Sam crossed a field and then a ravine, stopping only for the scent of human and the sound of the Alpha cruiser. The ravine was not wet. It was smooth like glass and crusty in places. In one place it gave way, plunging her up to her underbody in a current of liquid chill.
Sam scrambled out and made it to the other side. There she paused and shook herself, trying to make the cold leave her. She licked at her paws, trying to dry them and make the sting of cold go away. But they didn’t feel right. And her tongue dragged across hard pads.
Find Help.
She shook herself again and lifted her nose. This time human scent. But not in the same direction as the siren. Siren was closer. Human unknown.
Sam did not make a decision so much as follow the instinct bred in her dozens of generations ago.
Find Help. Help is what you identify with.
Alpha was siren.
Go to siren.
Sam took off toward a line of telephone poles. The decision made in a fraction of a moment.
A minute later she found a road. Veering left toward the direction where she’d last heard a siren, she picked up speed.
*
“You sure they’ll try to get away in this storm?”
The detective nodded at the trooper as they stood at the roadblock intersecting two rural roads. “They’ll definitely try it. Less traffic on the roadways. Easier to slip through. Our tip said they’ll use the state roads in this weather.”
“Yeah. Remind me how good a capture is going to look on my record, Detective.”
“Makes it worth the blue balls, Trooper.”
“I’m already afraid to sit down.” Another of the task force operatives cradled his weapon to his chest. “My ass is frozen solid. Might crack right off if I apply pressure.”
The detective shared the laugh, though he envied the SWAT team member his tactical high-visibility parka. As a detective, he wore his own clothing, but he’d been caught flat-footed by the sudden winter storm and had to borrow a goose-down vest and knit cap. The suit sleeves weren’t holding up their end against the sleet.
“No one’s been through here in the past twenty minutes. I think I’ll duck into my car to check in with the other details to see if they’ve made a capture.”
The state law enforcement officers nodded but exchanged glances that said they knew the fed needed a moment out of the cold. They were made of hardier stuff, drinking scalding coffee from thermoses held in waterproof gloves.
No one noticed the dark red speck coming up the road until they heard a bark.
“Damn. Is that a dog?”
All members of the roadblock turned to look. One trooper pulled high-resolution binoculars from his pocket. “It surely is. And booking it toward us.”
“Probably hoping for a cozy lap to curl up in.”
“Or a piece of your sandwich.”
“I don’t think so.” The trooper adjusted his binoculars. “She’s wearing a service dog vest.”
At about fifteen yards out, the dog suddenly stopped and began barking like crazy.
“Something’s got her riled.”
“Who’s in charge of something like this?”
The SWAT guy kicked his head toward the detective’s auto.
A trooper knocked on the glass and explained the situation.
The fed stepped out of his car. He stared for a second at the rusty-red dog in a service vest. Fine icicles hung from the fur around her eyes, ears, mouth and beard, and the curly fur on her legs. She was still barking but now running a few feet away and then looking back over her shoulder, as if to signal the need to follow.
“I know that dog.” One of the troopers who’d been checking in joined the group. “She belongs to Trooper Lauray Battise.”
“That’s right.” The detective nodded. “I’ve seen her with him, too. Sam, right?”
The younger trooper started jogged toward her, calling, “Here, Sam. Here, girl.”
Sam began barking frantically, backing away as she did so. She stopped and executed a couple of bouncy turns, her barking thinning out from the cold. Then, when the trooper got close, she turned and shot away back down the road she’d come up.
The other men turned to the detective for advice.
He nodded. “One of you better follow her in a car. Service dogs are trained to get help when there’s trouble.”
*
“Jori, back out.”
Becker held the gun closer to his chest to steady it. “If she moves I’ll shoot her.”
“If you shoot her, Pecker, I won’t just kill you. I’ll let you bleed out. Slow.” Nothing in Law’s expression said he could be moved from this position. “This is between you and me. Jori just made it possible for me to save your life.” He tapped the K-9 first-aid kit. “You’re bleeding pretty good. There’s a tourniquet in here. She goes free. Then we deal.”
Becker was sweating even though his every breath was frigid. Finally his gaze shifted to Jori. “Get out.”
“But—”
“Jori. Get out. Now. Take cover and wait until I call you. Now.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.
Jori sent one wild pleading look Becker’s way and began sliding backward out of the truck’s cabin.
Law reached for the tool kit.
Becker jerked away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“About to cut you down, you bastard. Unless you’d just rather die.”