Page 3 of Operation Rescue
He’d long ago accepted Erin’s leaving, and didn’t blame her for why. In an ironic sort of way, it just showed how much she had loved him. She’d even said as much, that she loved him too much to see him go through such pain again. It was an irony that bit deep, but still…
He looked at Rafe, remembering when, still on crutches from his own injury, the man had trekked all the way to see him after he’d finally ended up in a military hospital stateside after his crash. And he’d visited often after that. Blaine had still been hooked up to every medical machine imaginable, and from photos he’d seen it had been pretty bad, but the man kept coming.
At least he was doing well now. When Blaine had gone to see him in the field hospital after he’d pulled him off that battlefield, Rafe hadn’t looked so great. He had barely managed to slow the bleeding from the gaping wound on Rafe’s left leg long enough to get him out of there. He’d always been amazed they’d managed to save that leg. It had been a casevac, since he’d have bled out by the time a medevac unit could respond. Blaine had had to call up some long-unused first aid skills to get the bleeding slowed enough to load him up and go. Flying the big SuperCobra was interesting enough with the standard two-person crew, but alone it was…an adventure. He also could have used a hand getting Rafe aboard, but the wounded man somehow found the strength to help a little, and they’d gotten it done.
And he’d never forget what the man had said, lying there with his lifeblood literally pouring out of him.
“Thanks. I didn’t want to die there.”
Like it was onlywherethat mattered.
He hadn’t understood that at the time. But a year later he had, when his helicopter had been blasted out of the sky and he’d nearly disintegrated with it. Then he’d been the one saying to the evac crew, “Just get me, and yourselves, out of here.”
He hadn’t said he didn’t want to die knowing they’d died, too, trying to save him, but he saw the understanding in their eyes. They knew.
They’d gotten out. And for him, once back at a hospital facility, the real hell had begun.
Rafe had spotted him now. He’d only had contact via phone or email since that day, so seeing the tall, rangy guy walking toward him with just the slightest of limps made him feel good, like he’d had a part in it. He knew too well the kind of work it had likely taken for the man to be this functional, since he himself had a couple of aftermarket parts now.
The combination handshake-shoulder slam got them through the initial greeting, but then the awkwardness of lack of contact set in. Blaine had been wrestling with what to tell the man on the entire flight, and hadn’t really reached a conclusion.
“Nice ride,” Rafe said, nodding at the Citation jet.
“Lucky timing,” he said, but added with a wry smile, “Coulda’ been worse.”
“Yeah,” Rafe agreed. “It could have been an Osprey.”
Blaine chuckled at the old joke about the versatile but disaster-prone aircraft. It was the first time he’d even smiled, let alone laughed, since he’d gotten that phone call from Erin.
“And this,” Rafe said, gesturing at the dog whose steady gaze Blaine would have sworn he could feel, “is Cutter.”
Blaine bent to offer a hand to the dog, who nosed it willingly. “He’s yours?”
Rafe shook his head. “Belongs to my bosses, but they loaned him to me in case he could help.” Blaine would swear the cool, gray eyes of the former sniper held more than a hint of amusement. “And believe me, he will, in ways you can’t imagine until he shows you.”
“I’ve seen some pretty smart war dogs,” Blaine said.
“So have I. So mix that with incredible perception, cleverness, planning ability, and understanding of the crazy human brain, plus—well, that’s enough for now. Just pet him, and that’ll be your first clue.”
Blaine’s brow furrowed, but the dog nudged his hand again, so he complied and stroked the dark head. An unexpected and odd sense of calm flowed into him, as if the soft fur held some sort of magical drug that soothed his soul. His gaze shot up to Rafe’s face. The man was grinning.
“Told ya,” he said, in a jovial tone that surprised Blaine as much as the look in his eyes had. The Rafe he remembered had been as grim in demeanor as you would expect a sniper to be. But this man…this man had found peace. Maybe sometime before this was over he could ask him how.
“That’s…really something. What is he, some kind of therapy dog?”
“Among several other things, including a tracker, an undercover agent and an attack dog when necessary.”
“Jack-of-all-trades dog, is that what you’re saying?”
“Trades you can’t even imagine,” Rafe said, and Blaine had the strangest feeling he was laughing to himself. “Come on, let’s roll. You can fill me in on the way to Foxworth Southwest.”
“To what?”
“I’ll explain on the way. But first tell me what’s going on with your boy.”
Blaine sighed deeply as they started walking toward where he could see some vehicles parked. “I’m not sure. We usually text regularly, but that stopped last week. And… I haven’t seen him in person in three months.”
Rafe gave him a startled look. Blaine supposed he was remembering how obsessively proud he’d been of his son, always willing to talk about him, to anyone. “How’d that happen?”
