She would swear that Ned gave her a glance of indignation as if he knew what she'd said.

But Gracie was contentedly laying her long elegant head on the stretcher and closing her eyes.

Devon shook her head. "Remember, I warned you." She jumped into the helicopter. The large aircraft was filled with dogs and their handlers, but there was a free seat beside Hilda Golding and her retriever, Socks.

Hilda was staring at Ned. "That's the Lab that found the little girl?"

Devon nodded. "I don't know how. Gracie went over that area a dozen times."

"So did Socks." Hilda scratched behind her retriever's ears. "He must have a great nose. How is the little girl doing?"

"Good. I got a call from Caracas an hour ago. Her name is Mercedes. Broken arm, concussion, but she's awake now. They've located her grandparents, who live on an island a short distance from here."

"That's wonderful." Hilda leaned her head back against the wall of the aircraft and closed her eyes. "Lord, this was a bad one. So many dead… Politicians trying to grab the relief supplies and sell them on the black market. That dog getting shot. I keep telling myself that I'm not bringing Socks on another mission, and then I get the call, and here I am."

Devon knew how she felt. "I always think about letting someone else do it. What would it hurt to skip one? But maybe it would be Gracie who'd find a little girl or an old man buried on a mountain or in a village. Maybe she'd be the only one to know." Her gaze shifted to Ned. "Like it was Ned this time."