed with everything she’ll need in the field. But I was thinking that, since you already do adventure races, and you’re used to mountainous terrain and dark skies, you might like to go along and see Whiskey in action.”
“You want me to go on the search?”
“It might scratch an itch, as my wife likes to say.”
Gabriel was so tired.
He wassotired.
He thought he’d have decades in him before he felt this worn down.
It wasn’t just Daniel.
It was the garbage in his head that he’d brought home from the war.
It was shrapnel still embedded in his body that the surgeons decided was best left alone.
It was the emotional part of his job with the FBI, where he knew lives were on the line and it was up to him to save them from some horror. If only Gabriel were sharp enough, fast enough, he might be able to send trained teams in to snatch them from harm’s way.
Gabriel felt pressure on his knee and looked down to see sad eyes gazing up at him. Whiskey could probably hear Reaper’s voice and knew why there was a middle-of-the-night phone call. Her tail thumped rhythmically on the wood floor.
“That’s fine,” Gabriel said. “I can help out tonight. Where should I meet you?”
“You’re right on my way. I’ll come pick you up. Once we get there, Emergency Response will need to check you in and have you sign papers before we get on the trail. But they’re expecting us. They’ll be quick about it. We’ll get our best chance to follow the trail before the sun comes up and the air starts to warm.”
“What should I bring?” Gabriel asked, sliding down his bed so he could get up and get going.
“Dress like you’re heading into a race and carry a pack that can see you through for a few days. I don’t expect to be out anywhere near that long. But it’s one of our safety requirements. And Gabriel, come strapped. See you in ten.”
Chapter Eleven
Gabriel
“All right, Whiskey,” Gabriel said as he stood. “We’re going on a search so you can show me why Daniel bragged so much about you and your sniffer.”
Dressed in his boxer briefs, Gabriel moved to the bathroom, where he scrubbed his teeth, spat into the bowl, and rinsed his face.
He looked into the mirror, running his hand along his chin, and decided not to use any of his ten-minute time frame to shave.
Gabriel reached into his linen closet and pulled the can of tick spray from the medicine shelf. Stepping into the shower, he dragged the curtain shut and sprayed himself head to foot, coughing as the fumes slid down his throat in a cloud.
