Page 10 of Mountain Defender

After I try a second time with no more luck, my mind starts racing to even worse places.

Rory sick inside. Rory at the bottom of the basement stairs, unconscious or immobile from a broken leg. Or?—

No. There has to be a rational explanation.

Maybe she ran out to the store?

A beat later, I realize how ridiculous that sounds. At this time of morning, there’s exactly one place in Bliss that’s open—Breakfast Bliss. But Rory wouldn’t have left the dogs hungry and waiting while she went to buy breakfast. There’s no way.

My stomach twists into a knot.

Tension pulls at my neck and shoulders.

Where is she?

Wait. The phone. I have Rory’s number, not that I’ve ever used it, but she gave it to me after I adopted Dewey with the instructions to call if I had any problems.

So I call her number, but it goes straight to voicemail.

I send her a text. But after more than a minute, there’s no response.

What’s going on?

The more time that passes, the more certain I am that something is wrong. It’s just like that gut feeling I’d get on some of our ops, and more often than not, my gut was right.

Except that time in Syria…

Nope. Not now.

I shake my head to chase away the thought.

This is more important.

As I stand on the front porch listening to the cacophony of dogs barking, I run through my options.

Wait. Keep calling until she hopefully picks up. Pick the lock to the barn door—that’s something we taught ourselves as a just-in-case skill once we started GMG—and at the least, take care of the dogs.

Call the police. But what would I say? There’s no real evidence that something’s wrong.

Or.

I could use her dogs. Elmore and Toby might be able to find her. And I can get into the house, though I would never consider using the key she keeps hidden in the little lantern by the door in normal circumstances.

These aren’t normal circumstances, though. And as Rory’s friend, as a protector, I need to do something.

So I get the key. Unlock the door. And the two dogs come exploding outside, leaping around my legs and barking madly, which is yet another sign that my gut isn’t wrong. Unlike the other rescue dogs, these two are extremely well trained, and I’ve never seen them like this before.

I click at them with my tongue, just the way I hear Rory do it, and it works. They both go quiet, falling into position beside me.

“Elmore. Toby.” I wait until they’re looking at me before saying in a low and commanding tone, “We need to find Rory. Can you find your mom?”

For a few seconds, they just stare at me.

Inwardly, I scold myself. These aren’t search and rescue dogs. How would they know how to?—

Then they both take off across the lawn.

I clearly didn’t think the next part through clearly. Me, having to run after Toby and Elmore as they race around the house and barn, when running is probably my weakest ability.

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