"No." Nick Gilroy handed her the shirt and khakis, which were draped over the chair in her mobile quarters. "It's a Lab. Captain Ramirez said he was shot."

"Shot?" Her lips tightened as she started to dress. "Did the soldiers do it? Some gun-happy kid who thought he saw a wolf?"

"The captain swears it wasn't one of his men. They heard gunfire and went to investigate." Nick found her shoes under the bed and handed them to her. "The dog was wounded, and the man who was with him didn't give them a chance to ask questions. He said he wanted his dog taken care of, or he'd make a stink with the newspapers and accuse them of shooting a rescue dog."

Lab. She put on her shoes. The only Lab on the rescue team belonged to Phil Dormhaus. Phil was a quiet, intellectual type, and she couldn't imagine him threatening or making a stink about anything. He was a man who did his job, then took his dog home. But what did she know? she thought wearily. The dogs weren't the only rescue casualties at a disaster like this. The own ers of the search and rescue dogs could take only so much death, so much sorrow before they started to break, too. This had been a rough mission, and it still wasn't over. Maybe Phil had been so grief-stricken at the wounding of his dog that he had slipped over the edge. "If the soldiers didn't shoot the Lab, it must have been done by one of the civilians here on the island. Tell the captain that whoever did it has to be found and thrown into jail. We're all volunteers who came here to help them. I won't have our dogs endangered."

"I'll tell him. My plea sure." Nick smiled. "Do you need any help with the Lab?"

"I don't know." She looked back at him as she opened the door of the trailer. Sometimes she forgot that Nick wasn't a young man any longer.