Code Name: Baby (18 page)

She didn't yell, she didn't scold, and she definitely didn't hit, yet her success rate was unmatched. All of this was in the government file Wolfe had read.

But nowhere had he seen a single word about Kit's personal life or any intimate relationships. In spite of the conversation he'd overheard between Kit and her friend, he figured that a woman with Kit's spirit and beauty had to have a man in her life. If not currently, then in the recent past.

His fists clenched at the thought of Kit with another man. He pictured her smiling, saw her opening a belt, her clothes dropping. After that he forced all feeling away. She wasn't his to claim and he didn't have time for fantasies. The sooner he drove that fact home to both of them, the safer they would be.

 

T
EN MINUTES LATER
, Wolfe was talking on his cell phone when he heard Baby skid across the plank pine floor. She tried to stop, scrambled hard, and slid to a halt in front of the couch where he was getting an update from Izzy.

He leaned down, scratching behind Baby's ears. “Something wrong, honey?”

“Honey?” Izzy repeated dryly.

Wolfe muttered a pithy phrase that made Izzy chuckle.

“I doubt that's anatomically possible. So Kit's there with you?”

“No, it's Baby, and she's looking very restless.” Wolfe's eyes narrowed as Butch and Sundance charged across the room. “Update that. Here come Butch and Sundance. You can't keep this team apart.”

Baby gripped Wolfe's sleeve in her teeth and tugged sharply while Sundance mouthed his other sleeve. What the heck was going on?

Abruptly he realized why the dogs looked so urgent. “Gotta go, Teague. The dogs need to go out for a pit stop, and they're not being subtle about it.”

“Watch where you step,” Izzy said dryly. Then the phone went dead.

Wolfe looked at the puppies lined up in front of him and found himself grinning. “All right troops, move out. Field formation, eyes forward.”

But no one moved. Baby looked at him, then barked insistently. Instantly the three dogs shot across the room toward French doors that opened onto a wraparound patio of travertine marble.

Wolfe shook his head. Clearly, Baby was the team leader in this group.

After checking out the back yard, he opened the doors and stood back while Baby rocketed past him, paws skidding. Butch and Sundance shot down the steps right behind Baby. The trio raced around the back yard half a dozen times, sniffed at a big mesquite tree, then stopped in a neat row near the side wall.

Legs rose in a line. Baby squatted.

Pit stop.

Wolfe watched them, smiling wryly. Mission accomplished. They even seemed to do
this
as a team. With their pressing business complete, the dogs looked back at him, then tore around the big yard in dizzy canine delirium. Just watching them made him feel twenty years younger.

He tossed a big stick across the grass, laughing as the dogs jumped up, changed direction in midair, then tore out after their target. Butch reached the stick first, grabbed it and waved it madly between his teeth.

Instantly, Baby bumped him with her head, growling playfully. Though Butch was probably twenty pounds heavier and two inches taller, the big dog dropped the stick and stood back while Baby picked it up.

She trotted back with the stick and waited.

“Nice moves, Slim. What do I get for an encore?”

Baby waved the stick close enough to brush his hand.

Wolfe lunged—but somehow the stick was gone and Baby was six feet across the yard, spinning in happy circles.

He studied the dog uneasily. “How the hell did you do that?”

Baby trotted back briskly and bumped his leg with her head. When he was looking directly at her, she tossed the stick up in the air near his hand and caught it neatly.

Challenging him. The absolute nerve.

Wolfe lunged.

In a blur the stick shot through his fingers and vanished, gripped in Baby's mouth as the three dogs tore across the yard in a tight cluster.

Incredible, Wolfe thought. Was he exaggerating their speed? He sprinted after Baby, only to find his way blocked by Butch and Sundance, who feinted left as a unit, then raced back toward him, blocking his way until Baby was out of reach.

The damned dogs had football moves. Maybe they could sign on to coach the Chicago Bears.

When Baby trotted back across the grass, Wolfe could have sworn that the three dogs were grinning at him, tongues lolling. This time he charged straight for Baby, feinted right, then jumped over Butch and Sundance when they came to Baby's aid.

But the dogs turned a split second before he did, and his knees struck fur and muscle. Instantly he twisted sideways to avoid hurting them, in the process hitting the ground on one elbow. He plowed into a planter, struck one knee, and lay still, seeing stars.

The stars blurred into the form of a looming shape above his head. Wet and rough, a tongue lapped his face.

Wolfe winced as puppy drool dripped onto his cheek. “Hell, Baby, give a fellow operative a break. No more slobber in the face.”

When he pushed to one elbow, Butch and Sundance immediately nosed in beside Baby, all three licking his face in excitement. Then Baby dropped the stick neatly in Wolfe's lap, sat down and barked once—as if rewarding Wolfe for his satisfactory performance.

Who the hell was ordering around
who?

Wiping off more dog drool, he stood up. “Nice tactical advance, guys, but it won't work a third time.” He grabbed the stick and sprinted toward the gnarled oak tree in the center of the yard. In a flying jump he caught an overhanging branch, knifed his legs up, did a tight pull-up and circled the branch. Yeah, it was cheating because dogs couldn't climb, but whoever said life was fair?

Sitting on the branch in the moonlight with his legs dangling down, Wolfe grinned at the Labs ranged below him. “Show me some moves, guys. Unless you're a bunch of wimps.” As the wind brushed his face, Wolfe realized he was sitting in a tree talking to a row of panting dogs, and he was having more fun than he'd had in years.

There hadn't been any games or laughter in his house. Growing up, he'd known only curses and pain, both quickly suppressed for fear of more beatings.

As he shoved away the thought, he could have sworn that Baby's head tilted as if in concentration. She looked up at the tree, then turned around in a tight circle and looked at him some more, growling low in her throat.

