The deeper we ran into the woods, the rougher the terrain got, and the rougher the terrain, the harder we ran. My body was coated in sweat by the time we finally stopped. The burn in my muscles had gone from pleasant to verging on real pain. I bent over at the waist. My heart was racing in my chest. My skin tingled, a surefire sign that I’d come close to pushing myself too hard.

Everything in me wanted to go harder.

“Cady’s already going to tear a strip off of me for skipping breakfast,” I told Saskia, who wasn’t even winded. “If I don’t stop and rest, things could get ugly.”

My canine companion eyed me for a moment and then lowered her front half toward the ground, silent and ready.

“I see how it is,” I murmured. Saskia had an uncanny way of looking at people, her gaze almost human and borderline predatory all at once. Cady had been against my training her.

My girl didn’t play well with others.

I signaled, and Saskia pounced. After wrestling with her for a minute or two, I lowered myself to the ground. If anyone had seen us from a distance, they might have thought I was in danger—a small, fragile teenage girl with a fifty-pound animal looming over her.

Feeling more at peace than I had in weeks, I closed my eyes, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, I slept. When I opened my eyes again, Saskia was nestled beside me, and the sun was high enough in the sky that I was fairly certain the two of us weren’t the only ones out and about. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. Inside was a rag—one I’d swiped out of Cady’s room the day before.

I let Saskia get the scent, and then I climbed to my feet. “Shall we see what the boss is up to?” I asked the dog. Saskia’s whole body was taut with the effort of staying in place until I gave her the command. “Find her.”

Chapter 3

A single search and rescue dog could cover as much ground as fifty or more human searchers. It didn’t take long for Saskia to find her target and come looping back to me. She gave three authoritative barks—sharp, loud, clear, just like she’d been trained to do.

Find. Recall. Re-find.

“Show me,” I said. Saskia took off, slowing her pace just enough for me to follow. She led me over rocks and a small stream, straight to Cady, who greeted Saskia with a quick tussle.

Find. Play. Find. Play.

Years of training had tied these two things together in the dog’s mind. I’d taught Saskia how to play—with me, with Jude, with Cady, with Free.

Her attitude toward the rest of the world was still a work in progress.