Never Forget: A Novella in the Echo Platoon Series (7 page)

“I’ll find it,” she promised.

Curtis swung off of his stool and carried his bowl to the sink.

“Teeth,” Maya said as he started for the front door.

Rolling his eyes at her, he turned back to do her bidding.

“Kids.” Maya heaved an exaggerated sigh and shook her head.

Rusty just stood there looking at her.

“Are you worried about your guests coming tomorrow?” she fished.

He grimaced and nodded. “Yeah.”

“How many will you have?”

“A whole platoon. Sixteen men.”

“That many? How on earth are you going to feed them all?”

“I have cooks coming in.”

“Really! Who’s—I’m sorry, I’m totally prying here—but where does the money come from to feed them?” She stepped closer, interested in his answer.

“Various sources. I won a couple of grants, and I have private donors, mostly former SEALs who see the benefit of what I’m trying to do.”

“You do all of the bookkeeping, too?”

“The bookkeeping, the shopping, contracting with people to come in and offer various types of therapy.”

“There’s so much to it,” she marveled. “You must be exhausted.”

He sent her a weary smile. “Do I look exhausted?”

“Kind of,” she said with sympathy and a wry smile. The offer to help him out further trembled on the tip of her tongue, but with Curtis thundering down the stairs, the time wasn’t right.

“Time to roll,” Rusty said to her son.

Maya’s heart stopped and then started again. That was what Ian used to say!

“See you this afternoon,” Rusty called as he and Curtis headed toward the door.

Watching them leave, Maya was struck by her desire to lend a hand. Rusty truly seemed overwhelmed. Taking on a traumatized dog on top of everything else had to be wearing him down. And now he had her teenager to look after, as well.

Glancing at the list he’d given her, she vowed to find everything on it. Then maybe he’d let her help in other ways.

Ten minutes later, she locked up her condo and made her way to her van. She’d forgotten about the man with the Doberman until she saw him in her side view mirror standing on the opposite sidewalk, watching her departure.

The same sense of recognition niggled, and suddenly she remembered who he was—one of the three sailors facing charges for stealing a weapons shipment. What a coincidence! She would be working on his case that morning, trying to find evidence that still eluded her. Two crates of rifles couldn’t simply disappear into thin air.

No wonder the man was glaring at her. What was his name again? She combed her memory. Ah yes, Petty Officer 2
^nd
Class William Goddard. Pending his hearing, he’d been relieved of active duty, a quarter of his pay docked since he wasn’t working.

And he lived in her neighborhood? Yikes. She was going to have to invest in an alarm system or, better yet, move before NCIS found him guilty and vengeful thoughts filled his head.

She did have something to be grateful for—at least Curtis wasn’t home by himself anymore. Thank goodness for Rusty Kuzinsky.

*

“
W
HATCHA GOT THERE,
dog?”

Curtis transferred his gaze from the sparkling water of the creek to the muddy shore where Draco barked at something he’d come across. In the still silence of the great outdoors, the only other sound was the rustling of marsh grass and the keening cry of the osprey circling overhead.

Heaving himself off the dock, Curtis went to investigate. He’d put Draco on the thirty-foot lead, winding most of it around one of the pier’s pilings while leaving just enough slack for the dog to entertain himself.

Apparently, Draco had found something of interest. His hackles bristled and his tail arched over his back the same way it did when Curtis showed him the ball. The dog bowed low, stretching out his front legs, barked, and then pounced, only to back away and bow again.

Coming up behind him, Curtis caught sight of a large Virginia blue crab cornered against a rotting log. It stood its ground, defending itself with outstretched pincers. Curtis knew from experience how painful those pincers could be.

“
Foei!
” he said to the dog, telling him no.

But Draco ignored him, continuing to lunge toward the crab and then dodge out of its reach, teasing the crab into going on the offensive.

Picturing the crab grabbing hold of Draco’s sensitive nose, Curtis took up the leash and pulled the dog away from the threat. “
Foei
,” he said again. “
Los
,” he added, using the words Rusty had taught him, though the dog couldn’t release something he hadn’t grabbed yet.

As he pulled Draco back, he kicked his sneakered foot at the crab, intending to punt it over the log and into the marsh where it could hide.

