Talon: Combat Tracking Team (A Breed Apart) (52 page)

“What?” Hogan raised her arms. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

“No.” No, he hadn’t. “Not for Aspen.” He saw it now. Going under deep cover like he had wasn’t supposed to work this way. When you made that commitment, rules dictated no further contact with family members. For this reason and a plethora of other reasons. And staying here arguing like middle schoolers would land him in an institution, a room with a cozy jacket.

“Hey,” Burnett’s voice boomed as he scowled at them. “We’ll need Talon when we figure out where General Tselekova is hiding, so do what you can. Use what you need. Just—get him operational.” He pivoted and glanced at the other end of the table where Smith sat at a bank of computers. “How’s it going on Tselekova?”

“Last known location was Moscow, officially. He got in some trouble, but nobody’s sure what.” Smith stretched his arms and yawned.

“Should we just head to Moscow?” Hastings suggested. “The flight time would give us extra hours to keep hunting. Once in country, we can go where necessary.”

“Get that working,” Burnett said.

She nodded and gave Austin a look.

“Timbrel, you got—”

“Khaterah, hey there!” Hogan pointed to a screen where a video feed showed a grainy image of a beautiful Middle Eastern woman.

“Timbrel?” She squinted into the screen. A man hovered over her shoulder. “What—is something wrong?”

“Yeah, there is.” Hands planted on either side of the screen, Hogan sighed. “Things have been pretty exciting here, and Talon’s not weathering it so great.”

“Define exciting,” the man said.

Highlighted with a glow from the monitor, Hogan’s face amplified her hesitation. “Aspen was snatched. Markoski is missing.”

A flood of questions and comments rushed through the camera.

“Hey, hey!” Hogan said as she held out her hands to stem the bevy of questions. “Khat, listen. We’re short on time. But I need help with Talon. He’s not responding. What can I do?”

“Okay,” Khaterah said. “Are you able to give him his own safe place?”

“Yeah…no, maybe.” Hogan nudged up the rim of her baseball cap. “We’re about to get on a plane. I can crate him.”

“Okay, have the crate. He’ll need a safe place to go. But in flight, stay near him, and every time he looks at you, give him a reward—whatever you can find. Hot dogs, chicken strips, something that is more alluring than his panic. You remember the ‘focus’ command, yes?”

Hogan nodded.

“Every time he looks at you, give him praise and a treat. Then introduce noises but keep that focus command going. Rapid-fire it till he’s looking at you every time the noise comes. We’ve got to build his confidence back up.”

The conversation continued over the next fifteen minutes. Austin listened hard and fast, determined to right this wrong he’d done to his partner. His superior officer. At Talon’s side, he smoothed a hand down the thick chest of the Lab, over the harness. Rubbed the soft ears that flopped down near his face.

“They said I was handsome, but I knew it was you the ladies loved,” Austin whispered to Talon as he inched closer.

His jaw snapped shut, the panting demanded by the heat ignored. Wary brown eyes gave furtive glances in Austin’s direction. Cheeks puffed with a stifled pant.

Too stressed
.

Austin leaned away. “Good boy.”

Talon let his pink tongue dangle as he panted again.

Hogan walked toward him with a bag of treats.

“Let me do it.” Austin held out his hand.

She shot fiery arrows from her eyes.

Enough already. “He was my dog, my partner.”

“And you abandoned him.”

He hauled himself up to face off, and in his periphery he noticed her bulldog-champion coming closer. “I sacrificed my relationship with him and Aspen to serve my country, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love them both very much.” He snapped his hand out for the treats. “Talon knows me. You’ve never handled him. You’re a handler, right?”

She gave a slow nod, her brown eyes sparking with fury.

“Then you know these dogs are fiercely loyal. They won’t work with just anyone.”

“Including you.”

Man, this chick knew where to hit.
Give a guy a break, okay?
“I want to help him remember what we had.” He put his hand on the treat bag. “Please. Just let me try. I have to. No matter what you think of me, I love my sister. And I love Talon.”

She didn’t release the bag.

“You need to grab gear to head out. Besides, if you see anything questionable, you and your bulldog can take me down.”

She darted a glance to the side. “You think
he’s
big?” She smirked. “Wait till you meet Beo.”

    Thirty-Eight    

M
urmuring drew Aspen from a sleep fog. She lifted her head—and winced at the pain that spiked through her neck and skull. Pounding forced her to squint against the pain. She searched for an explanation to wherever she was. However she’d gotten there.

