It smelled like a business.
It sounded like a home.
I opened Max’s door.
He jumped down and took his place beside my left leg.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s find out if they remember us.”
The front door opened before I reached the porch.
Wolf stepped outside.
He stopped.
I stopped.
For several seconds, neither of us said anything.
Wyatt “Wolf” Maddox had more gray at the temples in his hair than the last time I saw him. His shoulders were still broad, his eyes still sharp, and he still looked like he could make a room fall silent by walking into it.
His gaze moved from me to Max and then to the truck packed with everything I owned.
“You got lost?” he asked.
“Several times.”
“You need directions?”
“I found the place.”
“That remains to be seen.”
The door opened behind him.
Trigger stepped onto the porch carrying a tray of empty glasses.
He looked at me.
The tray slipped out of his hands.
Glasses shattered across the boards.
“What the hell?” Wolf barked.
Trigger pointed at me. “Mace?”
I lifted one hand. “Hello, Trigger.”
He came off the porch so fast Max moved in front of me.
“Easy,” I told him.
Max held his position as Trigger stopped three feet away.
Trigger looked at the dog.
Then at me.