Page 2 of The Lovely and the Lost

“And if we don’t step back?” one of the boys taunted.

My upper lip wanted to pull back. Only years of social conditioning let me push down the urge to growl.

“Seriously,” one of the townies said to Jude, a note of nervousness creeping into his tone at the expression on my face. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Kira,” Jude said cheerfully. “I mean, who among usdoesn’thave anger management issues and difficulty socializing in the human world, am I right?” He laid his hand on my shoulder, a warm and steady weight.Familiar. Home.And just like that, I was five years old again and six and seven, and Jude was the one person in this world that I trusted. Back then, I wouldn’t have stared down the bullies. Back then, I would have attacked.

“Dude,” one of the townies said under his breath, “is she the one who…”

The one they found in the forest all those years ago. The one who’d forgotten how to speak. The one who’d fended for herself for who knows how long.

“And on that note,” Free said, stepping forward, “let’s break this little lovefest up.” Even clad in Levi’s and a ratty blue T-shirt, Free was the kind of girl that guys looked at and then looked at again. It wasn’t the thick blond hair, falling in carefree waves past her chest. It wasn’t her full lips or deep brown eyes. It wasn’t even the hips beneath the jeans.

It was her confidence. It was the fact that Free Morrow walked through life knowing that she could ace any test it threw at her—and didn’t much care either way.

She bent down and picked up Jude’s boom box. “Who wants to dance?”

The next morning, I was up with the dawn. The party had left me restless. If I’d thought there was any chance that I could have gotten away with it, I would have spent the night outside, but Cady would have noticed, and she would have pressed Jude for answers.

Jude did not hold up well under questioning.

So I’d lain in my bed all night, trying not to feel boxed in. When the first hint of sun hit my window, springing me from my seemingly endless sentence, I was up and digging through the pile of clean laundry on my desk in seconds. As I donned a pair of running shorts and looped my hair back into a ponytail, Silver stirred on the end of my bed. She lifted her head, liquid brown eyes meeting mine.

“Go back to sleep,” I told her.

Silver made a huffing sound and jumped down to the floor. She was almost thirteen—old for a German shepherd—and didn’t move as easily as she had in her youth. Still, she was spry enough to block me from exiting the room. Her head butted gently—and reproachfully—against my thigh.

No matter how old I got, Silver would never see me as more than a pup.

“I’m fine,” I told her, sinking down to let her see for herself as I ran my right hand over her coarse fur. “I just need to run.”

Silver was Cady’s dog, but I was Silver’s human. She’d been the one to find me all those years ago. Since then, she’d stood guard over me through much worse than a restless night’s sleep. The stubborn look on her face now made it clear that she wasnotgetting out of my way until she was certain I was okay.

“You’re impossible,” I commented.

Silver rested her head on my shoulder and huffed again. For a few seconds, I let my arms curve around her.Silver’s heartbeat. Silver’s warmth.Long before I’d stopped shrinking back from human hands, this had beencontact, safety, touch.

I gave myself another instant, then stood. After a long moment, Silver exhaled loudly and stepped aside.

Humans,I could almost hear her saying.They’re so much work.

“You’re telling me,” I muttered as I made my way down the stairs. I was halfway out the back door before I sensed eyes on the back of my head.

Busted. I turned around. A ghost-white dog with ice-blue eyes sat three feet away, watching me with an intensity that would have set most people’s hearts to thundering in their chests. On paper, Saskia was a husky, but there was something wholly wolflike about her features that would have made most people think twice before holding out a hand.

I wasn’t most people.

I snapped my fingers, and the husky sprang forward. She came to a standstill at the door’s threshold, looking at me. I held up my right hand, accompanying the gesture with a verbal command. “Stay.”

Saskia stayed where she was, but her blue eyes tracked me as I began walking backward. When I got ten feet away, I began bouncing on the balls of my feet. Saskia’s ears flicked forward, but no matter how badly she wanted to give chase, she didn’t move.

Stay.I let the command stand as I dodged back and forth and began moving backward once more.Stay. Stay. Stay…

“Come!” I lowered my hand. Saskia bolted from the doorway, and the moment she did, I turned and ran, as hard and fast as I could. I made it to the edge of the woods before she caught me. She circled me and barked, and I bent down to play, rough-and-tumble.

Most people thought that training animals was about obedience and control. But in reality, the center of any search and rescue training program wasplay. For the dog, searching was a game. Animals who had a strong play drive would keep playing indefinitely—through ice and snow, over hard terrain, for hours upon hours—until the game was won.

Until they found their target.