Page 73 of Into the Fire

He didn’t get out. He sat in his truck.

Two minutes later an SUV came up the street from the south, with a rack of dog crates visible through the back glass, and pulled in beside Shep. A woman got out. She was fifty-ish and wearing a ball cap. Shep was out of his truck before her door closed.

They talked. She handed him something I couldn’t make out. Then he showed her something on his phone.

I watched Shep check the street. He did it twice while they were talking. First, there was a look up toward the highway. Then he looked down toward the Sawtooth bar.

I got out of my truck. The diner’s exhaust fan pushed the smell of bacon into the street.

Shep saw me coming. He froze, and the woman turned to see what he was watching.

I didn’t play games. I stopped in front of them and looked at Shep.

“What were you doing behind the gear shed yesterday?”

The woman took a step toward her SUV, making space for me.

“I was around a lot of places yesterday,” Shep said. “It’s a small base. Everybody’s behind everything eventually—”

“Shep.”

“I had gear to—”

“Nash has two cracked ribs,” I said. “He’s in a walking boot because somebody took a saw to that link and cut it most of the way through. Boone asked you where you were, and you lied to him.”

Shep’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. It was the first time I’d seen him speechless.

He looked at the woman.

She looked at Shep.

“There’s a dog,” he said.

I didn’t speak.

“At the base.”

I waited for more.

“I found him three days ago.”

“You hid a dog at Silvertip?”

“I didn’t exactly hide him.”

The woman decided to be helpful. “He told me he hid him.”

“Whose side are you on?” Shep asked.

“The dog’s,” she said, and leaned against her fender.

Shep told his story. He’d found the dog along the access road, thin and dirty and hiding in a culvert. He had a ragged collar and no tags. Shep had a granola bar and forty minutes of patience, and by dark the dog was in the yellow truck and Shep was the owner of a problem.

“I couldn’t leave him out there. And I couldn’t—” He gestured at me. “You know what Boone would say about a stray dog on an operational base. Nash would say something worse. So I set him up behind the gear shed. There’s a lean-to back there nobody’s used since I came here. I gave him food, water, and a blanket, and I’ve been checking on him. I called the local animal rescue two days ago.” He nodded at the woman.

“She can take him today. She’s meeting me here so I can get her through the gate without having to explain to Boone why an animal rescue is showing up. I showed her a picture. Want to see?”

“No. What about yesterday during lunch?”