unit was a special classified branch of the FBI that had settled in a nondescript building in downtown Billings. The secret nature of the team’s cases needed anonymity to function. They worked across the country, under the radar, to solve tough crimes and deliver swift justice. She wanted to be a part of the team. For now, she’d gladly settled for interning thanks to an old friend’s recommendation. And she’d applied and been accepted to the FBI academy. Her dream, her prayer, was to be assigned to the Tactical K-9 Unit when she returned from training at Quantico.
The distant cheer coming from the nearby high school football stadium made her sigh. She’d have liked to be at the game of her alma mater, but Radar wouldn’t have done well with the rowdy crowd. He was still so skittish around loud noises. So was she, if truth be told. Not that she’d admitted that to anyone. She had to be strong if she hoped to become an FBI agent.
From the back compartment of the vehicle, Radar barked. The sharp sound made Zara ease up on the gas. She scanned the area looking for what had caused Radar to alert as her heart lifted. Several long months had passed since the incident that left him concussed and afraid.
She didn’t see anything troublesome. A few people came and went from several pubs, their merriment drifting to her on the autumn breeze. An antiques store’s outside light flickered, creating a colorful glow on the sidewalk. “What is it, boy?”
He barked again and scratched at the back hatch, a clear signal he wanted out. Probably needed a bathroom break.
She pulled the rig to the curb and hopped from the vehicle. After freeing Radar from his compartment, she leashed up and allowed him to lead her down the street. He stopped at an alley between two brick buildings. His tail raised high; his ears perked up. Zara’s heart rate kicked into high gear. He was definitely alerting to something. A good sign he was on his way to healing. The hard work she and Radar had invested in his recovery was finally paying off.
She strained to listen. Hushed male voices bounced off the brick walls. There were people down there. A drug deal happening?
She assessed the buildings. On her right, Petrov Bakery, her favorite in the city, was dark and deserted. The other storefront on the left was occupied by a high-end jewelry store. It, too, was shrouded in shadow and appeared empty.
Her hand reached for her radio but found only her shoulder. The muscles in her stomach clenched. She wasn’t on the job anymore. She’d quit when the police department had decided to decommission Radar. They’d given up on him, but she’d refused to, not after what trusting her had cost him.
Touching her hand to her personal weapon holstered at her waist, she decided if Radar wanted to investigate, they would. Her turn to start trusting him. If this turned out to be nothing, then no harm done. But if there were some nefarious activities taking place, she’d call the situation in on her cell.
Reining in Radar’s leash to keep him close, she moved quietly down the alley toward the back of the building. Moonlight flashed on a van with its back doors open parked behind the jeweler’s. Keeping to the shadows, Zara tugged Radar with her to duck behind a stack of wooden crates where she could observe. A low growl emanated from Radar.
Quickly, she gave him the hand signal to let him know to be quiet. The dog settled but remained alert and ready to work.
Gratified by his obedience, she couldn’t wait to tell Dylan. The FBI Tactical K-9 Unit’s communications expert was a dear friend and the one who’d suggested she volunteer as an intern for their unit. Which allowed her to bring Radar to their facility for retraining after the horrible event that had nearly killed them both.
Two men came out of the store to set boxes inside the cargo hold. Both men wore ski masks. Zara stifled a gasp. The men were robbing the place. She had to call for backup. She yanked her cell from her pants pocket and dialed the Billings Police Department.
She pressed the phone tight to her ear as the BPD dispatcher answered. “Billings Police Department, what is your emergency?”
“Robbery in progress,” she whispered. She gave him the address.
“Got it. Stand by.”
Tension vibrated through Radar. She soothed him with her hand. “Good boy,” she whispered.
Her phone chimed with an incoming text message, the noise echoing off the back of the buildings. A rush of panic trapped her breath in her lungs. Why hadn’t she thought to turn the sound off? Hurriedly, she set her phone to silent.
One of the masked men spun toward where she hid, a gun in his hand. The second man said something before slamming shut the van’s side-panel door and scurrying to the driver’s side. The van’s engine turned over.
The one with the gun walked toward where she and Radar were hunkered down. Zara sent up a silent prayer of protection.
“Someone there?” the man shouted.
Zara wrapped an arm around Radar and drew him farther into the shadows. Her heart raced. Adrenaline flooded her system.
A faint snap echoed off the brick building and a bullet hit the pallet of crates, splintering the wood. He’d fired at them.
A spike of fear ripped through her.
That was close. Too close.
Radar barked and strained against her hold. She cringed but wouldn’t release him unless absolutely necessary. She withdrew her weapon from its holster and held it down at the ready.
She heard the shooter’s partner yelling for him to get in the van.
The masked man fired again. The bullet hit the ground near Radar’s feet, and bits of pavement bit into Zara’s shin. She swallowed a yelp and gritted her teeth as horror crashed over her. She and Radar were trapped.
She had to protect her partner.
Before the man could fire a third round, Zara did what she’d been trained to do. She blocked out everything but the target, aimed and pulled the trigger.
* * *
A sharp rap on the communications room door jerked Dylan O’Leary’s focus from the bank of monitors.
His unit leader, Max West, stood in the doorway wearing his everyday attire of creased khaki pants and the dark blue polo shirt with the FBI Tactical K-9 logo on the breast pocket. “Our intern’s been in a shooting.”
Dylan’s heart stalled. Zara!
“BPD wants our help,” Max said before striding away.
A wave of dread washed over Dylan as he grabbed his mobile gear and hurried after his boss. Zara was like family. The Fieldings had taken Dylan in when he was sixteen after his parents’ senseless death in a boating incident. He was forever grateful to them for the care and love they’d bestowed on him, Zara in particular.
One year younger than him, she’d been the one to keep him supplied in tissues—without comment—when he’d cry himself to sleep at night. And she’d been the one to sit with him after his nightmares. She’d been so compassionate and thoughtful, never once pushing him to talk about what had happened or judging him for showing emotion that someone else would consider weakness.
When Zara had decided to follow in her father’s and brother’s
