Code Name: Blondie

He glanced back at his training partner. “Tru, heel.”

But the Lab didn’t move, body stiff, face toward the sky.

Something drifted out of the air. Light and cold, it danced over Max’s cheek and then vanished. Another speck swirled through the air, and suddenly Max was surrounded by white flakes drifting out of a sunny sky.

Snow? Impossible.

As the engine whine grew closer, the delicate flakes seemed to blur, whirling above Truman’s head. Darkening, they gained substance and rippled into a wall of fog, dense and moist, shrouding Max and the dog in an impenetrable curtain.

The airplane shot past, engines throbbing. Max felt the hairs stand up along his neck as a bar of energy probed the spot where he had been standing moments before. As the fog pressed at his face, he heard the plane bank and circle, dropping lower.

The energy signature retreated, and still Truman hadn’t moved, his head raised alertly to the sky. The possibilities left Max stunned. This was the new skill that Ryker had hinted at, glimpsed only once before in the training facility. Whether it could be controlled and harnessed, Max didn’t know, or even how long the dog could maintain the effect. Max knew how draining a small image distortion could be, and an intense weather disturbance like this had to have cost Truman dearly.

The plane circled again, and Max breathed in relief as it droned away into the distance. Seconds later the prickling at his shoulders vanished.

Over his head the fog began to fade. Max picked out the outline of nearby trees as a gust of wind swept up the slope, scattering the unstable gray veil. In a surreal moment, mist gave way to sunlight that beat hot on Max’s neck. If he had not stood here in the middle of the phenomenon and experienced it, he would never have accepted any of it.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, but the sunshine remained. He looked over at Truman, shaking his head. Wait until Ryker heard about this.

“Pretty smart, aren’t you?” Max knelt and raised one hand. “How about a high five for a fellow SEAL?”

Truman turned around in a circle, tail wagging happily as it banged Max in the face. Then the dog sat, raised one paw and waited.

High five.

Damned if he didn’t know that, too. Filled with a wave of pride, Max laughed as the big dog licked his face. “Is there anything you can’t do, champ?”

Truman’s head cocked. He panted hard, tongue lolling. Then he shuddered.

“What’s wrong, Tru?”

The dog whimpered softly. Then he collapsed.

Truman felt cold as Max picked him up and sprinted uphill. Because this was new behavior, Max had no idea of how to treat the dog or even the nature of the problem. The Foxfire science team had given him a medical kit with nutrients, so Max figured he’d start there.

“What’s wrong with your dog?” Blondie was sitting against the cave wall, her hands on her forehead as if it hurt. “While you’re at it, why do I have the mother of all headaches and how did I get here?”

Her questions didn’t surprise him. She wouldn’t remember the last minutes before he had put her out. No one ever did. “I knocked you out,” he said curtly. “The men flying in that plane could have been dangerous.”

“You think everyone is dangerous.” She started to say something more, but instead she frowned and crossed to sit beside Truman. “He doesn’t look right. Did he fall during that fog?”

“Not exactly. Hell, what’s your real name? We both know it’s not Ella.”

She chewed at her lip and stared back at him, then shrugged. “Miki—like the mouse.”

Max filed the name away for future reference. He had a hunch that she was telling the truth this time.

“What’s wrong with Truman?”

“Something happened after that fog came in off the sea.” Max chose his words carefully. “You saw that, did you?”

Miki nodded. “At first I thought I was imagining it.” She ran a hand slowly along Truman’s head. “He feels cold. Can’t you do something for him?”

Max found a package of green gel nutrients and squeezed a tiny amount into Truman’s mouth.

The dog didn’t respond, barely breathing now. Max lifted him gently onto his lap and stroked his head.

“What happened?” Miki asked anxiously.

Max shook his head. “One minute he was fine. Then the fog came and he just collapsed. Maybe it’s some kind of canine virus.”

Miki pushed closer, rubbing Truman’s stomach. “Poor baby,” she crooned. “Move over,” she ordered. “Then go get me a blanket.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s cold, stupid.” Miki nudged him away as she scooped Truman closer, smoothing the fur across his back. She lifted one of the Lab’s eyelids carefully and frowned. “No pupil response. That’s a bad sign.”

Max stiffened. “You know about dogs?”

“I told you before that my friend is a trainer and one of her dogs had a habit of getting sick. He’s a real handful, but he likes me, so I help take care of him.” Miki felt Truman’s chest. “Where’s that blanket?”

Max didn’t have a blanket in his pack, so he pulled off his T-shirt and draped it over the Lab’s motionless body. He realized Blondie was staring at his chest. “Something wrong?”

Her eyes were wide. She took a little gulping breath. “You—Your chest. It’s…strong,” she said hoarsely. “But the scars…”

It had been so many months that Max had actually forgotten the silver network that laced his ribs and shoulder, relic of a mission gone bad in Indonesia. “I had a car accident,” he said tightly.

Her hand rose involuntarily, almost as if to soothe and comfort. The sight made Max’s stomach clench. When had a woman last touched him to comfort rather than in the heat of sex?

He cleared his throat, annoyed at the sharp image of her fingers tracing all his scars while her soft mouth offered whispers of praise and desire.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Her brow wrinkled. “Do they hurt—your scars, I mean?”

“No, they don’t hurt. They haven’t hurt for months.” He was angrier than he should have been. “Forget about it.”

“I can see how you’d be sensitive about them. I’m sorry.”

“Look, I’m not—hell, forget it.” Max jammed a hand through his hair. “They’re ancient history.”

He saw her eyes linger on his stomach and he realized there was appreciation, not distaste in her glance. Instantly his body hardened in an erection.

Talk about rotten timing, he thought irritably. Silent and controlled, he pulled a syringe from a sealed packet of the medical kit. Ryker had told him the high potency stimulant was strictly for emergencies. Max figured this fit the definition.

Kneeling beside Miki, he brushed aside the fur at Truman’s chest and broke the seal off the packet.

“Is that adrenaline? Do you think it’s his heart?” Miki’s voice was tight with concern. The name suited her, Max thought. Restless and quirky. Unusual.