Home of the Brave (Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries Book 9) Read Free Page A

that?”
    “Bowser Wowser,” I corrected.  “It’s a really cool camp for nine- to twelve-year-olds and their dogs.  Usually they hold it over in Tennessee, but this year it’s at the old Camp Bluebird, just off Highway 511.”
    “No kidding?  I thought that place had shut down years ago.  I was a counselor there as a kid.”
    “Me, too.”  Most of the people who grew up in this county had worked there during the summer at one time or another. It was one of the few ways for a teenager to make spending money—legally, that is.  “I guess they haven’t had any regular groups up there in a while, but it must still be in good enough shape to rent out for the weekend.  The woman who runs the camp is pretty particular about the safety of the dogs.  And kids, of course.” 
    She smiled reminiscently.  “Gosh, I had some good times there.”
    We chatted like that for another couple of minutes, each of us trying to ignore the fact that I was being held in custody by a guard dog that had been trained to kill.  When the phone rang she snatched it up immediately, listened for a few minutes, and looked enormously relieved when she returned her attention to me.
    “Buck said you should wait in his office, Raine,” she said.  “He’s on his way.”
    “Great.”  I tilted my head toward my canine guard.  “What about …?”
    “Oh. Umm …” 
    But even as she looked around in some uneasiness, the dog’s handler reemerged from her cubicle.  She did not look in the least perturbed, although she surely had been informed of her gaffe by now.  She said, “Nike, here!” And the big dog glided to her side—in a perfect obedience heel position, I might add.
    Even though there was certainly no love lost on my part for his owner, anyone would have to be impressed by a dog who speaks two languages and executes positions so precise that he might have plotted them with a slide rule.  It was easy to forget that very dog had held me hostage only moments ago, and with such dedicated intensity that I have no doubt that if I’d tried to move I’d now be on my way to the ER.
    The officer said, “This way, please.”
    I just stared at her.  “Really?”  I gave a short shake of my head that scattered droplets of water across my shoulders and turned to make my way down the hall.  “Nice dog, though,” I added over my shoulder.
    She might have pulled a gun on me, or set her dog on me at the very least, if Lyle Reston, one of Buck’s deputies, hadn’t fallen in step beside me at that moment.  I’d gone to school with his older brother.  “I’m heading that way, Deputy Smith,” he said.  “I’ve got this.”
    Well, at least she had a name, or part of one anyway.  I didn’t even bother to wait until we were out of earshot to ask, “Who is that?”
    He smothered a grin.  “Piece of work, isn’t she?  That’s Deputy Sheriff Jolene Smith, and her partner Deputy Nike.  A gift from Homeland Security.  They just arrived Monday.  The dog is fitting in just fine.”  He frowned a little.  “Weird name, though.  Who names their dog after a running shoe?”
    I privately wondered the same thing, but was far more curious about the dog’s origins than his name. I said, “Homeland Security, huh?  Wow.”
    “The sheriff wants us to make her feel at home.”  His expression grew rueful as he paused outside the door to Buck’s office.  “I guess some of the boys have their own ideas about how to do that.  Sorry you got wet.  Do you want me to bring you some paper towels from the men’s room?”
    I looked at him suspiciously.  “No.  What do you mean, the boys have their own ideas?”
    “Just don’t be too mad.”  He opened the door to the office for me. 
    “I’m already mad,” I told him, “and I’m running late.  Who’s going to take me back to my car?”
    “I’ll tell the sheriff you’re waiting,” Lyle said, and he left quickly as I stepped into the room, closing the door