Rhys
RHYS
The K9 Files, Book 17
Dale Mayer
Books in This Series:
Ethan, Book 1
Pierce, Book 2
Zane, Book 3
Blaze, Book 4
Lucas, Book 5
Parker, Book 6
Carter, Book 7
Weston, Book 8
Greyson, Book 9
Rowan, Book 10
Caleb, Book 11
Kurt, Book 12
Tucker, Book 13
Harley, Book 14
Kyron, Book 15
Jenner, Book 16
Rhys, Book 17
Landon, Book 18
The K9 Files, Books 1–2
The K9 Files, Books 3–4
The K9 Files, Books 5–6
The K9 Files, Books 7–8
The K9 Files, Books 9–10
The K9 Files, Books 11–12
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
About This Book
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
About Landon
Author’s Note
Complimentary Download
About the Author
Copyright Page
About This Book
Welcome to the all new K9 Files series reconnecting readers with the unforgettable men from SEALs of Steel in a new series of action packed, page turning romantic suspense that fans have come to expect from USA TODAY Bestselling author Dale Mayer. Pssst… you’ll meet other favorite characters from SEALs of Honor and Heroes for Hire too!
Rhys hadn’t expected a trip to Cottage Grove, Oregon to start with a house being shot up with bullets. If it had stopped there it would have been manageable. A drive by shooting that the cops should be able to chase down. But nothing was easy in his world. And this case went to hell right from the beginning…
Taylor, an army vet herself was struggling to regain a normal life after she was injured by friendly fire in Iraq. Taking on a war dog appealed as it gave her a connection that they could both relate too, but she had to pass some kind of interview before she could keep Tallahassee. An interview with someone with a prosthetic just like hers. Only he was far more capable than she was.
Still that was the least of her worries as things go from bad to worse and she realizes these attacks were very personal… and very close to home…
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Prologue
Badger looked over at Kat, as they sat in their living room, and asked, “How did you get to be so smart?”
“I didn’t get to be smart at all,” she said. “I just knew something was there about his ex-wife, but I had no idea that he just needed to make peace with her. I figured he needed to deal with something.”
“Well, not only did he make peace with her—in the sense that they have spoken and have agreed to ignore each other—but her much-older husband is also not so happy to have her younger ex-husband in town. So Silas is chomping at the bit over that.” Badger laughed. “Not to mention the squatter seemed to do this elsewhere. Jenner did the sheriff’s job and checked in nearby counties, so that guy is sitting in jail, and the sheriff’s not happy to be shown up by Jenner either. But better than that, Jim is home, and Jenner will stay in town to help him fix up the place for wheelchair access.”
“I think that’s a great idea.” Kat looked over at Badger. “Is there any spare money to help out with some supplies?” Badger rolled his eyes at her. She grinned and added, “Well, I’ll help out with the prosthetic. I just figured that maybe they needed some building supplies to handle the modifications.”
“Absolutely they do,” Badger agreed. “I’ll talk to the guys about it.”
She nodded. “You do that.”
Such a note of satisfaction filled her voice that he grinned at her. “You, my dear, are one very manipulative prosthetic genius.”
“Only when it counts.” She walked over and sat down on his lap, wrapped her arms around him, and said, “Besides, it’s a happy story all around. How can we not like that?”
“It’s perfect. Jim’ll keep both dogs at his revamped childhood home, and even Kellie is getting comfortable being around them. I don’t see Jenner being dogless for long.”
“No, and I think it’s a great idea that Jenner sets up a way to help veterans. I mean, it’ll take some time to coordinate, but he’ll be somebody else for us to send people to.”
“Ah.” Badger laughed. “You’ve got a soft heart, my dear.”
“I do, but the good thing is, it belongs to you.” She wrapped her arms tighter around him and kissed him. Then she twisted in his arms and asked, “What’s this?” She pointed to the end table beside them.
“The next file.”
“Wow. Have you got somebody for it?”
“Nope, not yet. Jager thought he might know somebody. One of his neighbors. I guess their son came home, looking a little worse for wear.”
“Right. It’s hard to imagine how many out there aren’t even on our radar.”
“Well, this guy came back from a mission over in Iraq, got blown up—a story we all know—and maybe he needs to talk to you. I’m not so sure yet, but apparently a dog over there died in the same accident and he’s really heartsick over it. They were moving the forward operating base, when they got blown up. So he’s looking to find something else in his life to find meaning.”
“Oh, I like this already. Where will we send him?”
“We?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Absolutely. This is a we job.”
He smiled and agreed. “It is, indeed.”
“And where’s the dog?”
“In Oregon.”
She frowned at that.
“Why, what’s wrong with Oregon?” he asked her.
“Oregon’s fine, but I hope it’s an okay scenario for our War Dog and our next man.”
