As she drew nearer to the tent, she could see a man in a black shirt standing over the examining table. Phil?

No. Phil had narrow shoulders and brown hair. This man was tall, lean, with broad shoulders, and sleek black hair cut close to his head. His back was to her, but she was sure she had never seen him before. Nor had she seen the black Lab lying on the table. Her gaze instantly zeroed in on the hurt animal, her attention focusing on the wounded dog. The own er must have taken off the dog's bloodstained halter with the Red Cross on the side because it was lying on the floor beside the table. That would help. She wouldn't have to struggle to get a pain-crazed dog quiet enough to-

"You're the vet?" The dog's own er had turned as she entered the tent. "My dog's hurt. The bullet is still in him. You need to get it out."

"I will." She came forward. "I'm Devon Brady. Who are you?"

"Jude Marrok. I stopped the bleeding, and I don't think he's badly hurt. But I want that bullet out. I can't move him with it in him."

Marrok definitely wasn't the devastated own er she'd expected to see when she walked into the tent. His voice was crisp, cool, and his tone demanding. To hell with him. "I told you I'd take it out. But not until I take some X-rays and see where it is and if it clipped an organ."

"It hasn't." He pointed to the wound. "Close. But it missed it. It would have done more damage if the bullet had been a higher caliber. I think you'll find it's a 7.62 millimeter. It was meant for distance accuracy. From the sound of it, I'd say it came from a Remington M-24."

"Sound?"

"Like an M-16, but duller. It's used as a sniper weapon."

"I doubt it was that kind of weapon." She was examining the wound. The dog was amazingly docile. He was fully awake, but he only gave a low whimper. "I'm sure the villagers aren't equipped with that kind of firepower. It's probably a hunting rifle."