It was a new stage of life for him—this sitting around, doing what he wanted, helping out others basically by choice instead of having a regimented lifestyle. When Greyson Morgenstein had been in the military, a Navy SEAL no less, he had been on training missions, more training, more fitness, more missions. And after his accident that ruined his back, damaged his shoulder and took off part of his foot, it had seemed like it was so much the same, and yet so different, because it was therapy, then doctors, more tests, more physical fitness, more of everything, but everything on a schedule.
Since he’d been released, his back was as good as it would get, just needed more strengthening. His shoulder was functional, not pretty, but who said that was even part of his life anymore? He learned to walk with just half the foot, and who knew that would be such a pain? But he was better off than so many of the other guys.
He lifted his coffee mug and stretched. He was out along the back of Geir’s house. They’d been working on building decks on a bunch of the guy’s places. And Greyson really enjoyed the camaraderie of being here, the sense of belonging, and yet without the pressure to do anything.
He was living off his benefits at the moment, while he tried to assess what the hell he wanted to do with his life. The only thing he really couldn’t do would be heavy construction, but not much else held him back.
He’d been a trainer within the military, so management might be something he could do. But he didn’t think he wanted anything to do with that kind of pressure, any more of that stress. He loved animals, had worked briefly with the K9 department in the military, but had wanted a much more personal relationship with the animals than the handlers were allowed to have. He’d seen various animal rescues that interested him, but that wasn’t a way to make money.
When Geir sat down beside him, Greyson said, “It’s a nice deal you’ve got going here.”
Geir nodded slowly. “It is. It was a long time coming. What we’ve got, we’ve built ourselves.”
Greyson didn’t say anything else, just sipped his coffee.
“What do you want for your future?” Geir asked.
Greyson shrugged. “Something different, something more peaceful than the navy and all the missions. Something still helping out, I guess, but without the stress, without the schedule, without the chaos.”
Geir nodded. “You know not too many people would understand that.”
“Well, I sure as hell hope some could.” He shook his head. “I want to stop and smell the roses a little more.”
Geir grinned. “You need a wife for that.”
“Is that what helped you?”
Geir thought about it, then nodded. “A lot of my adjustments came from her being in my life—having that other perspective—plus having the guys at my side as we decided what we wanted to do, moving forward. All of us having physical disabilities made the world look at us differently.” He shook his head. “It makes you reassess.”
“It does, indeed,” Greyson said.
“How do you feel about animals?”
“Love them. I was just thinking it’s too bad I can’t set up a rescue, but they don’t make any money so …”
“What kind of rescue?”
“I don’t know. I’m particular to dogs, but I’m a cat guy too,” he said with a quirk of his lips.
“Interesting.”
“That sounded like you have something going on in the back of your head.”
“We’ve been working some K9 files. We’ve had a really good success rate, but this next one? We just don’t have a lot of information on it.”
“What are the K9 files?”
And he listened while Geir explained about the War Dog Division shutting down this part of the department, and a bunch of these dogs having been lost in the system.
“Those dogs give their lives in many instances,” Greyson said. “They certainly give the best years of their physical lives, and they deserve to have a decent ending to it.”
“Which is why we agreed to help on a pro bono basis,” Geir said. “What we now have is Kona. A Belgian Malinois female, who was shipped to Denver but somehow ended up in Hawaii.”
“That doesn’t even compute,” Greyson said, staring at him in surprise.
“Right?”
“So has she been shipped back to Denver?”
“No, she was picked up, supposed to go to a foster setup for a few nights, until someone could arrange her trip home, only she disappeared overnight.”
“Well, that could be a good thing,” Greyson said. “A lot of people don’t agree with shelters.”
“This was a rescue. She had her own run. She should have been just fine there,” Geir said. “What we can’t do is ignore this. We need to know that whoever stole the dog is looking after her and that the dog will have the best life possible.”
“What about legalities in this one?”
“An adoptive family was lined up in Denver. We didn’t have anybody in Hawaii.”
“So, if I do find the dog, and I do find that it’s in a good home, am I supposed to rip it away and send it to Denver?”
Geir thought about that for a long moment as he studied his coffee cup. “No,” he finally said. “I think the baseline here is that we go with whatever is in the best interests of the dog.”
“So, go find the dog, track down whoever stole it, figure out why and what they’re doing with it and if the dog will be okay?” He looked around at the yard he spent the last few days working at and said, “Hawaii could be good.”
Geir looked at him and smiled. “Any connection for you?”
“Grandparents. They used to live in New York, and then, one day, it’s like they snapped, sold everything and moved to Hawaii.”
“Hey, I’m not sure that’s such a bad idea,” Geir said, “but honestly, if you’ll be in one of the big cities, I’m not sure there’s any difference.”
“They’re on one of the outer islands, I believe,” he said. “It might be time to find out.”
“Exactly.”
“What airport did the dog disappear from?”
“It was flown into Lanai Airport, and then it was at the Freedom shelter. That’s the last known location we have.”
He nodded. “How long ago?”
“Now that we are actually delving into this case, it’s possible the trail ran cold a long time ago. The dog has been missing for just over three months.”
“So long enough to bond but not enough to bond well.”
“Depends on the circumstances, as you know,” Geir said.
Greyson nodded. “Some situations require immediate bonding. But those are usually the ugly situations. Danger, strife, violence, something along that line.”
“Exactly. So maybe we need to find out just what’s going on in that poor dog’s life.”
Greyson chuckled. “I think I can handle this one.”
Geir looked at him, grinned and said, “Think so?”
“I know so. Mission accepted.”
This concludes Book 8 of The K9 Files: Weston.
Read about Greyson: The K9 Files, Book 9