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“Don’t be such a drama queen. At least you’ve got bones coming.”
At that, Bud perked right up. His tail thumped against the laminate floor tiles.
“Let’s grab a walk before we head over there. I’ve got a feeling this job is going to be rough.”
Barking with the kind ofexcitement that would make a person thinkhe had never been out on a walk beforein his life, Bud raced to the door, jumped up to the handle and tugged on it with his mouth. The door swung open. Light and sea air flooded into the trailer that had his mouth opening to capture it all, but he stopped short of going outside.
He was too well trained for that.
Kane nodded, giving a hand signal. “You can go.”
At that, Bud bounded outside, yapping and barking like he was a puppy again and not the grown-up three-year-old that he was.
Rolling his eyes at his dog’s antics, Kane joined him outside.
3
The Rockefellers’ palatial property was an eight bedroom, ten bathroom mansion with panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean and the famous Griffith Observatory.
Having led a simple and pretty frugal life, this kind of abundant living was so out of this world that even Kane found himself admiring the impeccably landscaped grounds.
He was parked in his truck at the end of the Rockefellers’ two miles long drive, Bud snoring quietly by his side. Their walk had turned into a swim fest and play session that had tired his mutt out but served as an invigorating impromptu workout for him. Pumped and primed for action, he wasalmostready to deal with the nightmare ahead.
He checked his laptop for the file Wilson had promised, but there was nothing in his inbox other than the Rockefellers’ address. Clara was likely still putting it all together.
Never one to wait — waiting made him antsy — Kane decided to take matters into his own hands. Paws too, counting Bud. They did all of his jobs together, had done since that fateful morning when he had saved him.
Bud had been found chained in the backyard of a drug dealer who had kept the dog in squalid conditions his entire life. He’d only been a year old then, but having suffered nothing but abuse, he had been as feral as they came. His matted fur coat had been criss-crossed with what looked to be lashes that had left him covered with welts. And he was skin-and-bones, having existed on one tiny meal a day.
After police raided the house and arrested his owner, Bud was finally rescued, though he fought with them the entire time, not realizing that they were trying to help. He had earned the respect of the shelter volunteers, though that hadn’t helped his chances at being re-homed.
No one wanted a dog who needed time and careful training. They wanted puppies or cute dogs, not ones riddled with scars and issues.
Nobody had wanted to give him a chance.
Kane had been working at the shelter as a builder at the time, among a crew of four others there to repair the roof that had been damaged after an overlong drought.
While working, he had heard a dog barking ferociously each time one of the shelter’s helpers came to feed him. Yet, as soon as they left him alone, he would cower at the back of his cage, trembling with fear.
The ferociousness was all for show.
There was something about him that caused Kane to take stock, and it wasn’t only the matching scars that they bore.
He wasn’t called Bud then, didn’t actually have a name. Someone at the shelter had dubbed him Rover just so they could call him something, though Kane knew the name didn’t suit him. He wasn’t a Rover kind of dog.
After each day of work, Kane would sit outside his cage — hunching over to be as small as possible to signal that he wasn’t a threat — tossing him treats. Bud would act out his usual performance, but when Kane showed no resistance or aggression, he would simmer down, though he never stopped keeping a wary eye on him, even when he snatched up the treats.
Kane would talk to the dog about his time in the marines and of the crimes he’d witnessed — all in the name of war. His voice would grow hard with emotion, but he wouldn’t stop, needing to exorcise his demons while hoping to help the dog with his.
The odd thing of it all was, he hadn’t even wanted a dog.
He’d grown up without contact with animals other than the odd playdate at a neighbor’s house, so he certainly wasn’t experienced with them. But seeing how the dog was suffering so like a human would, something had compelled him to try.
For weeks he’d sat outside talking to the dog, but nothing seemed to work. He was resisting and time was fast running out.
When the overrun shelter informed him that they needed his kennel, that if no progress was made, they would be forced to euthanize him, Kane risked his life by going inside the cage. Bud had snarled and yelped as usual, but Kane’s trusty sixth sense hadn’t gone off.
He truly believed that the dog would not hurt him.
