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  “Run!” Even though Hawk was pulling away from her, she screamed to spur him on. But as the whistle blasted again and the squeal of wheels grew louder, she wasn’t sure he could hear her.

  Twenty feet.

  Hawk leapt off the trestle, his lithe body stretching long and graceful as he hurtled into the tall grass on the far bank. Meg put on a final burst of speed, spurred by raw fear, the intense effort ripping a scream of agony from her lips as she dove for safety a second before the engine thundered past. She hit the ground with a cry, air slamming from her lungs. She tumbled over and over, through long grass and thorns and sharp fallen branches until she came to rest on her back, blinking up at the sunlight sifting through the leaves. The trailing cars flew past with a screech of wheels on steel, whipping the tall grasses into a wild frenzy over her head while the ground shuddered beneath her. Her eyes fluttered shut, sudden exhaustion overtaking her.

  She was conscious first of Hawk’s whine, then the warm lap of his tongue on her cheek. She slowly became aware of Brian’s bellows through the radio. “Meg! Meg, are you all right?”

  She reached for her dog, burying her face in the softness of his fur and glorying in the heavy beat of her heart nearly banging through her rib cage. She was still alive, and so was Hawk. But it had been close. Too close.

  She fumbled at her radio. With a groan, she pulled it off her belt, still feeling the imprint of the case in her bruised skin. “Meg—” Her voice was a raspy croak, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Meg here.”

  “Oh, thank God. You scared the life out of me.”

  “I scared it out of me too. That was way too close. Like fractions of a second too close.” She pushed up on her elbow to see Hawk already searching the area. He gave a sharp bark and looked back toward her. She could practically hear his thoughts: Come on, already. What are you waiting for? “Hawk’s got the scent again and is ready to rock ’n’ roll.” The last car whizzed by, the rhythmic clacking of wheels on the track fading. “And we’re clear.”

  “You up to finishing this?”

  Meg rolled to her knees. Bracing one foot on the trampled grass, she lurched upright to stand, swaying for a second while she got her bearings. “Affirmative. We’re on the move again. Meg out.”

  Pulling the hair tie from her now lopsided ponytail, she gathered up the long, dark strands with an experienced hand, tying them back once again. “Okay, Hawk. Find it.”

  Meg tried not to wince as she ordered her battered body to follow Hawk across the now empty track to reenter the forest. After a few minutes’ jog over a faint path, she stopped at the tree line, squinting in the morning sunlight. On the far side of the wide clearing, a brick bungalow nestled into a clump of pines. A late model sedan sat in the driveway.

  To her right, Brian and Lacey broke through the trees halfway around the clearing, Lacey bounding over some low scrub and Brian stumbling through with considerably less grace. He quickly took in the house and grounds.

  Meg pulled the leash from her pocket, snapping it on Hawk’s vest. They melted back into the trees, Brian following her lead to meet just inside the tree line.

  “Two separate paths leading back to the same place,” Meg said. “What do you think the chances are that this isn’t the perp?”

  “Exceedingly small.” Brian squinted through the trees. “Car’s in the driveway. No guarantee, of course, but the perp could be home. We need to see if there’s a back door. Then we need backup. Don’t know if anyone is armed in there and we can’t risk the dogs.”

  “No way, no how.” Meg unholstered her Glock 19, grateful for the FBI’s requirement that the Human Scent Evidence Teams carry firearms in case of danger from a suspect while out tracking. She indicated the rear of the house. “Let’s check it out.”

  Brian palmed his own gun and led the way, Lacey trotting at his heels. Staying deep inside the tree line, they circled to the back of the bungalow. They hunkered down behind a clump of leafy bushes to study the residence.

  A large picture window framed with yellow gingham curtains looked out into a backyard scattered with children’s toys. Smaller, bedroom-style windows dotted one end of the house, while wide, sliding glass doors led out to a concrete patio on the other end.

  “Kids.” Meg frowned at the toddler toys. “Young enough to be home at this time of day too. We definitely need backup. This can’t go south with children around.” She holstered her weapon and pulled out her cell phone to call for additional agents, outlining the location based on their current GPS coordinates and trail activity.

