I wasn't enough. I'd tried not to let him know how much that hurt. I got up every morning hoping for his letter. When it came at last it was agony.

So why had I kissed him tonight like the foolish girl I'd once been-crazy in love with a boy who would only hurt me?

My father's words. He couldn't help it. He loved me.

He'd loved Owen too. But us together ... Not so much.

In the end he'd been right. Owen had left me. I'd been so devastated my first year of college was still a blur. I'd managed not to flunk out, and at the University of Wisconsin that wasn't easy. The school was hard and my major, zoology, not for sissies.

Considering our history and my heartbreak, why had I kissed him? Because he'd been sitting on the couch where we'd first touched? Because when he came near me all I could do was remember every single other time that he had?

Or had it been because the sight on that table had scared the s.h.i.t out of me, and I'd needed to forget for an instant in the arms of the only man who'd ever made me feel strong, capable, and adult?

h.e.l.l, be honest, Owen was the only man who'd ever made me feel anything. The first brush of his mouth and I'd been lost.

I was twelve, and he was taking my hand, holding it tight during The Blair Witch Project. The movie had struck a little close to home. I had no idea why we'd watched it.

I was thirteen, and he was kissing me in that very room, tasting my tongue, his palm hot at my waist, his thumb almost brushing my breast.

We were fifteen, and they'd just taken away his mother for what would be the last time. Those d.a.m.n voices had told her to kill him. Was it any wonder I'd never mentioned hearing voices of my own?

The expression on his face-confused, crushed, helpless. I'd held him in my arms; we'd both fallen asleep on the couch. My parents had found us. I'd begged them to give him a home, and they had. Soon after, I'd tried to give him me. To his credit, he'd refused.

For a few years more.

Memories tumbled through my mind as I ran up the steps, down the hall, through a room as trashed as those below. At least the windows weren't busted, but the door leading onto the porch was warped, and I had to put my shoulder into it to get the thing open enough to slip outside. I was just glad I didn't have to ask Owen for help. I needed some distance, and I needed it now. d.a.m.n him for bringing everything back. I hadn't thought of Owen McAllister in ...

Days.

I moved to the edge of the porch. There wasn't even a railing to keep stupid people from tumbling off. Obviously not up to code-if Owen tried to sell the place, there was going to be a lot he'd have to add, subtract, and update first.

I stood there breathing for a minute-lovely fresh air that didn't smell of blood and fire, flesh and mold. But mostly it didn't smell of sun and gra.s.s, hay and midnight.

Of him.

The wolf called to the moon that swelled heavy and ripe and cool straight above, but she was so far off maybe it wasn't even the same wolf. And about that wolf ...

Owen had seen her. His dog had rolled around with her. Which made the animal a lot less imaginary. I had to wonder why she'd shown herself to someone after all these years and why that someone had been Owen.

I glanced at my phone; I had a signal. Yay! I didn't want to go to my parents'. I didn't want to explain why I was here, what I had seen.

And who I had seen it with.

I located the police station's direct number in my contact list. Less than a minute later, the dispatcher put me through to Chief Deb.

"You know those animals you were looking for?" I asked. "I found them."

Chapter 4.

The living room window gave Owen a perfect view of the ridge. If Becca couldn't get a signal upstairs, she'd appear on top of it very soon. She'd no doubt shimmy down the drainpipe before she'd come back through here.

While Owen didn't like the idea of her being alone out there, she wouldn't be for long. The bright moon would catch the reflective stripe on her track pants. He'd be able to follow her progress up, up, up through the breaks in the trees until she popped out on top like a piece of toast.

Then Owen would give Reggie the command, voraus, or run out. He'd be hard-pressed not to tell him to bringen, or fetch. But Reggie didn't bringen nice people back any less chewed on than he brought back the not-so-nice.

"If necessary I expect you to vault through that window." Owen pointed; Reggie followed the line of his finger. "And kick the a.s.s of whatever is anywhere near her."

Reggie gave a low woof. Owen took that to mean "Happy to."

a.s.s kicking was Reggie's specialty. Once, it had been Owen's. He very much feared it might never be again, and he wasn't certain what else he could do.

In the Marines he had excelled.

Running fast? Check.

Hitting hard? Check.

No home, no family, no life? Check and double-check.

He'd been a shoo-in for K-9 Corps. Add to that his love of animals, which he'd had even before he'd met Becca, and he had been accepted into the canine program without a hitch.

There was something about dogs that healed or at least helped. Your mother was a druggie, a nut, often a thief? You were an average student on a good day? No place to go? No future to dream of? A dog didn't care. They didn't even know.

Becca had known, and she hadn't cared either. Owen had loved her so much he couldn't think straight. Luckily her father had loved her enough to think straight for both of them.

What would the man say if he knew Owen was back? Did it matter? He wasn't going to stay.

Owen rubbed his hand over his mouth, which still tingled from hers. Would he be able to look Dale Carstairs in the face any more now than he'd been able to look at him then? Certainly this time he'd only kissed her, then he'd- Owen stood and paced, ignoring the pain. He was no longer a kid with nothing; he was a man with ...

"Not much more."

He threw a glance toward the ridge. No sign of Becca. He whirled, planning to pace some more, and nearly tripped over Reggie. He'd decided to pace too. Owen gave the dog a pat. "I have you, don't I, buddy?"

Reggie panted and drooled.

However, if Reggie went back to active duty and Owen did not, he wouldn't have the dog either. The idea of turning the animal over to another handler after all they'd been through together made Owen sick.

The more he thought about things, the worse things got, and that was without even considering ...

