Honor (11 page)

Breakfast over, the dogs were revving up. Their yelps and barks reached her even with the car windows rolled up.

A rubber toy bounced off her windshield and a dog’s eager face popped up next to her. It had wide pricked ears brushed with black and a black muzzle, with golden brown everywhere else.

“Hello, Bogie.”

Before she could roll down her window to pet him, a distant whistle summoned him and the dog ran off, its tail high, a flash of enthusiasm against the dull asphalt of the parking lot.

Kenzie’s spirits lifted a little. She opened the door and got out, breathing the country air. The nip to it invigorated her—and took her back. She leaned against the car, remembering the day she’d started working here.

Jim Biggers had hired her sight unseen, on the basis of a recommendation from the kennel master of a military police detachment based at Darmstadt in Germany, where she’d been a Specialist 1st Class.

With an active social life at first, she thought wistfully. Unlike now. Back then she hadn’t wanted to bother with a serious relationship, and most of the men she’d met were raw recruits or career army.

She honestly hadn’t wanted to get involved with someone likely to deploy at any time. Her parents had lived with that worry hanging over them from the day they’d married, and Kenzie knew how glad both of them were when that stage of her father’s career was over.

But there had been that one soldier. Dan Fuller.

Dan fully expected to be tapped for a Special Ops team. There seemed to be no fighting skill he couldn’t master. He was smart and rugged and too brave for his own good. Her kind of man. She’d known that right away. Hadn’t told anyone but him, though.

And then—only five weeks after she’d met him—Dan had died in combat, unable to escape the cab of an up-armored vehicle when it had rolled over a roadside bomb.

She’d kept her feelings for him private in the first place and skipped the sympathy, counting the days until she was sent home.

The Darmstadt base had been on the verge of closing, per government orders, after going strong for something like sixty years. She’d only been there for two. The last two, as it turned out. Her friends there had begun to scatter to other postings and new lives all over the world, but she’d hung on to the end.

Burying herself in work was as good a way as any to forget. Kenzie had taken on the complex training of bomb-sniffing dogs and guard animals. Their unique abilities could never be equaled by machines. War dogs were increasingly important in Afghanistan and elsewhere.

Not every dog completed the rigorous program. But they could move on to other responsibilities if they didn’t.

She’d also served as liaison to stateside kennel masters who came through Darmstadt on occasion, looking for high-quality animals for specialized army missions. There simply weren’t enough to go everywhere they were needed. She had learned not to get too attached to the dogs she worked with. Or to anyone else.

Losing Dan had underscored that.

Once she was stateside again, she’d done the same thing, kept a protective distance from just about everyone. And then she’d met Linc. A true-blue guy who made her want to change her mind.

She reminded herself that he wasn’t likely to be deployed. Not if he was needed at Fort Meade and Langley.

But ... one thing she’d learned was that there were no guarantees. She straightened away from the car with a sigh. Kenzie headed through the parking lot and past the kennels, empty for the moment. The dogs wouldn’t return to them until around noon, exhausted in a good way from their play and training sessions. She looked around for Truck, who had the run of the place.

So named because Jim had found him chained to an abandoned pickup as a half-starved puppy, Truck was huge now, a shaggy black-and-white ball of energy and canine smarts. Jim Biggers insisted Truck was the best damn dog he’d ever had.

The mutt was nowhere to be seen, but she knew he’d show up soon.

Sometimes he trotted over to the kennels by himself from the Biggers farm a mile away, going through the woods on a trail only he could follow. Suddenly she heard a noise behind her and turned to see the big dog emerging from the underbrush. He bounded over to greet her, metal tags jingling loudly.

While she and Truck were saying good morning, Jim swung into the parking lot, calling to her through the open window of his jeep. “Kenzie, what a surprise. You’re here on time for once.”

“Yes,” she called back. “It’s payday, right?”

Jim laughed and pulled into his slot. He gathered up an armful of file folders and paperwork from the front seat and got out, heading for his office. “Dogs out?”

“All the kennels were empty when I got here.”

“Good. First drills start at nine sharp.”

She found a tennis ball to toss for Truck for a while, giving Jim time to get inside, drink a cup of coffee, and plan the day’s training schedule at his computer.

Over and over, Truck dropped the grubby ball carefully into her palm as if entrusting her with a priceless treasure. After twenty minutes or so, she threw it for the last time, hard and far, giving him a good run. Then Kenzie gave the big dog a farewell pat, sending him off on his customary patrol of the perimeter. He jingled away, eager to get to work.

She opened the steel doors of the low building and walked through the cinder-block corridor that led to Jim’s office.

He believed in order. There wasn’t a speck of dust or scrap of paper on the floor. Heavily padded bite sleeves hung from a rack on the wall and other training equipment was stored in lockers. Each trainer had their own—Jim allowed a certain amount of leeway for individual approaches. Training combat dogs was part science and part instinct.

Playing with Truck in the fresh air had cleared her mind and helped her think of a tentative plan. She was going to ask for unpaid time off and limit the explanations to a short version of Christine’s accident.

She memorized her talking points. Best friend. Bad accident. Seriously injured. Facing a long recovery. Naturally, Kenzie wanted to help however she could. That was enough.

She peeked through the open door of her boss’s office. Jim Biggers glanced up at her over the half-glasses perched on the end of his nose. They didn’t go with his military-style haircut, but he was of the age where they were necessary.

“What do you want? I don’t sign payroll checks until the afternoon,” he said sternly.

She knew he was teasing, though not about when he did the signing. But Jim, a former supply sergeant, was a stickler for routine. He believed fervently that time was money, and he valued both equally.