  Meg pulled a compact pair of binoculars out of a jacket pocket. She scanned the back of the house, moving from the kitchen window to the glass doors. She was just about to scan back when a movement caught her eye. “Wait.”

  “See something?” Brian leaned in closer, as if he could look through the lenses with her.

  Meg squinted in silence. Come on, come on . . . Then she spotted it again. “Yes! There’s a guy sitting in an armchair on the far side of the couch. Maybe watching TV.” She dropped the glasses. “Let’s split up. I’ll go back toward the road, intercept the incoming agents. You stay here and keep an eye on our guy. Make sure he doesn’t rabbit out the back.” She handed him the binoculars. “Let me know the second he moves.”

  “Will do.” Brian took the glasses and settled onto his knees. He located and focused on their target. “Got him. Go.”

  “Hawk, come.” Hawk shot to his feet, matching his pace to hers exactly as they slipped through the forest like shadows. Shadows intent on catching a killer.

  Chapter 2

  Overhead Team: A highly trained, quick response search and rescue management team that can respond to assist with search planning, coordination, and operations. The overhead team usually consists of a search manager and one or two assistants.

  Tuesday, April 11, 3:06 PM

  Jennings residence

  Arlington, Virginia

  “When he opened the door and saw the agents, you could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t going to let himself get caught.” Meg took a sip of coffee and sighed in contentment, sinking back into her favorite old recliner. It had been a long day, from the early chase, through the arrest, to reams of follow-up paperwork, and finally to coming home to clean up her dog, who still wore the muddy remnants of a plunge into the creek followed by a sprint through a freshly plowed field.

  “Did the guy try to make a break for it?” Meg’s sister Cara sat across from her, squeezed into one corner of the couch by a sprawled red brindle greyhound lying on his back against the cushions, all four feet in the air. The dog twitched in his sleep, one clawed foot raking lightly down Cara’s bare arm. She rolled her eyes and gave the dog a gentle push. “Blink, for heaven’s sake, stop poking at me.”

  Meg grinned at her younger sister. Separated by only eighteen months, the girls were often mistaken for twins with their towering height—nearly six feet was tall for a woman—athletic builds, ice-blue eyes, and long, straight black hair, a genetic gift from their paternal Irish grandmother. “You love him, and you know it.”

  Cara rubbed one hand over the deeply concave belly and the dog instantly quieted under her touch. “Big, dumb lug. Of course I love him.” The blue pit bull, curled over her feet to spill onto the carpet, raised her square head. Cara scratched her behind her ears. “You too, Saki. Don’t be jealous.” Saki settled back down with a loud, breezy sigh.

  Meg’s gaze dropped to Hawk, fast asleep on his dog bed beside her chair, and then skipped up to her sister. It was moments like this that reminded her how lucky she was.

  A year earlier, realistic in the face of skyrocketing housing prices in the Washington, DC, area, Cara had suggested they pool their resources and buy a house together in Arlington. Meg agreed and the arrangement had worked out perfectly for both of them ever since.

  Their location put Meg fifteen minutes away from both her office at the Hoover Building in downtown DC, and just as important, Ronald Reagan Nation
al Airport for when she and Hawk were assigned out-of-town cases. However, the convenient location was only one positive aspect of their living together.

  Raised by crusading parents who worked tirelessly at their central Virginia animal rescue and who never met a stray not worth saving, the sisters grew up with dogs as an integral part of their lives. Meg and Cara adopted animals from the rescue with an eye to turning them into working dogs. While between jobs, Meg had rescued Hawk as an abandoned and sickly puppy, nursed him back to health, and then trained him into a top-notch search and rescue canine. Gentle Saki was a runt found by the side of a road, the entire litter discarded by a backyard breeder because of birth defects and disease. She was now a certified therapy dog, enchanting both young and old with her mesmerizing blue eyes, cleft lip, and affectionate disposition. From AIDS hospice patients to the elderly, few could resist her charms, and nothing made Saki happier than curling up on a bed or couch with someone who badly needed her company. Their third dog, Blink, was a retired racing dog. Not a good candidate as a working dog—to say Blink was both dim and neurotic was a huge understatement—he was a companion to both dogs and never happier than when they all slept together in a tangled pile.

