“A video, too.” A smile lit her pretty hazel eyes. “That dog of yours is a real ham.”
“Thanks. But I should go. Long day”—with the shrink, then pounding a punching bag, trying like hell to get back to work again. To get his military career back on track.
He’d gone to The Citadel military college on a football scholarship, played quarterback. Was pretty much a rock star in his hometown, the golden boy with a bright future in the air force as a security cop.
He’d understood a Middle East deployment would come his way. He’d expected and embraced the opportunity. He’d realized it would be tough—he wasn’t delusional. Not then, anyway. He’d been prepped for the possibility of PTSD.
He’d just never really expected it to happen to him.
This fear that gripped his chest like a heart attack without warning. First time he’d heard fireworks after coming home, he’d damn near pissed himself.
Warrior strong?
Fuck.
She touched his arm lightly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” He shook off the fog. How long had he been standing here, staring off into space? “We were talking about videos, right?”
“Exactly. Harley played in the pool to cool off, splashing like crazy. She’s dry now, though.” Her eyes narrowed too perceptively. “Would you like a cup of coffee before you head back out?”
“I just need to pick up my girl.” Something cold nailed the back of his calf just below his shorts. He jolted around hard and fast. Only a dog. A familiar blue pit bull. “Isn’t this one of Rachel’s?”
“Ruby Two. Right. Which is funny, since she’s blue. Both of Rachel’s new trainees are here.” She started toward the house, and he moved in step with her. “She took Disco with her when she stopped by early this morning.”
“Where did she go?” He scratched the tightness in his chest. He’d been planning to call Rachel, to talk about… his dog. The whole pet-therapy gig. Not that he totally bought into it. He just liked having a dog. Nothing more.
“Rachel didn’t say.” Catriona swung open a reinforced screen door leading onto an oversized porch. “Just that she needed some time away and paid for a week’s worth of sitting in advance, not that I ever worry about her settling up. I would give her the time for free in exchange for all the work she does.”
He looked fast, searching for signs she was digging at his problem. He found nothing in her eyes but more of the peace. What would she think of him if he spilled all his whacked-out conspiracy theories? But he kept his mouth shut. Dumping that on her wasn’t fair—hadn’t been fair to Rachel either, she’d just caught him in a weak moment. Once he had his feet on solid ground again, he would get to the root of what he’d heard, find those responsible, and nail their asses to the wall.
For now, he had to bide his time and get his head on straight.
Catriona scratched Tabitha’s head between ears that had been cropped with scissors before the Argentine Dogo been rescued from a Miami street gang. The gentle glide of her fingers against the sleek white fur seemed so damn soothing. “Thank goodness Rachel decided to get away, though, or she could have been hurt in that explosion.”
He looked up fast to her face. “What did you just say?”
“The explosion, it was on Rachel’s block. I thought I mentioned that earlier. Sorry, I’m so used to hanging out with the pooches, I lose some of my people skills.”
She communicated just fine. More likely she’d told him while he was in his fog state. “There’s a fire in Rachel’s neighborhood?”
His mind started racing. This couldn’t be coincidental.
In a moment of weakness he’d told Rachel Flores things he should have kept to himself. Going to the authorities had been every bit as useless as he’d expected. The golden boy was now seriously tarnished. No one took him seriously, and if anything, he’d just put himself and Rachel at risk by telling what he knew. He wouldn’t have said anything at all, except he’d been hanging out with her and with Harley, and the next thing he’d known, he was spilling his guts.
Damn it, where was Harley?
In the house. Right. And once he had his shepherd he could call Rachel. He patted his pocket and realized he must have left his cell phone in the truck.
“I need to get my dog.” He charged past her abruptly, the roaring in his ears almost as loud as the crashing waves hammering the shore. He’d become so dependent on the mutt, he couldn’t face traffic without her for fear a car would backfire and he might…
He didn’t want to consider what he might do.
Her feet sounded lightly behind him. “Are you sure you don’t want some coffee? Or you could even stay for supper.”
He turned to her, stunned. “Huh?”
“Supper. Food. To go with that coffee.” She twirled a bit of honeysuckle vine between two fingers. “Nothing fancy, but I promise there aren’t any dog hairs in it.”