it couldn’t compare to the violence Lincoln dealt with daily on deployment.
When finished with supper, everyone returned to the family room. Lincoln sat in an overstuffed rocking chair, leaving the couch and love seat to the mated pairs while Shane claimed the recliner. Conversation shifted to planning a spring gathering for the pack. For fifteen years, Lincoln had been isolated from first-world normalcy and he found the sudden reentrance jarring.
Brenna climbed into his lap with a book. Glad for the distraction, he read and reread the story until she fell asleep. Only then did he notice all the adults in the room silently watching him.
Thank you, Cassie mouthed, easing the child from his arms.
“I wouldn’t have expected a Dogman to know how to handle children.” In spite of Gavin’s stony expression, his sharp blue eyes twinkled.
“Wherever I’m deployed, I see children impacted by the conflict around them. I do what I can to help them retain their childhood, in spite of the circumstance.” The ache in Lincoln’s heart grew stronger. Dayax had no one but him, and Lincoln was thousands of miles away. Safe, warm and well-fed. The lost little wolfling likely was none of those things.
“Sounds like you will be a great father one day,” Abby said.
“Dogmen can’t take mates,” Lincoln replied gently. “We aren’t meant to be fathers.” Or mothers, or sons, daughters, brothers or sisters. The Program required absolute devotion. All ties with family and friends were severed upon joining.
“Aren’t you ready to retire?” Shane’s gaze dropped to Lincoln’s left leg.
“Not anytime soon.” Lincoln shifted his attention to Brice, who stood.
“I’ve got something to show you.” Brice motioned for Lincoln to follow.
After closing the French doors to the home office, Brice sat behind a messy wooden desk, pulled a photo from the drawer and handed it to Lincoln.
He fingered the snapshot of them sitting by a campfire, laughing.
“Remember that night?” With one blue eye and one green, Brice’s direct gaze could intimidate lesser men.
“Hard to forget.” Especially since Lincoln still bore the scar from the bullet he’d caught protecting Brice less than an hour after the picture had been taken.
“When I talked to you a couple of weeks ago, I thought you were on board with the medical retirement.”
“I only said that so the doctors would stop harping about adjustment issues. Yeah, I lost a leg, but I have more important things to worry about, which is why I need your help with something.”
“Name it.” Brice planted his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers.
“I want to go back to Somalia.”
To his credit, Brice didn’t balk, blink or bat an eyelash.
“I was looking for a wolfling in an abandoned building when an explosion blasted me out of a two-story window.” Lincoln fished out his wallet, removed a photo of him and Dayax and tossed it on the desk in front of Brice. “Insurgents took him. I want him back.”
“I’m not a soldier, Lincoln. How do you think I can help?”
“Ask your friends at the Woelfesenat to grant me clearance to go back in.” As the secretive international wolf council, the Woelfesenat not only had ruling authority over the packs but had executive power over the Dogman Program.
“I’m Dayax’s only hope, Brice. I have to find him or die trying.” Invisible fingers fisted around Lincoln’s heart. His mission to rescue Dayax would be over before it began if Brice declined to help.
Brice glanced at the framed picture of his daughter on his desk. “I’ll do what I can.”
Lincoln managed to breathe again. “Thank you.” Though grateful, he didn’t allow himself even the smallest celebration. More than two months had passed since Dayax’s disappearance. Finding him would take a miracle.
“Have you met him yet?” Madelyn O’Brien, sister-in-law number one, nudged Angeline.
“Who?” She shoveled another spoonful of creamed corn into her mouth. The once-a-month family supper at her father’s house provided Angeline with her only full-course home-cooked meal. Her brothers supplied the meat, their mates provided the sides, and Angeline always showed up with a healthy appetite and plastic containers to take home leftovers.
“The Dogman.” Isobel O’Brien, sister-in-law number two and affectionately known as Izzie, flashed a conspiratorial grin. “Haven’t you been listening?”
No. She’d tuned out at the first mention of “Dogman.” Her brain needed the break.
“He was supposed to arrive yesterday,” Garret, Angeline’s oldest brother, said. “Did he meet up with anyone for dinner and drinks at Taylor’s Roadhouse last night?”
“Nope,” Angeline answered between bites.
“I bet he’s handsome.” Izzie grinned. “But not as good-looking as you.” She kissed Connor—her mate and Angeline’s other brother—on the cheek and his soft, disgruntled growl ceased.
So cute. Mated thirteen years and the father of two kids, Connor still got a little jealous when Izzie mentioned other men. He had nothing to worry about. Izzie loved him to the moon and back. Stinky feet and all.
“Angeline, what have you heard about this Dogman?” Patrick O’Brien clasped his hands over the dinner plate. Angeline’s father might not like the idea of his daughter waiting tables for a living, but he certainly liked pumping her for the tidbits of gossip she frequently overheard.
“His name is Lincoln,” she said. “He got in late last night, he’s friends with Brice, and that’s all I know.” Not really, but it covered the basics.
“Have you actually met him?” Connor asked.
“He’s subletting Tristan’s apartment.” Angeline speared the green bean bundle wrapped in bacon on her plate and chomped down so she wouldn’t have to answer the barrage of her family’s questions.
“Dogmen don’t just come for a visit.” Patrick O’Brien’s statement quieted the table. “Why is he really here?”
All eyes turned on Angeline.
“How should I know?”
“You’re tight with Tristan,” Garret said.
“So?” She never disclosed the things Tristan revealed in confidence.
“Are you going to talk to him again?” Her father’s narrowed gaze forced Angeline to swallow the food she’d just stuck in her mouth.
“Tristan? I talk to him a couple