He lifted his gaze to the table full of ick. There was something about it from this angle that made him get the lantern and move closer, lifting the light, then setting it on the mantel and stepping back where he'd been.

"d.a.m.n," he muttered, just as Becca pounded down the hall and out the front door.

I wanted to meet Chief Deb in the yard, give her a heads-up before taking her inside, and from the volume of the siren and the peek-a-boo flash of headlights through the trees, she was breaking land speed records to get here.

The click of toenails on wood announced Reggie an instant before he descended the porch steps and stood at my side. He shook like he'd just jumped into a very cold lake, tilted his head, whined a little.

Hate that noise.

A lot of dogs howled along with a siren, protest rather than performance. However, Reggie did nothing but take a seat and stare in the direction of the sound. I suspected the places where he'd sniffed bombs had a lot of sirens blaring.

I rubbed his ears. "Sorry, buddy. It'll stop soon."

"What did he say?"

Owen leaned against the porch railing. I hadn't heard him come out. Nothing new. For such a big guy, he'd always moved very quietly.

"Dogs can't say anything." Didn't stop me from hearing them.

At first my parents had thought my recitations of "what the doggy said" adorable. As time went on and those recitations had expanded to include every animal I met, with a bizarre measure of accuracy, they got a little spooked.

As it wouldn't do for the local GP to know their little girl was a fruitcake, they took me to a pediatrician in Minneapolis. The fancy city doctor told them to ignore my stories. Without attention for the behavior the behavior would eventually go away.

It hadn't, but I had stopped sharing. Even at the age of six, no one wants to be weird.

Chief Deb's cruiser shot out of the trees like the DeLorean in Back to the Future shot out of ... the future. Considering what I'd found here, I couldn't blame Deb's need for speed.

She threw the car into park when it was still moving, the gears grinding so loudly that Reggie growled.

Owen jumped; I thought he might fall off the porch, then he had to steady himself with a hand on the broken railing, which shimmied, and then so did he. Something tickled my brain, and I stared at him so long he noticed.

Instead of making a sarcastic comment, or even sticking out his tongue like he would have when we were kids, he glanced away, and that just made the tickle tickle even more.

Chief Deb vaulted from the car, nearly catching her hip as she slammed the door. "Where are they?"

Reggie scrambled in front of her. The back off in his head came out of his mouth as grrr.

Deb frowned at the dog as if she hadn't noticed him until that moment. Though he wasn't that large a dog, Reggie was still kind of hard to miss.

She tried to move around him; he sidestepped; another warning rumbled free. Deb's eyes narrowed. "Am I gonna have to shoot you?"

His lip lifted, and the rumble became a snarl.

"Becca, call off your dog."

I'd always picked up strays. Folks didn't know from one day to the next how many animals and of what variety might belong to me-until I managed to foist them off on someone else. Right now, though, I didn't have any. I was sure it wouldn't last.

I pointed at Owen. Deb's eyes widened. She hadn't noticed him either. In her defense, he was hovering at the edge of the porch, just out of the moonlight's reach, and she'd no doubt been distracted by the oddest case to land in Three Harbors since the glacier came through.

"Owen?" She looked him up and down.

He was a whole lot bigger. It was no wonder I hadn't recognized him earlier when he'd been fooling around in the dark with a shovel.

"What are you doing here?" Deb continued.

"My house."

"And the dead animals?"

He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and his biceps expanded more. I thought Deb was going to drool.

"Not mine."

Deb stared for so long, I finally poked her in the back. She jumped. The movement made Reggie growl again. "Get him outta my way."

"Reggie, hier."

After another glance at the chief, the dog took the steps with a hitch in his stride I hadn't noticed before and didn't much like.

"Is he named after Reggie White?" Deb's voice lifted on the sainted name.

Like every other person in town, she counted the days between Sundays. I wouldn't be surprised if she wore a green and gold T-shirt under her uniform. She wouldn't be the only one. In Wisconsin, especially in small towns like these, the Packers were more of a religion than a football team.

"I didn't name him," Owen said. "But he does have a h.e.l.luva pa.s.s rush."

Reggie snorted. Had he understood that? Doubtful. Though most dogs knew a lot more words than anyone gave them credit for, pa.s.s rush probably weren't two of them.

"Shall we?" The chief indicated the house.

I wanted to ask about Reggie's limp, but Owen waved us on. "You two go ahead. I'll make sure he stays here."

I thought Reggie would stay anywhere Owen put him for as long as he put him there, but I didn't comment. As Deb was shifting back and forth so fast she was either beyond impatient or really needed the bathroom, I made a mental note to discuss the dog's health, or lack of it, later.

I did wonder for an instant why Owen didn't want to join us. Perhaps he'd been in too many caves to stomach being inside anywhere for very long. Or maybe the smell of death didn't agree with him. Did it agree with anyone?

Chief Deb gagged as soon as she went in. Considering most of the windows in the place were broken, you'd think the smoky-meat smell would be gone. You'd be wrong.

Deb paused in the entryway of the living room. "You didn't tell me about that."

"I said I'd found the animals." I'd been hovering in the hall, not wild about going back in there either. Now I joined her, and I saw what she meant.

The lantern, which had previously resided just inside the room and thrown a muted glow over the table-the less light on that the better-now sat on the mantel, perfectly illuminating a five-pointed star etched on the wall.

Owen waited until the two women disappeared into the living room. Their attention captured there, he ordered Reggie to stay with the German command, "Bly'b," then followed.

He reached the others just as Deb whirled. "Owen!"

If she'd been a normal-sized woman, she'd have yelled right in his face. Instead she yelled right in his solar plexus. He didn't step back, but she did, emitting a little "Eep!" before she shoved him.