Her head hurt. Her back. Pretty much everything. She lifted heavy eyelids to look around but kept the moans and groans begging for release to herself.

That’s right—the girl. The plane. But…this wasn’t a plane.
Where am I? Where’s Talon? Is he okay? He doesn’t take stress well. Especially not the kind with chaos
.

Light winked at her as she peeked across the sun-drenched room. Light streamed from high windows down onto the pale gray, cracked surface. On the floor. In a warehouse? A wild guess but the most probable considering her limited range of motion and ability to see her surroundings. She blinked against the sunlight as she strained backward to see behind her.

Crates in assorted sizes towered over her, like guardians.

Or captors.

Her mind scrambled back to the attack when she was yanked from the safe house. Talon’s deafening barks swirled in the jarring bubble of memories. Was he alive? Had they killed him?

And Dane. Her eyes shuttered closed remembering Austin’s accusations. Remembering that Dane wasn’t who he said. But he’d told her that himself, hadn’t he? Warned her not to look to him for affection or attention. Told her he couldn’t, wouldn’t get involved.

Who are you?

She couldn’t worry about him right now.

Escape. Maybe she could escape.

Okay, while many people would say she should do that, it presented a whole shipment of new problems—getting to the American embassy and convincing them of her identity. Before that, she had to
find
the embassy. She remembered Dane pointing it out when they went to the hospital. Good grief—that felt like a lifetime past.

After another check of her location to verify she was alone, Aspen pushed up on her shoulder then propped herself on her elbow—and a strange tug came at her right arm. Her mind registered the tightness around her wrists. Tied up. She huffed. Another problem to solve. But she’d do it. She hurried, knowing her time alone was probably short. They’d come back and beat the snot out of her. Or worse.

Then shut it and get moving!

She had a brother to smack senseless. A…guy to riddle full of questions, and a dog to lovingly coerce back to healthdom. If that was a word.

Skating a look around, she slowly hauled herself upright, expecting at any second to hear shouting or feel bullets riddling her body.

When nothing happened, she swung her legs around. Ankles tied. Okay, another problem.
Augh! Really, Lord? Can’t make this easy, huh?

She shrugged and hopped over her bound hands, bringing them to the front, beneath her knees. Fingers nimble, she worked the plastic cord. It wouldn’t fray, but it was the type of binding that if she worked it enough…

Aspen grunted. Felt a fingernail snap. Below the quick. She hissed but hurried, scissoring her legs back and forth the bare half inch the binding allowed. They must’ve found this stuff lying around the warehouse. Her gaze again skimmed the building. The high windows. A high-level catwalk-type thing that ran along the perimeter…straight into an office.

Her breath caught. Shadows moved behind the blinds.

She dug harder at the binding. Slid out of view. Yeah! Scooting back, she worked the binding. Felt it give. Her heart raced.

Voices carried through the building. She couldn’t make out their words. Just upset. And getting closer.

She scurried backward. Her ankles sprung apart.

Aspen swung around. Came up on a knee. Pushed to her feet. Darted between the rows of boxes that stood twenty and thirty feet tall on pallets. Reminded her of the cargo on the boat. As she sprinted down the long line that seemed to stretch for a mile, she remembered Dane fingering some lettering. Cyrillic, wasn’t it?

She clung to the right, hoping to avoid being spotted by whoever cast the shadow in the office.

A shout shot up.

Aspen pushed harder.

The door—she could see the door! Freedom’s call yanked her onward. Hands still bound, she couldn’t run her fastest. But she pumped her legs hard. A whimper climbed up her throat.
God, help me!

Shouts erupted back in the warehouse.

She plunged forward. Reached for the door. Hit it at full throttle.

The door flew open. Hit the wall. Snapped back. Thudded against her shoulder.

She yelped as it spun her around. Tripped her. She went to a knee. Pushed back up. Panting. Choking—air! She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow. She had to go. Keep going.

To her left, a canal-like stretch of water.

Buildings lined the street to her right, sentries against her escape.

Aspen sprinted toward the buildings, praying she could get lost in the dizzying menagerie of structures. There were enough. She could find some place. Hide till danger passed.

Talon
. He’d never ventured far from her thoughts. But what could she do? Nothing, unless she could escape.

She sprinted, tugging against the bindings on her wrist. It’d be so much easier…if they were free…

Something loomed in the horizon to the left. By the time her mind registered it, another three-story warehouse blocked her view. At the next street, she shot a look left.

Skidded to a stop.

Heart in her throat, she stared at the distant specter.

“No…” Panic swirled a toxic potion in her chest.