  Once they settled in Arlington, Cara took the leap and fulfilled a lifelong dream of establishing an obedience and training school. She rented space in a strip mall a dozen blocks from home and set up both an indoor training area and an outdoor agility range for training during good weather. She’d already graduated half a dozen classes and word of mouth was making her quite popular among the DC set who wanted a well-behaved dog to show off to colleagues and friends.

  Cara picked up the crossword puzzle book previously abandoned on the end table and started absently flipping through it, skipping over page after page of puzzles completely filled with blue ink.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve finished another one.” Meg shook her head, bemused at her sister’s ability for word games.

  “These are all too easy. I need a better challenge.” Cara tossed the book carelessly back onto the table and picked up her coffee instead. “So finish your story. Did the guy run?”

  “He tried. Took off through the house for the back door, probably heading toward the battlefield again, since he seems to consider that a safe zone.”

  “Safe enough to drop the bodies of innocent girls . . .” Cara muttered.

  “He got the surprise of his life when he reached the patio door to find another three agents standing there, guns drawn, waiting for him.” Meg’s smile was nearly feral, but then the mental picture of a broken child bloomed and her glee in the takedown faded. “His terrified kids and wife were home at the time. We tried to make it easy on them, but he refused to go down without a fight.”

  “He murdered a young girl but had kids of his own? Could you tell if he’d ever hurt them?”

  “Too early to say, but they were young. The oldest was probably no more than four. I think his preferences ran a little older than that.” Meg spit out words that left her with a bad taste in her mouth.

  “But not much.”

  “No, not much. They might have been in real danger in a few years. What was brutally clear was the wife had no idea what he’d been doing in his spare time. There’s no doubt Hawk and Lacey were right on the money. We found trophies of his kills tucked into a drawer in the bedroom. And not just from today’s victim. There were indications of male victims too, so there may be some additional cases we’ll be able to close from this.”

  “Guess this guy won’t be getting out for a while.”

  “If ever. No judge is going to grant bail because he’s a genuine flight risk. And it’s going to be a slam dunk for the jury with what we have.” She ran her fingers lightly over Hawk’s back. He was so deeply asleep he didn’t even twitch. “The dogs did a great job. There wasn’t any other obvious evidence at the scene to link to the perp. We might have gotten DNA evidence downstream, but without the dogs we wouldn’t have found him so quickly. And who knows who else might have died in the meantime.”

  Cara raised her cup in a toast. “You guys rocked it. Now that you’re home—”

  Meg’s cell phone rang and she leaned forward to pick it up off the coffee table. “Sorry, give me a sec. . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “What?” Cara set down her cup and shifted forward on the couch.

  Meg stared at the caller ID on her phone: Supervisory Special Agent Craig Beaumont, her section chief at the Bureau. “It’s Craig. Why would he call? He knows we’ve already put in a full day.”

  “Maybe you missed something in your three hundred pages of paperwork.” Cara looked pointedly at the phone in Meg’s hand. “Only one way to find out.”

  Meg answered the call. “Jennings.”

  “Meg, I need you to come back in.” Craig’s normally calm voice barked in her ear, his words unusually accentuated.

  “Craig, we’ve just gotten off shift. Hawk is finally resting. Do you need the on-call list? I think—”

  “I know who’s on call. And I know you’ve just closed the Monocacy case, but I need you and Hawk. Now.”

  The emphasis made Meg’s blood run cold. She met her sister’s eyes, seeing the question there. “What happened?”

