Beckett is down from the coal car and jogging toward me before I'm halfway out the gate. He catches me mid-way, hands rising, but he doesn't hug me, just grasps my upper arms and squeezes.

"You're okay." His words are clipped, almost strangled in the back of his throat.

"I am," I say. "Trust the dog, remember?"

He glances down at the grinning lab. "What happened? Why did they let you in?"

"It's a long story," I say, "but part of it is I've found one of my ...