What happened next occurred so fast he hardly saw it, just the dog’s head moving forward at the same time as his foot. Shock kept him from crying out as he snatched his leg back and looked down. There was no denying what had happened. Blood welled from three visible puncture wounds just above his sock.

The flipping dog had bitten him!

Unconcerned with the damage he’d wrought, Draco lunged for his prize a second time. Without Curtis’s leg in the way, he seized the crab with one bite.
Crunch
. The crab was dead before it could pinch him. Draco looked up at him expectantly, the crustacean dangling from his mouth.

“You bit me, you sonofabitch!” Curtis shouted.

The dog flinched from him, clearly startled by the outburst.

The numbness that accompanied Curtis’s shock gave way to sudden pain. “Shit!” he added. Lifting his head to look back at the house, he hunted for Mr. Kuzinsky, who’d gone inside citing the need to make phone calls.

No one was coming to his rescue. He’d have to get to the house by himself.

Hopping on one foot, he started up the bank before remembering the dog. He’d been told not to leave the dog alone with the lead or Draco would chew through it. Fine.

Unfurling the length of nylon off the piling, Curtis started to limp toward the house with the dog following behind, dead crab still in his mouth.

Halfway to his destination, it occurred to him that Mr. Kuzinsky had told him not to take anything away from the dog unless he was around to monitor the situation. He hadn’t thought of kicking the crab as taking it away, but it really was one and the same. So, theoretically, it was his fault the dog had bitten him.

Glancing back at Draco as he limped the rest of the way to the house, Curtis also realized the dog had been in little danger of getting pinched by the blue crab. Those formidable pincers now dangled limply out of either side of the dog’s mouth.

The dog’s earnest gaze locked on him. Was it his imagination or did Draco’s chocolaty eyes hold a hint of remorse?

Curtis led him straight to his crate. “In,” he said, not knowing the Dutch command. Draco padded resolutely inside, laid the dead crab in one corner, then sat in front of it to guard it, while Curtis locked the door.

With his hands still on the crate, Curtis looked down at his ankle. Blood pulsed from the puncture wounds. As he pulled his sock higher to cover the holes and slow the bleeding, it occurred to him that what had happened was a game changer. His mom was going to freak out. She wouldn’t let him come here anymore, which meant that he’d have nothing to do for the rest of the summer and he wouldn’t be making any money.

Self-pity overwhelmed him suddenly. His ankle hurt too much to put any weight on it. So he sat right there on the grass next to Draco’s crate, stuck his bad leg out, rested his head on the knee of his good leg and let the tears spring to his eyes.

A soft whining sound had him looking over his shoulder. Draco had approached as close as he could get with the bars of the crate between them. Looking as woeful as Curtis felt, the dog hung his head and whined again.

“Now you’re sorry?” Gazing at the dog’s despondent demeanor, Curtis was certain that he was.

Heck, if that crab had been an enemy combatant, then Draco had done the job he was trained to do and eliminated the threat.

“It’s not your fault,” he realized. As the ramifications occurred to him a second time, he shook off his self-pity and struggled to his feet. If he wanted to come back here—and he did—he would need to convince first Mr. Kuzinsky and then his mom that the dog was blameless.

R
USTY WAS JUST
heading to the kitchen to cast an eye at the marsh when Curtis pushed his way inside, visibly limping.

His gaze dropped to the kid’s blood-soaked sock, and he knew without even seeing the puncture wounds that Draco had bit him. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, before recalling the need to temper his language.

“It wasn’t his fault.” The kid’s voice cracked. He fought to keep from crying. “He thought I was taking a crab from him, but I was just trying to keep it from pinching him.”

In his mind’s eye, Rusty had a clear picture of the way it had gone down.

“Sit,” he ordered, sliding one of the chairs from the farm table behind Curtis’s knees. “Let’s see how bad it is,” he added, tackling Curtis’s tennis shoe before the boy had fully sat down. He pulled it off as gently as he could, engendering a hiss of pain. Peeling the sock just over Curtis’s heel, he took in the three deep puncture wounds with mounting dismay.

His hopes for a date on the beach with Maya went up in a cloud of smoke.

