The helicopter was beginning to lift off. Ned didn't move a muscle, and Gracie lifted her head to glance at him. Then, satisfied, settled down again. Ned was being amazingly docile, Devon thought. Nick had told her he'd had no problem with him all day.

He won't give you any trouble. I had a talk with him.

Bull. Marrok's dog had already caused her a world of trouble. She'd had to threaten and bribe, and now owed a staggering number of favors to bureaucrats and immigration officials.

"I guess you're right," Hilda said. "It's not as if someone else couldn't do the job. It's all about maybe me and Socks being the ones to make a difference, to save someone."

Ned lifted his head and looked at Devon with those brown eyes that gleamed with intelligence and query.

"All right, you were worth all the trouble," she said softly. "You knew what you were doing out there. You did a good job."

He laid his head down and closed his eyes.

The handlers might get discouraged and question their own motives and worth, but the dogs didn't have that problem. They knew the answer. Hilda had to puzzle it out, but it was simple and clear to them.

It was all about life.

MARROK JERKED THE KNIFE OUT of the man's chest and wiped it on the grass.

It had taken too long. Two days, dammit. He'd expected to be able to take the shooter out on that first night, but the soldiers had been too active on the evening Devon Brady had left. Maybe Devon had put a spur to Ramirez to try to find the man who had shot Ned. At any rate, he'd had to bide his time and wait. Not good. He wasn't the only one who had gotten impatient. The shooter had turned hunter, and they had been playing cat and mouse in this forest since yesterday. When he'd finally zeroed in on him, Marrok hadn't time to be careful and take the shooter alive. Well, if he couldn't make him talk, he'd have to find out what he could.