  “A bomb went off in the Department of Agriculture building. The courtyard in the middle of the north building appears to be the epicenter of the blast. It’s the middle of the workday, so the building was full. To make matters worse, although it’s not a public building, some rural school board from Virginia made special arrangements for its students to tour the facility and they were inside at the time.” Craig ignored Meg’s gasp of shock and continued. “I don’t know how many are dead or injured, but part of the building collapsed and we have people trapped. Lauren and Rocco are still in New York City, Pat and Sadie are in Washington State with that landslide, and we lent Scott and Theo to the Louisiana Department of Corrections while they’re trying to track down that escaped convict. Metropolitan PD are sending in all available K-9 units, but you know that unit is mostly tracking and detection dogs, not search and rescue. They need your skills and we’re here to respond quickly. I called Brian; he and Lacey were on their way to Vermont. They’ve turned around and will be back in three or four hours, but I need another team now.”

  It was the truth of their relatively new and still fairly small unit—sometimes it was nearly impossible to rotate off shift depending on circumstances and existing national deployments. “It’s okay. We’re available for however long you need us.”

  Cara got to her feet and headed for the mudroom where Meg kept her K-9 gear. The sounds of her collecting equipment filtered into the family room.

  “Thanks.” Craig paused, the tension over the line growing as he seemed to be at a loss for words. “Meg . . .”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m seeing early reports already.” He cleared his throat roughly. “It’s bad. Really bad. So hurry. And just . . . be prepared. I know you’re no newbie, but . . .”

  Dread curdled in Meg’s stomach, all contentment and relaxation dissolving as if an intangible mist. “We’re on our way.”

  Chapter 3

  Mutual Aid Search: A large-scale search that cannot be handled by just one organization.

  Tuesday, April 11, 4:17 PM

  Washington, DC

  The roadblocks were set up further out than Meg expected. In the distance, beyond the newly leafed trees, smoke was rising, black and sluggish, over the National Mall—a sign of what lay ahead.

  DC cops were out in full force on the 14th Street Bridge, diverting all traffic away from Route 1, which led straight into the downtown core. Instead, they directed cars onto the Southwest Freeway toward the NASA building. Pulling onto the left shoulder, Meg glanced at Hawk through the mesh of the enclosure that replaced the backseat in her SUV. Dark eyes watched her steadily. “Hang on, buddy. I’ll be right back.”

  She got out of the car, pulling her FBI identification out of her pocket when on
e of the DC cops moved to block her path. She opened her flip case and extended it. “Meg Jennings, FBI, Forensic Canine Unit. I’m under orders to proceed to the site of the explosion.” She jerked a thumb toward her SUV. “I need to get my dog in there ASAP for search and rescue.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The officer turned and motioned to one of the other cops. “FBI search and rescue. Help her get through.”

  With a nod of thanks, Meg jogged back to the car. Within minutes, they were speeding along the deserted Route 1, the police car in front running with full lights and siren. Meg drove with her window down, the strong odors of sulfur and burnt plastic already permeating the vehicle, even from this distance. The smell was strong enough she could taste its bitterness, but she didn’t close the window. This was only the beginning of getting them both ready to face the task at hand.

  Just past the Bureau of Engraving and Printing, the road was clogged with emergency vehicles, so they shot down C Street to 12th and then onto Jefferson. The cop pulled over to the side of the road just past the Freer Gallery. He pushed out of his car and strode over to her as she climbed out of the SUV. “This is as close as I can get you.” His gaze drifted to the west toward Jefferson Drive SW and the front of the building where firefighters ran inside, coiled hoses tossed over shoulders. “Good luck in there.”

  “Thanks.” Opening the rear door of the SUV, she found Hawk crouched at the entrance. “Hawk, out.” He leaped down with ease, and stood still and quiet at her feet while she snapped on his leash. Once they were on site, she’d let him run free with no risk of catching the lead on anything that could trap or hang him. But while they were about to enter the chaos of emergency vehicles, shouting first responders, and the power struggle of who was in charge, she needed to keep a hold on him. From the back hatch of the SUV, she grabbed her backpack, already filled with everything they might need—bottled water, a collapsible bowl, a first aid kit, dog shoes, a spare radio, and a selection of tools. She was already dressed for the location in her navy FBI coveralls and sturdy steel-toed boots. Tucking her hard hat and heavy leather gloves under her arm, she slammed the hatch. They took off at a light jog down Jefferson Drive SW.