Page 15 of Hunter's Mission

Her plump, glossy lips seemed to strain as she smiled. “That’s exactly why we must have him.”

“Are you sure you're ready for that kind of responsibility?"

“Of course, darling.” Her fakeness grated against my nerves. “Money is no object.”

“It’s not about the money, Ms. McCann. It’s about ensuring Conan goes to a home that respects his skills.”

“Please, call me Tiffany.” She batted enormous fake eyelashes that looked fucking ridiculous.

“Fine, Tiffany,” I relented. As visions of Conan with this woman filled me with an overwhelming sense of loss, my thoughts slammed to Layla again. She didn’t hide behind a fake façade. She was real and sweet and genuine. And she left me with a betrayal that gnawed at my heart.

I’d solddozens of working dogs. I had no idea why I struggled with letting go of Conan.

I leveled my gaze at her. “I need you to take good care of Conan.”

“Oh.” She burst into laughter like I’d said the funniest thing she’d ever heard and rested her hand on my arm.

A shiver of revulsion crawled up my spine, but I forced a smile, trying to comprehend what could be so fucking funny.

“It won’t be me looking after Conan.” She palmed her chest. “Gosh, no. I wouldn’t be able to control such a beast. Bruce will be his master. Won’t you, Bruce?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bruce’s voice was steady and professional. I appreciated that. No nonsense, unlike his employer.

Relief swept through me as I nodded at Bruce. “In that case, let’s discuss the transfer. My office is this way.”

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Tiffany waved us off, and doing that weird walk, she strode toward the limousine parked beneath the shade of the oak tree.

As Bruce and I walked away discussing the details of Conan's transfer and the compulsory training Bruce would need to do, I was conflicted between a sense of betrayal to Conan, and relief that he was going to a man who seemed capable of working with a loyal canine partner.

But this was the life I’d created for myself. The life I knew in the navy was gone, replaced by this strange existence filled with scars, unending pain, and a feeling that something was truly missing from my life. Yet I had no fucking idea what that was.

After Bruce and I finished discussing Conan’s changeover, he shook my hand. “I promise I’ll give Conan the life he deserves.”

Certain that he meant every word, I nodded. “Good. Contact me if you need anything.”

I scheduled Bruce’s training with Conan and discussed payment and registration papers. With that complete, by the time I shook Bruce’s hand, I was confident Conan was going to a good owner.

When Bruce headed for the limo, I headed for my bathroom.

I needed to get out of these clothes and have a cold shower.

In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror as the lights cast harsh shadows on my face, highlighting my turmoil.

Stripping out of my clothes, I turned my back to the mirror and peered at the scars that twisted over my shoulder like angry red snakes, down my back and hip, and ended in a mass of lumps and mangled flesh on my right butt cheek.

“Fucking mess,” I muttered as I traced the jagged lumps with my fingertips. Pain was my constant, lurking beneath the surface, ready to strike without warning.

It was a persistent reminder of the explosion on the aircraft carrier, the day my life was yanked out beneath me. My BUD/S training was the most brutal yet rewarding time of my life. It showed me what my body and mind were capable of.

The emotional torment haunted me. My body betrayed me. My scars robbed me of my sense of purpose and the life I thought I would have forever.

I was no longer a Navy SEAL. No longer invincible. And it pissed me off.

Now, all I had were memories and these fucking scars.

“Get your shit together, Hunter.” I gritted my teeth.

My pain would never disappear. I had to learn to live with it. And my fucking limp. That was the real kicker. Before that accident, I could run fifteen miles straight in soft sand and knee-high water with my pack on my back.

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