Sylvia had died for her mistakes, strangled by Sullivan and tossed into the back of his Humvee like a sack of gear.
Brandon Harris, on the other hand, was beating the odds and recovering well in the hospital. Catriona was a constant fixture at his side and had even managed to wrangle hospital approval for Harley to stay in his room. The doctors were impressed by how markedly Brandon’s vital signs had improved once the dog arrived.
A breeze slipped over her, crisp with the scent of the ocean and possibility.
No question, the work she’d done in Florida was good. She’d changed lives for the better and she intended to help grow the program supplying therapy dogs for PTSD patients. But she also knew Liam was right. She was ready to return to the field. Disco was ready. They had a mission of their own, wherever they moved to next with the rest of her pack.
And the where depended on Liam.
Her eyes gravitated back to him—tall, focused—and while others might not notice, she knew he had the sexiest glint of humor in his eyes again. He’d decided to stay in the military for now. She’d told him that thanks to Sunny, she saw how well things could work in a military marriage. He wasn’t a hundred percent sold on the idea of advancing to senior leadership now that he would no longer work PJ missions. But he was willing to give it a try.
Their next base?
They would find out soon enough.
Today, though, they were in sunny Florida, where all was right with the world.
And she was engaged to be married to Major William McCabe, the last wife that man would ever have.
No doubt about it, life was good.