Chapter 8
The trail around the lake was slick, making it a darker shade of gray. The trees dripped water, but at least the sky was clearing. The gray clouds parted to reveal the blue above. And in the air, there was the smell of green. Flynn could think of no other word to describe it. Whether it was the grass, the leaves on the trees, or the water itself, there was something fresh and new about the aromas in the air.
He’d given Mac Barley’s leash and let him take the lead. The dog trotted along companionably beside Mac, stopping, as dogs do, every couple of minutes to sniff something. If Flynn’s sense of smell was amplified, he couldn’t begin to imagine what Barley’s was doing. Barley, Flynn knew, had a super nose—it was the breed. And it was what had led Barley to run away from him tha
