He wasn’t sure what had brought him out into the middle of nowhere in southeastern Nevada. When he was a kid, his friends used to talk about coming out here to spy on the military planes as they took off and landed. They used to whisper about secret experiments, mysterious clouds in the sky, and of course, UFOs. After all, this was supposed to be where they kept those aliens. Area 51.

Jon didn’t believe any of that crap, and he doubted any of his friends had ever had the guts to actually sneak onto the grounds or even come out this way. And as he looked around, he had to admit they weren’t missing much. Just acres of thick desert sagebrush.

Taking another swig from his bottle, Jon felt the buzz from the alcohol as he scrambled down the slope. Suddenly, something broke through the thick sagebrush at the bottom of the hill. Jon drew his Glock from its holster and took a shooter’s stance. Bobcats sometimes prowled this area.

But it was just a stray dog. Dark brown coat, long tail, floppy ears—might be a chocolate lab.

Jon holstered his gun and whistled. “Hey, boy, what are you doing out here?”

The dog wagged its tail furiously and bounded toward him.

He screwed the top back on the wine bottle and held his hand out for the dog to sniff. As the animal huffed at his hand and ran its nose up and down the legs of his trousers, Jon noticed a bloody wound on its front right leg.

“Did something take a bite out of you, old boy?”

The dog whined and glanced back toward the scrub.

Jon scratched the dog’s head. “Your coat’s nice and shiny, and you look well fed.” He shook his head and patted the dog on its back. “What are you doing out here? Someone’s probably looking for you. Maybe I should get you to a shelter and see if they can find your owner. I sure as hell can’t take care of you. I can barely take care of myself nowadays.”

A rustle of movement sounded in the sagebrush about fifty yards away. The dog whined, took a few steps up the slope, and turned to Jon as if to say, “Are you coming?”

Jon drew the Glock once more and took a step toward the sound.

The lab darted in front of him and gave a low growl.

“Shh…” Jon stepped around the dog.

The dog whined, nipped at his pant leg and pulled hard on his jeans, trying to drag him up the slope, away from the sound.

“What the hell are you doing, mutt?” Jon yanked his leg away and gave the dog a sideways kick, which it easily dodged.

The dog backed away, whining, then yipped once and raced up the hill.