Page 110 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

Jackson nodded. “Can’t argue with what works,” he said. Then, soberly, “I know Toby didn’t give you much time to do this. I appreciate your service and Preston’s—and Preacher’s.”

Damien nodded. “My flight partner and I haul a lot of celebrities, so we can afford to help when it’s needed. I’m just glad I was home today so I could be the one to fly Preston here.” He gave the big blond man a sympathetic glance. “He and Preacherreallyhope they find somebody alive this time.”

Jackson nodded. “I wouldn’t argue. I checked out the map, although I don’t know the terrain. Do we have time before the dog tires to check out the first dump site, or should we skip straight to the others.”

“There’s a rough path between them,” Damien said, “and if I understand it right, somebody is going to try to find you out here in the field. It would be best if we stuck to the path to help your backup.”

“Fair,” Jackson said, mostly because he didn’t want to drag this nice man into the backwash from the giant chip on his shoulder. He glanced around the area, seeing copses of trees growing in clusters, giant clumps of grass that were nearly waist high, and an uneven walking surface across the field that would only get worse when they hit the various clusters of trees. Thenhe studied the clouds, hovering pewter and angry over their heads.

“Think it’s gonna rain?” he asked so he could know how bad this would suck.

“We brought ponchos,” Damien said, probably meaning that was a yes.

“Think there’s snakes out there?” Cody asked, and Jackson sent him a sharp glance because this was a new wrinkle.

“Count on it,” Damien told him. “We let Preston and Preacher go first. Preacher hits off snakes—he’ll be able to tell us we’re coming up on one, and Preston wears steel-toed boots. We’ll be fine.”

Damien strode back to Preston for another one of those soul-affirming hugs, and Cody muttered, “Yeah, sure, we’ll be fine. This is rattlesnake country, but it’sfine.”

More of Jackson’s irritation slipped off his shoulders. He missed Henry—much like he was going to miss his eyebrows, which he was positive had been left back on Mokelumne Hill—but Cody had his own merits.

He settled his pack, turned his face to the gray drizzle, and closed his eyes for a moment. Time to push on through.

IT TOOKthem less than an hour of tramping down the overgrown path, and while the threatened rain never really delivered, the whipping March winds werenotfucking around. The hiking kept them warm, but every so often they would clear a copse of trees and the wind would hit and hit hard.

The second time he heard Cody gasp and swear, Jackson pulled a rust-colored knit hat from the pocket of his fleece and handed it over.

“How’s your jacket equipped with a… is this crochet?” Cody demanded.

“Ellery’s sister made it for me,” Jackson said, a little surprised himself. “His family’s big on Hanukkah giftsandChristmas gifts—it’s weird. Anyway, Ellery gave me the jacket for Christmas, so I got the matching hat for Hanukkah—” He shook his head as they worked to keep up with Preston and Preacher while Damien took up the rear. “Whatever. It’ll keep your ears warm.”

Cody grunted—probably while he was putting on the hat—and Jackson concentrated on the dog. Preston hadn’t given the command to search yet, but he’d assured Jackson that if there was something dead out there when they were simply hiking the woods, Preacher would definitely hit on it. He hit, Preston explained, by going down to his belly while staring at the direction the dead smell came from, and after Preston rewarded him, he would give the command to search, and Preacher would keep looking.

“I read somewhere,” Jackson told him, “that dogs like this are often rewarded with playing and comfort objects. Not Preacher?”

Damien’s snort of laughter was reassuring. “Most of Preston’s other dogs use play as a reward,” he said. “But Preacher’s old-school. That dog don’t get out of bed if there’s not a hotdog in it for him.”

Preston’s mouth flattened, but not like he was mad at Damien. “Between hotdogs and Colonel, I almost doubted my calling for ayear,” he muttered before turning toward the first mine cap and soldiering on.

“Colonel?” Jackson asked Damien.

“The only dog that has ever flunked Preston’s training,” Damien said, keeping his voice down. “Although I’m pretty sure it’s because he fell in love.”

As they’d hiked, Damien had regaled them with the story of a German shepherd who had beensupposedto hit on drugs,but who had somehow confused one of the other pilots in their private search and rescue and transport outfit with cocaine.

“Spencer was going tokillus because we kept asking him why he smelled like cocaine,” Damien had chortled, “but it turned out, the dog was justin love.”

Jackson and Cody had laughed at that, the good story making the trip go faster. Cody had started to talk about his tiny dog, Poppy, and how for such a little thing it was as loyal as they came, until Jackson had realized he was getting cold.

Now as the wind picked up even more, Jackson turned to Damien—obviously the communicator of the couple—and asked, “I got only a sketchy look at the map. How much farther—”

“Preacher,scent!” Preston called, and Jackson turned toward where the trees opened up.

It looked almost like a volcano with a cap of dried lava, except it was green and soft, about the size of a volleyball court, and Jackson noted some stakes driven in that probably made that a reality. The depression the mine cap left was only about six inches deep, and there were picnic tables and even a spigot up closer to the next copse of trees.

Jackson and Cody glanced around the small clearing for a moment, and then Jackson spotted the series of boulders off to the side.

“Is that it?” he asked.

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