Caleb (The K9 Files Book 11) by Dale Mayer (moboreader txt) 📗

and slowly drove forward. She’d given him as much information as she dared, without getting Caleb into trouble. And, even so, it wasn’t that easy. She wanted to call Caleb and to see how he was doing but didn’t want to get him into more trouble by calling him at the wrong time. But no way in hell was she going home. Not now. Not with this going on.

Not without Caleb.

Caleb knew he’d put at least ten miles on his body because he could feel it. His joints screamed, and his injuries ached, but, as he looked down at Beowulf beside him, the dog was in worse shape, and he was still going strong. Caleb loved that grit, and this animal was game for whatever, as long as it got him out of that hellhole. As they traveled, Caleb talked to Beowulf, asking him how the hell he got into that mess.

The dog barked every once in a while, making Caleb laugh. He could feel something going on in the background of the world around him, as if his instincts were saying that trouble was up ahead.

He pulled out his phone and, without breaking stride, texted Laysha, asking if she was okay. She sent back a quick message.

Yes.

But it came back short and fast and made him nervous. He called her, trying hard to keep his breathing even. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“I am now,” she said with relief. “Am I glad to hear you.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“I was followed,” she said and quickly explained what had happened.

He could feel his insides congeal. “Now that’s not good news,” he snapped.

“I don’t want anyone following us home,” she said, “but I did end up getting some help from people standing nearby, and I was lucky enough that a cop was one of them.”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll send a message to Ansel and ask him to look into it,” he said.

“I also told the cop about the shot that I heard. He said they’d been after the asshole for several murders but hadn’t found any bodies.”

“That’ll be an interesting thing to consider,” he said quietly.

“Well, I hope so. I didn’t want to let on what we were doing, and I didn’t want the dog to be brought up, in case you wanted to keep that out of the news. But I did want the cops aware that the property with the dead guy was really close to this asshole Huevo’s compound.”

“Right, and that’s a good point,” he murmured.

“Are you running?”

“Yes, the two of us are.”

“Oh, good,” she said. “I thought the dog was too badly hurt.”

“Yes, and no,” he said. “His back end is hurt, but we’re moving because we have to. We both know that, so no discussion is required.”

“I love that,” she said, “how that’s not an option in your world.”

“It isn’t,” he said, “but it is a little harder to talk at the same time.’”

“I’ll hang up.”

“No,” he said, “it’s good to hear from you.”

“Well, it’s good to hear from you too because I’m worried about you,” she said. “At the same time, I don’t know where to go and meet you.”

“And I don’t want you going home if I’m not there,” he said. “Depends if they know who you are.”

“No reason for them to,” she said.

“Maybe, but you know they’re smarter than we like to give them credit for.”

“They’re also assholes,” she said, “and believe me. As soon as I get home, I’ll be grabbing that rifle of mine.”

“And keep it close,” he murmured. “Make sure you keep it close.”

Putting his phone away, Caleb kept moving, feeling the miles eat away at his endurance. When he finally came to another creek, he immediately soaked his face deep in the water. The back of his head was in the water, as Beowulf moved into the creek beside him, lapping up and drinking to his heart content. “Not too much, boy. When we get moving again, it’ll be hard to run with full bellies.”

The dog looked at him but continued to drink.

Caleb knew how Beowulf felt. As Caleb oriented himself in his new location, he realized there was a good chance he’d already crossed the border. Moving out at a slower pace, he headed toward the closest highway.

He used the GPS on his phone and sent several messages to Badger, looking for directions, depending on where he was going. When he heard a vehicle, he stopped, hiding himself and Beowulf for a moment, and headed in the direction of the vehicle. What he needed to do was find out where he was and ensure it was safe for her to come get him here.

As they came upon one of the main highways, a gas station and a big pullout was up ahead. He moved cautiously forward, even as he dialed her. When there was no answer, he frowned, hung up, and then tried again.

Almost immediately she answered this time.

“There you are,” he said. “When you didn’t answer, I got worried.”

“I’m here,” she said. “Where are you?”

“There’s a gas station, but I’m not exactly sure what road I’m on,” he said. “I’ll talk to somebody to see where I am, but I have a general idea. I think I’m heading into town but about ten miles out.”

“Could you have traveled that far?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’ve done at least twelve miles, if not fifteen. I don’t want to push the dog too much more.”

“How is Beowulf?”

“Hurt but game,” he said. “That’s all that I care about right now.”

“Right,” she said. “Well, I can head in your direction, so at least I’ll be close enough whenever you can figure it out.”

“I’ll see if Badger can track my phone,” he said. “Then I’ll give you better directions.”

“No problem,” she said.

When they hung up, he moved cautiously toward the gas station up ahead. It was a big one, and he looked down at the dog, already hesitant about going forward. He reached out and gently stroked the dog on the