Hayley Foxworth lay in the darkness of a quiet night, considering waking her husband after a particularly heated dream. The bedside clock read 4:00 a.m. This time of year, late spring, the sun would soon begin to brighten the sky, and then it would clear the Cascades and spill golden light across the waters of Puget Sound. And he would wake on his own. He never could sleep much past sunrise, anyway, whatever time of year it was.

She didn’t mind. Quinn was a complex man, but the core of him never changed; he loved her, and he would always do what he thought was right. Not much more a woman could ask for, she thought as she turned on her side to snuggle up behind him, savoring his heat even on this relatively warm night. He—

A blast shattered the quiet.

Two things happened simultaneously. Her husband bolted upright, instantly awake and alert. And their dog, Cutter, did the same, erupting into a cacophony of barking.

“Damn, that was close,” Quinn muttered, already out of bed and pulling on the jeans and boots he’d discarded so hastily last night. By the time Hayley had pulled on enough to be decent he was at the front door, where Cutter was pawing at the knob, demanding to get out.

“He’ll be gone like a shot.” She knew her clever dog’s demeanor too well by now.

“Then we’ll just have to keep up,” Quinn said.

Hayley spared a moment to be thankful he didn’t tell her to stay safe at home while he checked it out, but then Quinn had never questioned her competence or abilities.

And, of course, she’d had some training herself in the last two years.

Cutter seemed to realize his humans couldn’t move quite as fast as he could, and when he got too far ahead—Hayley had no idea how he decided when that was, but it was consistent—he paused and looked back, waiting for them to catch up. In the darkness his black head and shoulders were almost indiscernible. Were it not for the lighter, reddish brown of his body and tail, she doubted she’d be able to see him at all.

They were headed west, but at the first cross street the dog cut south, and within a few yards Hayley could smell...something. Smoke. Ash. Dust in the air. She wasn’t sure.

“There,” Quinn said, just as she saw it. A man, wearing only trim boxers, coughing, staggering a bit, in front of a small house that looked tidy and well-kept. Except for the huge, smoking hole in the north wall.

Cutter reached the man first. He was either too dazed to be concerned, or he was comfortable with a dog of no small size appearing out of nowhere. She guessed the latter when Cutter

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