Butch trotted closer and Sundance drew up on the opposite flank, the scene looking for all the world like a NFL huddle. Wolfe watched Baby trot to an open chaise lounge and jump up with Butch right behind her. Sundance jumped up next, shot onto Butch's back and then stood stock still.

What the hell were the three Einsteins planning now?

He had his answer a second later. Baby jumped down and raced back to the far end of the yard. Then she lowered her head and shot over the grass, hit the lounge chair, rocketed up onto Sundance's back and sailed higher. Grabbing a higher limb in her teeth, she dangled for a moment, and then dropped onto the same branch where Wolfe sat, stunned and speechless. With her tail high, she crossed the branch carefully, slid onto her stomach and laid her head on Wolfe's lap.

And then she took the prized stick gently in her teeth and tugged it out of his unresisting fingers, while her tail wagged at high speed.

“Holy shit, who
are
you guys? Forget the Bears—you're ready for SEAL training.”

Baby bumped him happily with her head and licked his face. Before he could react she dropped the stick down to Sundance, who caught it in one flying leap and tossed it back to Butch.

Wolfe couldn't move. Okay, maybe this was all a trick of the moonlight. Something to do with clouds and shadows and his exhaustion.

Except his eyesight was way beyond normal limits and shadows didn't bother him for a second. Exhaustion wasn't a problem either, because he could go for three days without sleep. What he'd seen was no illusion. This kind of organized planning and teamwork was exactly what the government had hoped for, and despite being kept in the dark, Kit had nurtured those qualities perfectly.

Wolfe was looking at three dogs that were smarter than most people, that could carry out advanced problem solving and work together as a tight, enthusiastic team.

He shook his head. “Think what Lloyd Ryker could do with you guys.”

The image caught him up cold. These dogs had exactly the abilities Ryker needed, put to use in hostile environments. Out in the field, they wouldn't understand the danger or the risks they took. Thanks to Kit's dedication, they would spill their hearts, performing to the full extent of body and spirit.

Right up until one of them took a bullet in the throat or razor wire through the chest.

He closed his eyes, one hand slipping protectively to Baby's head. Tactical work under deadly fire was what they were designed for. Like him and his Foxfire teammates, they were trained to obey and succeed, at any cost.

But unlike the dogs, his team had been given a choice. They'd volunteered, fully aware of the dangers and the consequences. The dogs hadn't. They would be at the mercy of Ryker and others like him.

Baby nuzzled closer, her tail banging against the branch. She licked his hand as if she had known him all her life. As if he was a littermate.

And in a way, he was, thanks to their shared genetic technology.

There in the moonlight, with Baby's head on his knee, he grappled with what he had just seen and how it would change the future. He was looking at a new world and possibilities that seemed almost unbelievable.

A snowflake danced in front of his face.

Then another.

Wind sighed through the mesquite leaves as the sky paled, filled with drifting flakes.

The sudden moisture jolted Wolfe from his odd reverie. What he thought or wanted was unimportant. Science marched forward inexorably. Once the technology existed, it was only a matter of time until someone shaped it and used it for practical ends. Better that it be
his
government than anyone else's.

“Time to get moving, team.” He looked down at the ground and shook his head, not about to let Baby jump. “Come on, honey. Let's do this thing together.” With Baby tucked safely against his chest, he pushed free and dropped, landing hard but staying upright.

Baby wriggled free and jumped down, sniffed the ground, then turned and went still. Instantly Butch and Sundance moved in beside her.

“What's going on, you three?”

Baby moved warily toward the back wall. When she was twenty feet away, she stopped. Her head rose, pointed directly at the darkest part of the high, shadowed adobe. Wolfe felt the hairs rise at the back of his neck. He realized that the wind had died, and the night had gone silent. Only a few flakes drifted past his face now.

He focused, listening carefully, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement or abnormal energy signatures. Before he had felt nothing, but now…there was
something.
He crossed the yard to Baby.

The dog ignored him.

Whatever he felt was behind the eight-foot wall. Wolfe started toward the shadows and was shocked to hear Baby growl, her teeth clamping down on his boot. A moment later Butch caught his pants leg and held him in place while Sundance gripped his hand hard enough to keep him still.

Someone—or something—was out there waiting. The dogs knew it, and they weren't going to let him get any closer.

Wolfe was not a man who frightened easily, but he knew the touch of fear now, like a cold knife brushing his skin. If this was Cruz, he had changed his energy signature beyond recognition. Or else he had somehow learned to hide all his traces, even from one of his former teammates.

Wolfe took a step backward, away from the wall, feeling Butch strain to make him hurry. He leveled his Sig at the wall, releasing the knot of tension in his shoulders, keeping his fingers loose for a clean shot.

He still felt no trace of Cruz. Nothing moved.

Somewhere a bird circled in the darkness.

Wolfe sensed danger like an acrid taste in his mouth. The three dogs tugged him back hard and he followed reluctantly, daring the darkness to move. Daring Cruz to reveal himself.

It could be no one else.

The little hairs rose at the back of his neck. Baby tugged harder. There was no sound in the chill night, but the silence felt charged and oppressive.

His cell phone vibrated inside his pocket and he flipped it open with one hand. “What?” he whispered.

“Checking in.” Izzy's voice held a question. “Everything okay there?”

“No,” Wolfe muttered. “Meet me inside.”

He hung up.

They were almost at the porch now, man and dogs bound in a tense awareness of danger, the mutual ties of protection as old as primitive cave fires and hunting with spears. Somewhere beyond the trees the bird called again, and Wolfe heard the soft whoosh of wings, the noise unearthly.