And walking behind her, his broad shoulders square, his hand-welted leather field boots stepping onto the cedar decking with that unyielding, un-shakable command that had walked through that classroom door fourteen months ago…
Came Ben.
He had been promoted to Master Sergeant six months ago, serving as Chief of Canine Tactical Operations for the Mercer Sanctuary.
He wore clean work fatigues, carrying a newly polished mahogany shadow box containing Arthur Mercer Senior’s original, hand-stitched geodetic survey notebooks and the corporate seal of the newly nationalized Pacific intelligence fleet.
In his eyes burned the honest, untroubled devotion of a father who had stood beside his daughter to defend her truth.
Ben walked straight to my chair, setting the shadow box on the chestnut table with a proud, confident click.
He leaned down, wrapping his strong arm around my shoulder, pressing his warm cheek against mine:
“Lauren?”
Ben whispered into the morning breeze:
