Brody, obviously agitated and out of control, had rolled Nitro partially on his back and was screaming at the dog while he tried to get him to roll the rest of the way.
The alpha roll—a technique used by certain K-9 handlers to assert their dominance over strong-willed dogs—was a controversial technique, not agreed to by all trainers. Rick didn’t believe in it. But when used, it had to be done without emotion, in a totally neutral manner. This was essential to ensure that the dog wouldn’t perceive himself to be in danger, and wouldn’t hold a grudge against the handler. If this wasn’t the case, the alpha roll could do more harm than good—particularly if the dog was a forceful animal, feared for his life or felt that the handler wasn’t in complete control. In those situations, the dog could go on the offensive the first opportunity he had. An uncontrolled alpha roll could cause irreparable harm to an otherwise great police dog.
It was clear to Rick that Brody wouldn’t be able to fully execute the roll. He knew Nitro already feared the man and had a moderate alpha drive—not a good combination, especially under the circumstances.
Rick stuck his right arm into the decoy sleeve as he ran.
When Rick reached them, Brody looked up in surprise. That instant of lost focus was all the opportunity Nitro needed. He gained his feet and, as Rick had anticipated, driven by distress and self-preservation, he lunged at Brody. Rick shoved Brody out of the way with his left arm and raised his right, protected by the sleeve, for Nitro to latch on to. The dog took the bait and sank his teeth into the thick padding of the sleeve, with only his hind legs touching the ground. Nitro was large and powerful, but Rick held his position. He knew if he went down, the dog would get purchase on all fours and, with the added balance, would be more likely to transfer the bite. The sleeve was Rick’s only protection and he didn’t want to risk letting the dog get hold of him anywhere else.
From his peripheral vision, Rick saw Brody regain his footing and stumble toward them.
“What the heck! Why did you interfere—?”
With ice in his voice, Rick cut him off. “Calm down, Officer.” He purposefully reminded Brody of their respective ranks. “Order your dog to ‘out,’” he said.
“He doesn’t ‘out.’ I told you that.” Brody’s voice sounded whiny. “I have to do physical removal.”
Rick knew that with handler and dog in a heightened state of agitation, that could only mean trouble. “All right. Walk away slowly and calmly.”
“I can’t! That damn dog has a bite on you, and I need to teach him a lesson for not listening to me.”
“Do you really want to have this conversation while your dog is latched on to my arm?” Rick was incredulous. “Officer. Just so there’s no mistake, this is an order. Walk away slowly and calmly,” he repeated. “Right now. You don’t do it this instant, I’ll write you up for insubordination.”
“He’s my dog, and I’m not leaving.”
“I said now.” Brody was a bigger fool than Rick had thought if he wanted to get into this argument when Rick should have been exerting all his energy on de-escalating the dog. He was wasting energy arguing with Brody, all the while struggling to maintain his stance and not further agitate Nitro. Based on what he’d seen, the dog wasn’t to blame, and he didn’t want the situation spiraling to a point where the division might have to consider getting rid of him. Or worse.
Despite trying for calm, Rick’s anger flared. He wanted to vent it on Brody, but now was not the time. Not with Nitro still biting the training sleeve. He glared at Brody, not blinking, not shifting his gaze until his opponent did. He’d effectively established dominance. Now if he could only do the same with Nitro.
When Brody finally stalked off, Rick turned his entire concentration on the dog. He knew that with the dog frantic and still clamped to the sleeve, he needed to count on his own skill and Nitro’s general lack of aggression to make sure the incident didn’t end badly.
Rick kept his arm elevated to prevent the dog from gaining a foothold with his front legs, and in a firm and neutral tone he ordered the dog to “out.” When he didn’t achieve the desired outcome, he tried again, calling the dog’s name loudly to get his attention and repeating the command. This time, Nitro listened. Rick lowered his arm, allowing Nitro to stand with all four legs on the ground—a risk if he wasn’t going to obey—but Rick had confidence in Nitro’s training and temperament. Rick gave the “out” command again. With only a slight hesitation, the dog released the sleeve.
Rick ordered a sit-stay, knowing “sit” would be an easier command for Nitro to obey in his current state than the more submissive “down.”
It worked, but Rick tried not to show his relief. He had to remain dominant. He gently checked Nitro to make sure he wasn’t injured, praised him and took Sniff’s KONG toy out of his pouch to offer to Nitro as a reward. Finally, he tugged the protective sleeve off his arm and noted the beginning of bruises from the pressure of Nitro’s bite. Man, that dog had strong jaws. No wonder they’d trained him in apprehension and handler protection, too.
Giving both Nitro and Sniff some play time first, Rick put both dogs in kennels before entering the building. Once inside, he headed straight to Logan’s office.
He didn’t knock or ask to be invited in. He strode up to Logan’s desk, slapped his palms on the surface and leaned in. “Brody’s got to go, Jagger. He cannot stay in the K-9 Unit.”
Logan gave him a narrow-eyed look, then his gaze skimmed over Rick’s arm, where the bruises were already a livid blue, green and purple. “What happened to you?”
“I had to intercede with Brody and Nitro.”
Logan sat back, gestured to a chair and folded his arms across his chest. “What happened?” he asked again. “And speak freely.” He glanced away from Rick, and his unblinking eyes tracked movement outside his office.
Rick looked over his shoulder and saw Brody walking by, glaring at him. He paused, took a step toward the office door, then seemed to think better of it and stalked off to his workstation. There was no doubt in Rick’s mind that Brody knew what they were talking about.
“It wasn’t Nitro’s fault,” Rick said, turning back to Logan. “That jackass tried to do an alpha roll.”
Logan raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“Unsuccessfully,” Rick added, and went on to explain exactly what Brody had done, including his refusal to follow orders. “Brody’s got to go, and not only because he can’t keep up with the physical demands of this job.” He held up his hand when Logan was about to interject. “You gave me permission to speak freely, so let me do that. You know the officer-selection criteria better than I do, and we don’t compromise. I know it’s a sensitive subject. I appreciate the union will be all over it because of Brody’s connections. But bottom line? He can’t work with dogs. He can’t be trusted.”
Logan held Rick’s gaze. “What are you going to do about the insubordination?”
“I don’t want to write him up. It’s not how we work, and it was a high-stress situation...”
“All the more reason for him to comply with a direct order.”
“Yeah. I know,” Rick conceded. “I don’t want to write him up,” he repeated. “But I will if I have to.”
“I’ll leave that up to you,” Logan said cautiously.
Rick sensed there was a message there.
With Brody’s uncle being the head of the police union local, he understood that Logan had to deal with a potential transfer—essentially a demotion—delicately. “All right.” He rose to leave. “But I’m taking Nitro in for a checkup if he shows any signs of injury.”
“Nitro’s Brody’s dog. Careful how you handle it,” Logan said.
Rick’s happy mood of that morning was just a memory by the time he left Logan’s office. He wanted to talk to Madison, but he knew his temper would push through, no matter how cheerful a
nd relaxed he tried to sound. On top of that, if she had a problem with what had happened the night before and didn’t want to see him again, he didn’t want to hear about it right now. He was barely back at his desk when he and Sniff got called out to assist the Vice Squad with a narcotics search. From that point on, it was one call after another, and he wasn’t back at the division until ten that evening. By then, it was too late to call Madison, and he wasn’t up for what might be a difficult conversation. He’d call her first thing the next day, he resolved, and hope for the best.
* * *
IT MIGHT HAVE been Saturday and Madison’s day off from the clinic, but it wasn’t a day of rest for her. She’d risen at her usual time of six in the morning, dressed in scrubs and sneakers and driven to the San Diego Animal Rehabilitation Center. She smiled as she thought of her dinner with Rick the evening before last. He was fun, intelligent, respectful and very pleasing to the eye. And he loved dogs and did valuable work with teens. The end of their evening had been unconventional and admittedly disconcerting, but having a father who was a judge had conditioned her to the realities of law enforcement and the spillover onto families and friends.
She remembered when she was in her early teens and her father was a prosecutor handling a gang-related corruption case. They’d had police protection for a couple of months when threats had been made against him. That reminded Madison of her father’s most recent case, and she hoped all was well with him.
Madison was the first to arrive at the center. She might have been early, but she was eager to get going. She was excited about the progress she was making with the PRP therapy. Today, she was going to try the therapy on a mammal for the first time, a white rat named Mickey who’d sustained nerve damage when he’d caught his front leg in an exercise wheel.
She entered the laboratory where she worked and set classical music playing softly in the background. The animals seemed to respond well to it, and it didn’t distract her from her own concentration. She donned a lab coat, then went to her station. The PRP process involved drawing blood from the patient, enriching it with platelets to create a concentrated growth factor that would, theoretically, stimulate the healing of bone and soft tissue or, as in Mickey’s case, the nerves. If all went well with the rat, she intended to try the therapy on Zeke next.
She’d already drawn blood from Mickey and treated it with a two-stage centrifugation. Now she was ready to inject the PRP into him. For this part, she needed assistance to help her guide the injection to the proper location with the use of an ultrasound. She got everything ready and called the tech on duty.
After Mickey had been injected and was resting comfortably, Madison went to the aqua therapy area to work with a few animals scheduled for that afternoon. Her final appointment of the day was Zeke. He’d been discharged from the clinic that week, and the fallen officer’s widow was bringing him in for a checkup and to discuss therapy.
She was pleased with Zeke’s progress and impressed by the young woman’s strength. Madison wondered if she could’ve been that strong if it was her husband who’d died so tragically. With Rick and the dangers he faced in the line of duty on her mind, she headed back to the lab to check on Mickey before she called it a day.
Satisfied that all was well with the rat, she shrugged out of her lab coat and flexed her shoulders, trying to get the stiffness out after nearly thirteen hours of working hunched over the lab counter or the aqua therapy tank. She might’ve been stiff, but she was satisfied. Mickey hadn’t demonstrated any adverse reaction to the PRP therapy. They’d have to monitor him, and the treatment required a series of injections, but the early results were encouraging.
Madison rolled up her lab coat and stuffed it in a plastic hamper. She yawned hugely as she scrubbed up, and was thankful she didn’t have to be at the vet clinic until Monday. She could use a little extra sleep in the morning.
It was dark when she left the building, and she was thankful she had Heather to help out with Owen during these long days at the rehab center. At least she’d be home to take him for his last walk of the day.
After that, she’d curl up in bed with a good book and a cup of chamomile tea, she decided as she parked in her driveway. The only downside to her day was that she hadn’t heard from Rick. She’d expected to, and couldn’t hide her disappointment each time she checked her phone and found that she hadn’t missed any calls. She understood he had a lot going on at work and was keeping long hours. She resisted calling, not wanting to bother him.
As Madison mounted the steps to her front door, the high beams of a vehicle flashed on behind her and the sound of a car door slamming registered in her consciousness. She spun around but was blinded by the lights.
She took a stumbling step back and bumped into the door. She heard Owen barking furiously on the other side and dug in her handbag for her keys. Her eyes watered as she stared at the bright lights, afraid to look away. With her key ring finally in her hand, she tried to locate the front door key by feel.
She rubbed her eyes, trying to clear her vision, while Owen continued barking on the other side of her door. She could tell by the thumping sounds that he was jumping up against it, too.
She presumed his barking might have startled the person, since she didn’t see any movement or hear any other sound from that direction. The sudden blare of a radio playing some current top hit competed with Owen’s barking. Glancing the other way down the street, Madison blinked rapidly. She saw the blue Mustang convertible that her neighbor’s son drove turn the corner into her street at a too-fast speed. She took the opportunity to unlock her door and slip inside without letting Owen escape through the opening. Slamming the door shut behind her, she locked it.
Hearing the screeching of tires, she rushed over to her living room window. She peered outside just in time to see the taillights of a vehicle as it sped away. Next door, Jamie, her neighbor’s son, and his girlfriend were getting out of his car, laughing and embracing. Usually a little annoyed by his loud music and aggressive driving, Madison thanked the powers that be for the noise and his timing. Although she believed the threat was gone, if it had been a threat at all, Owen was still growling.
“Owen, settle,” she instructed, but the dog continued to grumble. She felt her legs give out and slid down to sit on the floor next to Owen, her back against the wall and her arm around him. She buried her head in the soft fur of his neck and wondered what would have happened if Owen hadn’t been there to distract the person in the car or if Jamie hadn’t arrived home at that precise moment.
She should call the police, but what would she tell them? Would they investigate without anything to go on? She lived on a quiet residential street, and it was unlikely that the person had just been hanging around hoping someone would come by. Every indication was that he’d been waiting for her.
Was this about Rick? Was it possible that it was the same person who’d tailed them the other evening? Not likely, since this had been a car, not an SUV. Still, she knew from her father that it could get dangerous when there was a lot at stake for those who lived by illegal means. She had no idea what sort of cases Rick was working on, but if they had to do with drugs and smuggling across the border, organized crime was probably involved.
Or was she overreacting? The car chase had been disconcerting and maybe she was jumpy because of it. Calling the cops would serve no purpose, she decided. They’d take a report, do some drive-bys, but that would be it. And she seriously doubted the car would be back tonight. But if it had been waiting for her, what about another time...?
She turned her outside lights on for the night for the second time in a week.
She’d talk to Rick about the incident. See what he had to say. Then she’d figure out what to do about it.
CHAPTER NINE
“HEY, PITBULL.” LOGAN SIGNALED to Rick when he entered the squad room.
Rick dumped hi
s briefcase and duffel at his desk, and headed to Logan’s office. “What’s up?” he asked, noting the somber look on his captain’s face.
“Close the door, will you?”
He did as he was asked and settled in one of the visitor chairs, but he felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle. He sensed he wasn’t going to like what Logan had to say.
“We caught one of the Los Zetas lieutenants last night, coming across the border with a shipment. We brought him in for questioning. We hoped we might get some intel on the cartel that could be useful.”
Rick edged forward in his seat. “And?”
“He was carrying a huge shipment and he knew we had him.”
Uncharacteristically, Logan broke eye contact and shifted his gaze to the left, over Rick’s shoulder. “He’s young. Early twenties. He’d never been caught before. Despite his fear of the cartel leaders, he feared us more. Not the usual circumstance. Never mind trying to get him to talk. We wouldn’t have been able to stop him if we’d wanted to.”
He looked at Rick again. “The kid begged us to let him stay in California, even if it meant serving time.”
Rick compressed his lips and shook his head. His disgust for what the kid was doing warred with sympathy. Twentysomething was old enough to know better, but it was also likely that he didn’t have much choice. Rick knew firsthand the lengths cartel enforcers would go to for “recruiting” purposes. What if he himself hadn’t escaped Mexico when he had? Would that kid have been him? Never mind the cartel enforcers. At what point would his birth parents have expected him to do it?
“Did he say anything useful?” Rick asked in a strained voice. “Do they have any idea what we’re planning?”
“I’ll answer those questions in a minute.”
Rick suspected this was the part he wasn’t going to like. What could be more important than intel for their plan?