Damn it
. He should have seen this coming. To be honest, he
had
seen it coming but he’d been so blinded by his desire to pull Maya closer that he’d disregarded the risk to her son. And like any proper mother, she had every right to defend her cub, forbidding Curtis to care for the dog from here on. Rusty would be lucky if she even spoke to him again. He hoped to God he wasn’t looking at a lawsuit.

“It’s not too bad.” He spoke the words any wounded man wanted to hear.

“Don’t tell my mom, or she won’t let me come back here.”

The kid’s concerns mirrored his own. “I hear you, but you can’t hide this from her. Let’s clean you up first so it doesn’t get infected.”

“We don’t have to tell her,” the boy continued with surprising insistence. “Please, I want to come back. It wasn’t Draco’s fault. He was doing what he’d been trained to do.”

It was the sheen of tears in Curtis’s eyes that caused Rusty to waver. They could, perhaps, get away with cleaning the wound really well and then hiding it with a fresh pair of socks. She might be none the wiser.

“I don’t know, son. You’re mom’s a smart woman. She’s bound to find out.” He realized he’d be a fool to try and deceive her.

“Well, don’t call her yet,” Curtis pleaded. “She has an important case this morning. She’s too busy to get away.” He wiped an errant tear away with the ball of his fist.

Rusty had to respect the boy’s wishes. “Okay,” he agreed. “Let me get my first aid kit. Let’s let it bleed a while. It’s washing out any bacteria that might have been on Draco’s teeth. Be right back.”

“We can’t take too long,” Curtis called after him. “Draco hasn’t had his run yet.”

Chapter Eight

‡

M
AYA DROVE UP
the driveway, proud of the fact that she’d found everything on Rusty’s wish list. He’d been right about the small metal waste bin. It had been the hardest thing to find, but she’d found the perfect one in the last store she’d visited. By bringing it to him, might she be offered a tour of the majestic farmhouse?

Parking in the same spot as yesterday, she gathered her purchases off the back seat and carried them to the back of the house. There she found Curtis lobbing the ball to the dog, who scarcely glanced in her direction before focusing on the ball.

“Hey, Mom,” Curtis sang out.

Wondering at his overly cheerful tone, Maya transferred her gaze to the outdoor picnic table where Rusty sat with a pile of paperwork before him and a tall glass of water beside that. At her approach, he put his pen down and looked up. One look at his taut expression and she knew something had happened. She couldn’t help her step from faltering for a moment before she reached the table and plunked down all her hard sought treasures.

“Is everything okay?” She wished she didn’t sound like such an anxious mom, but she’d lived through the worst and knew it could happen.

The crease on his forehead deepened, and his lips firmed into a straight line. “Curtis has something to tell you,” he said, waving her son over.

Calling the dog, Curtis started in their direction. Seeing his slight limp, Maya feared the worst, but she could see no sign of injury. Curtis ordered the dog to sit and stay. Draco obeyed him. With his tongue lolling out one side of his mouth, he stared at Curtis, awaiting more commands. They’d come a long way from yesterday.

“What do you want to tell me?” Maya prompted.

“Well…” Curtis glanced at Rusty, who nodded his encouragement. “Draco was messing with a crab down at the pier.” He pointed toward the marsh. “I thought the crab was going to pinch his nose so I tried kicking it out of the way. Draco thought I was taking it from him, and he kind of bit me on the ankle.”

Her worried gaze dropped to his ankle which was hidden by a sock too white to be his own.

“How bad is it?” she asked, glancing again at Rusty’s grim expression.

“Not too bad,” Curtis said.

“Superficial,” Rusty echoed.

“Can you show me?” she requested.

Curtis bent over and peeled the sock away from his skin. She spotted at least two puncture wounds surrounded by red and slightly swollen flesh.

“I followed protocol for animal bites and cleaned it out with warm soap and water,” Rusty added. “Only thing to do now is to keep it clean and dry. If it starts to show signs of infection, a topical ointment ought to be enough.”

Maya didn’t know what to say. Dismay held a tight grip on her vocal cords.

“It’s my fault,” Curtis insisted. “Rusty told me not to take anything away from Draco unless he was there.”

“And I was making phone calls,” Rusty inserted. “I’m sorry. I should have been keeping a closer eye on them.”