“This is a different scenario. We haven’t had one of these before.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Apparently a woman picked up the dog, contacted the ASPCA, found it was tagged, came up as one of the War Dogs, and they want somebody to go check on it.”
“She wants to keep it? Because, if that’s the case, it would be a good thing. Right?”
“She does want to keep the dog but is concerned about its training. She hasn’t had much.”
“What about this guy you are sending? Has he any experience with K9s?”
“Well, he was a trainer, so, in a way, it’s a match made in heaven.”
She looked up at him, and a glint came into her eyes.
He nodded. “I knew you wouldn’t miss that reference. Apparently she’s also ex-military, and she’s got her own prosthetic. Although she’s struggling with it and was hoping this dog would be more of a therapy animal.”
Kat’s frown flashed again. “I don’t know that the War Dogs have that kind of temperament.”
“I don’t think she’s looking to get it registered, just more of a case of she’s alone and could use it for mental health purposes, like an emotional support dog.”
“In that case, you’re right. It sounds like a match made in heaven.”
“I hope so, but I’ve got to get a hold of this guy first.”
Just then came a knock on the open door, and Jager walked in and pointed. “This is actually him. Rhys.”
The man leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.
“The one I was telling you about.”
“Right.” Badger nodded. He looked over at Kat and then at the closed file. He asked his wife, “What do you think?”
She studied Rhys and decided immediately. “Let’s do it.”
Chapter 1
Rhys Gorman stepped from his truck, parked beside the gas pump, and waited for the attendant. He was here, wherever here was. He turned and looked around, studying the area. It was a quaint, very picturesque town, but not a place he’d ever been before.
Cottage Grove, Oregon, is what the sign stated. He’d seen elsewhere that this area was often compared to Parke County, Indiana, the Covered Bridge Capital of the US, which was something else he’d never really seen before. He wondered if it really was the stated capital of the US or just more about the western coast.
Often people made the mistake—wherever they lived—that the whole world revolved around them. Rhys almost smiled at that but was then reminded of his very smothering scenario back at home, so he had taken this chance to come here, confronting his fear of losing another dog.
Kat had been very persuasive, and she would help him get a prosthetic that fit and worked for him, which was huge. In the meantime he was stuck with his old one, while his leg healed and while she took measurements and worked on a prototype. She’d certainly seemed positive about it, and he hadn’t even realized this was the work that she did, until he’d looked her up after talking to his friend Jager. He’d known Jager for a while, and, if it weren’t for him, Rhys probably wouldn’t have stepped inside Kat’s office at all.
And maybe it would have been better if he hadn’t. Hell, maybe this whole thing would have been better if he’d just walked away and told Badger and Kat to find somebody else for this op. The last t
hing Rhys wanted to do was get emotionally involved with a dog. He could handle all kinds of stress and trauma, and yet, the minute a dog was involved, he went to pieces. And it was stupid. He’d been bugged about it plenty.
However, he’d also like to think that he hadn’t lost his humanity in all those years that he’d been in the navy. After a stint in the military, it was hard sometimes to remember that some humanity remained in the world. He’d gotten jaded and old and tired of dealing with the problems that he’d faced over and over again.
His injury had just about finished him. He wasn’t alone in that thinking; several others of his unit had gone down at the same time. They were all still trying to pick up the pieces of their world and to make something out of it. Something different than the rest. And, for that reason alone, Rhys rarely spoke about it and had pushed away his parents from even asking any questions because he didn’t want to be rude and tell them to stuff it. But he’d made it very clear to his father that Rhys would give no answer, so to stop asking, before he left town and before he chose to have nothing to do with them.
His father didn’t like his answer, but he’d given Rhys a single nod. “Fine. We weren’t happy when you went into the navy, and, you coming home in this shape, obviously we’re even unhappier,” he explained, “but this is your choice.”
“It is,” Rhys muttered. “It is my choice, and it’s the only thing I have left to live by, so honor it, or I’m out of here.”
His father had immediately agreed, and Rhys hadn’t been there for his father’s conversation with his mom, but Rhys was pretty sure that it was rough on both of them. Yet that’s just the way it needed to be if they kept hounding him because he just couldn’t handle speaking about his accident and the immediate fallout he had endured. It shouldn’t even have come to that. This break from his family would be good.
Rhys didn’t know if he would go back or not; going home after coming out of the hospital had been tough enough. He’d been there for three months in a room over the garage, while he sorted out his life and tried to get through the additional therapy he needed. The fact that he’d even had to go home had hurt. It wasn’t something anybody should have to do, particularly not in the shape that he was in. But it’s the only option he had left, so, whatever.
At the time he’d thought maybe it’d be nice to go home. However, his mother couldn’t stop the nagging, combined with the guilt trips, atop the constant pushing to eat—as if food solved every problem in the world. Then she resorted to the smothering repetitive questions, like, “Are you okay?” Hell no, I’m not okay. I’m far from okay.
