Page 26

POUND PUPPY

1

“I’m sorry. You want me to do what?”

Duncan gave him a smirk as he rocked back in his office chair, and Rowdy wasn’t sure he was happy to be given his very own investigation. “Find a dog,” Duncan said calmly.

For the past six months, he’d been working with the other investigators, mostly doing whatever they said he needed to do. Surveillance, courthouse legwork, record searches. Everything so mundane that no one else wanted to take it.

But Rowdy didn’t care. He was too appreciative to have an actual job.

He’d been out of Walter Reed about a year, and his body had gotten so much better in that time. When he’d gone in, they’d told him he had very little chance of ever walking again. Rowdy knew the doctors had to give him worst case scenario, but it had only served to motivate him to work harder.

Within two months he was walking, though it was very different than how he’d moved before. The metal rods in his legs had taken some getting used to. And his left leg was always going to be a hair longer than his right leg. The bones had been obliterated in his right leg- total mush- and even though he was sure the doctors had measured repeatedly, his right leg had settled short. Rowdy didn’t really care, though. Yes, he had a very obvious limp, but he was fucking walking. He was working up to running, now.

That didn’t mean he wanted to chase down a lost dog, though.

Duncan reached a folder across the desk, and Rowdy took it, flipping it open.

“I know this sounds like a waste of time, or a noobie joke, but the client has been with us for years. She’s a sweet old lady that people take advantage of. Go talk to her and see what you can figure out.”

Without a word, Rowdy nodded his head and pushed to his feet. “Will do.”

He limped out of Duncan’s office, his back aching. Shannon, John’s wife, gave him a sweet smile. “If you need help with anything, just call, Rowdy. Mrs. Dodd is a getting on in years, but she’s sweet as can be, sharp as a tack, and I know she loves Cookie. The dog doesn’t leave her side, so something must have happened to him.”

She held her hand out to him and Rowdy automatically took what she offered. Three ibuprofen. Then she shoved a bottle of water at him. Apparently, his limp had been more pronounced today. Shannon had told him once that the way he walked even made her back hurt. So, he took the pills gratefully, drank down half the water and gave Shannon a nod.

“Thanks, Shannon. Kids good?”

She nodded, grinning. “Ready for Santa.”

Santa. Ugh. He’d prefer to just skip over the holiday if he could.

With a final wave, Rowdy called the elevator and left the Lost and Found offices, his mind going back to his assignment. This could either be a slam dunk or a really bad situation, if the dog was hurt or injured. Assuming he could even find the thing…

Walking across the icy parking lot, he read through the basic info in the file. There wasn’t much to it. There were several pictures of a white, fluffy-haired dog, though. He was less than ten pounds, so, not very big. One of the pics was of the dog panting happily, pink tongue lolling. Cookie looked like a nice little ankle-biter. And that white hair would be prefect camouflage for the snow they had outside right now.

Rowdy stopped at the side of his truck, digging for his key-fob as he juggled the file.

“Hey, Rowdy,” someone called.

Turning, he waved at Brody Bennett. The guy was just in for a few days from the Columbus branch of Lost and Found, but Rowdy had enjoyed talking to him. The big man was in his blacked-out Dodge Challenger rental car. The car was almost as beefy as Brody.

Grinning, Brody slowed beside him, leaning out the window. “What do you call a dog with no legs?”

Rowdy sighed, shaking his head as he waited for the punch line.

“Nothing. He’s not coming anyway! Have fun on your call!”

Brody gassed the car out of the lot, squealing the tires as he turned North.

Rowdy sighed. Terrible joke, but he appreciated the camaraderie. It was like he was back in the SEALs.

Rowdy climbed into his truck and cranked the engine, then shifted into gear and pulled out of the lot. He hadn’t been in Denver long, but long enough that he knew Anderson Hills was one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in the state. It was world-renowned for its state-of-the-art golf green, and he’d seen an army of landscapers working on it at all hours. The adjoining ‘enclave’ was very exclusive, with several local celebrities calling it home.

There were two guards in a squat gate building when he pulled up to the neighborhood entrance, and he had to let them know he was from Lost and Found. Then he had to wait for the older guard to call the Dodd house to make sure he was allowed in.

The man hung up the phone, giving him a considering look. “I hope you find Cookie. That little dog means more to the neighborhood than you know.”