“I know,” she replied, glancing at the framed diplomas and citations hung on the wall behind him. After many months of employment, they still impressed her. Jim Biggers, a decorated Gulf War veteran, was a bona fide good ol’ boy, but he had a doctorate in biochemistry.

He’d founded the kennel operation in between that war and the next, in Iraq. As Linc had said, the world was a lot more complicated than it had been back then.

JB Kennels was a thriving business. He insisted on giving her credit for the recent uptick in profits whenever he had the opportunity.

“Sit down. Talk to me,” he said, gesturing to a chair. He closed out the spreadsheet he had pulled up.

After working with Kenzie for over a year, he was fairly good at reading her mind. Plus he had five kids and was impossible to lie to.

Kenzie took the oak armchair across from his desk and sat, then turned when she heard the jingle of Truck’s tags. One of the trainers must have let him in—sometimes it wasn’t clear who was training whom. A moment later the dog was asking silently for permission to lie by Jim’s side.

“At ease, Truck.” Her boss pointed to the floor and gave the dog a few seconds to settle down before he nodded to her to begin.

It didn’t take Kenzie long to explain. Per plan, she didn’t tell him everything. His thoughtful gaze on her face didn’t waver and his mouth tightened in a fierce scowl when she told him about the sideswipe.

“Hit-and-run, huh? No witnesses?”

“Not that we know of.”

One thick eyebrow went up. “We? Who’s on the case?”

“Ah—the police, of course. And a friend of mine. You don’t know him.” She returned his interested gaze with composure.

“I see. Well, I hope like hell they get the bastard. Take all the time you need, Kenzie.”

“Thank you. I mean it.”

His tone turned bluff. “Not a problem at the moment. I can spare you. Bottom line is looking good, real good.”

“The new clients?”

“One in particular,” Jim said. “Just signed a contract with a billionaire who wants canine protection. Got the wife and kids tucked away at a mountain estate and he’s nervous.”

“Doesn’t he have bodyguards?”

Jim grinned. “Several. But JB dogs are a status symbol, apparently. He insists on paying top dollar.”

“How much are you charging him?” Kenzie asked curiously.

“I suggested fifty thousand and he raised me to one hundred thousand. Per dog. For three dogs. I didn’t say no.”

“You’re bad.” Kenzie laughed.

“Hey, he started it. Three hundred thousand is small change to the guy. He wants to brag about how much his animals cost, I say let him.”

Kenzie shook her head with amusement. “No harm in that. He’s getting good dogs. So who’s doing the training?”

“Buddy and Wells. They can’t believe the money they’re making for the gig.”

He pointed a pencil at her and sounded stern again. “And by the way, you can forget about that unpaid-time-off crap. Your salary is direct deposit, and that’s not going to stop. You earned it, you need it.”

“But—”

“Just check in now and then,” he interrupted. “That’s an order.” His voice was gruff, but she knew that he didn’t show his soft side. “I want updates.”

“I will.” She smiled at him. Jim was army all the way.
Never abandon a fallen comrade.
He knew Kenzie wouldn’t have requested time off for a trivial reason.

“Wait. Before you go,” Jim said as she rose to leave. “Think you could get my gun back for me? I left it with Norm to have the firing pin fixed.”

“Sure.”

“I’d do it myself but I’m up against a time crunch today.”

Kenzie smiled at him. “No problem.” She wouldn’t mind a quick stop there. Norm Hamill’s firing range was where she’d learned to shoot before she’d enlisted and still went sometimes for target practice.

“Great. That’s one less thing to check off my list.” He pretended indifference. “Okay, I have work to do. Scram.”

“Yes sir.” Her tone was gently teasing. “And thank you again.”

“Stop saying that.”

She moved to leave and Truck half rose until Jim’s hand stopped him. He sank his big fingers into the dog’s ruff as Kenzie raised a hand to wave good-bye. There was a wistful quality in her gaze, and it puzzled the man.

“Should I close the door?” she asked him.

“Please do.” Jim and Truck watched Kenzie walk away on the other side of the glass panel.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” he muttered to the dog.

Truck gave him a soulful look in reply and thumped his tail on the floor.

Jim Biggers knew in his bones that Kenzie wasn’t telling the whole truth. He threw his pencil down on the desk and watched her as she went down the hall. “Yeah. She left out about half that story.”

The question was why. He supposed Kenzie had her reasons. Jim shook his head and returned his attention to the computer screen in front of him

Outside in the parking lot, she walked quickly to her car, glancing at Buddy and Wells without saying hello. The two men were working with several new dogs, running them through simple commands that would become increasingly complex in the weeks ahead.

It was good to know that there were no urgent army orders right now. Landing a rich non-military client definitely took the pressure off Jim. She didn’t feel too guilty about not coming in. Kenzie took out her car key and unlocked the doors from several feet away.

She took one last look at the new dogs through her windshield as she got in. Good group, she thought. They were off-leash, but not one had diverted its attention from the trainers at the sound of the key beep.

Kenzie heard her cell phone chime and scrambled to find it in her purse. The screen indicated a missed call from Mrs. Corelli, who hadn’t left a voicemail message.

She frowned as she dialed the number, hoping Christine’s mother would be able to pick up. After the fourth ring, she did.

“Oh, Kenzie. I’m so glad you called back.” Her voice was shaky.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. I want to text you my sister’s phone number before I forget. So you have more than one way to reach us. It was such a relief to be with Ann last night.”

“That’s good. What’s going on?”

“She really wants us to take turns staying there when we’re not at the hospital. Alf thinks it’s best. Now—oh, I can’t text and talk at the same time, can I?”

“Nope. Just talk to me. The phone number can wait.”

Mrs. Corelli took a breath. Then another. Kenzie’s heart sank. Her fingers clutched the small phone.