So going home had stopped Rhys’s hopes that the situation would be nice, and it had turned into being emotionally painful. Rhys shouldn’t have gone home. It had been too much for his mom. She’d been heartbroken to see him, and that had just made it way worse, made him feel like he was some sort of a freak. Even though his father had tried hard to calm her down, she wasn’t the kind to calm down. She was all about hysteria. Whereas his dad was stoic.
And right now? The last thing Rhys needed was anybody making a caterwauling mess of his world.
He was also a private person, even more so since his surgeries.
Shaking that off, he thanked the gas attendant, walked inside and paid with his credit card, grabbed his receipt and got back into his truck. He punched in the address to double-check his directions and then pulled out onto the road. Taylor wasn’t far away, which was a good thing. He’d help her and Tallahassee, starting today. At the same time Rhys figured that a couple days might be enough to get him out of his emotional hell, long enough that he could get a break and could figure out what he would do with his life. And it seemed foolish at this age, at this stage, to even have to consider these things. But it was what it was.
Wondering at the fool’s errand he was on, Rhys headed down several small country roads, past a quaint little town center, and headed on through to the other side. When he got to the address, it was a small house, at least from the first pass he made, with a sidewalk leading to a picturesque front entrance and a long veranda, beautiful gardenias climbing up the side of the house. It was a large property, something he could really appreciate. He stared at it.
It seemed almost fairy tale-ish.
Something that he no longer believed in. Something that he didn’t think anybody should believe in, ever. The reality was what he experienced out in the world, and it was a bitch to come back from that. He didn’t want to park on her driveway just yet, not sure of his welcome. So he parked on the opposite shoulder of the road, turned off the engine, and, just as he went to open the driver’s side door, another truck drove by him very slowly and then slowed down more when it got to her place. The driver had a baseball cap pulled down low, and, even as Rhys watched, the driver lifted a handgun, pointed it through the passenger window and started firing at the woman’s house, before the gunman hit the gas and ripped off into the distance.
Rhys didn’t give it a second thought; he immediately turned his vehicle around and chased after the gunman.
Taylor Moore huddled in a corner of the dining room, between the kitchen and the living room, her arms wrapped around her chest, rocking in place, shuddering. The damn bullets. She didn’t even know if they were hitting the house, hitting her, hitting her car, hitting anything—even if they were bullets—but it just took her right back to the damn event that sent her tumbling and spiraling out of control, landing in the world that she currently lived in.
She didn’t even know what would set it off; sometimes it was just a vehicle backfiring, and, if that’s all it was, she almost hated herself for her constant overreaction. She understood the PTSD part of it; she understood that she would have to learn to deal with the trauma. She understood all that. But what she didn’t understand was how she was supposed to do any of it when she was constantly crippled by some of the simplest noises.
So much anger was inside her, so much that she couldn’t reconcile, so much that she couldn’t find peace with, and, of course, that’s what her psychologist wanted her to confront. Yet they didn’t give her the tools to do it. They gave her all this mumbo-jumbo about working on the problems. They wanted her to take drugs, so it would become something that was much easier to deal with.
She didn’t want to take drugs. She just wanted to find a way through this nightmarish maze to a world where she could function properly. She slowly lifted her head, hearing a harsh whine at the door and claws jumping up, trying to get in. She got up slowly, using the wall for support, and hobbled her way over, where she opened the door and looked out. There was her dog, outside the screen, whining at her, his tail going crazy. She opened the screen and reached out a hand. Immediately his soft nose shoved into it. “I’m fine,” she told him.
But he apparently didn’t believe her and kept nudging and nudging at her.
Finally she opened the door wider and murmured, “This isn’t a good idea.”
But she seemed helpless to stop it, as the dog raced inside. However, instead of coming to her for more cuddles, he took off and did a full search of the house. She leaned against the door, watching him. “I don’t know what it was,” she admitted. “Believe me. I don’t really want to do a postmortem on this either.”
But again he just ignored her, on his own path of some thought processes that she couldn’t seem to access. She wondered what he heard when she heard the same sounds. What the hell was going on that she was such a mess? She slowly walked over to the kitchen and put on the teakettle. After an episode like that, which just seemed to take apart everything in her world, she was always exhausted. Yet here she was, safe in her own home, and still didn’t have that sense of security that she was desperate for.
As the dog raced back into the kitchen, his nose still to the ground, she asked, only half joking, “What are you, part bloodhound?”
But his ears were calm, and his tail was wagging, as he stepped closer and gave her a woof and then shoved his big nose into her hand once more. She would have crouched down but her ankle joint didn’t work so well. She bent over instead and gave him a good cuddle. “I don’t know what that was which you just did, but thanks for keeping an eye out,” she muttered.