Chapter 3 - Betrayal in the Rain
The revelation settled into Marcus’s chest like a block of ice.
Lieutenant Cole. The man who had mentored Marcus for ten years, the veteran cop who had recommended him for the canine unit, was the mole inside the department. He was the one who had leaked Clara’s location to Vance’s hitmen from the very beginning.
"Cole sold us out," Marcus said softly, his eyes measuring the distance between his position, the three armed hitmen, and the thick oak trunk five feet to his left.
"Cole is a practical man," Miller chuckled, setting the blue tackle box down on a nearby tree stump. "Victor Vance pays better than the city pension fund. Cole knew you'd bring the girl right to us once she spilled the location of the drive. Saved us weeks of hunting."
Miller raised his heavy revolver, leveling it directly at Marcus’s chest. "It’s a shame, Cain. You were a good cop. But you should have let the train do its job."
Rex didn't wait for the order.
The German Shepherd launched himself through the air with terrifying force, his teeth bare, targeting the gunman on the right before the man could adjust his iron sights. The ninety-pound dog hit the hitman in the chest, the sheer momentum throwing the man backward into the deep mud as his weapon discharged harmlessly into the tree canopy above.
"Kill the dog!" Miller screamed, stepping back.
"Cover!" Marcus shouted, diving behind the thick trunk of the apple tree just as a torrent of automatic gunfire tore through the wet wood, spraying bark and pine needles across his face.
Marcus leaned out from behind the trunk and fired three quick rounds, striking the second gunman in the shoulder and dropping him into the wet brush.
Rex was a blur of lethal motion in the mud, tearing at the first gunman’s tactical vest, keeping him pinned to the earth while preventing the remaining shooters from getting a clean angle on Marcus. The dog used the rain, the low mist, and the dense tree trunks with tactical brilliance, shifting positions instantly after every strike.
"Get to the car!" Marcus yelled toward the house, knowing Miller’s men would move for Clara next.
Miller turned toward the Crown Victoria parked out front, pulling a heavy tactical knife from his belt. "I'll handle the girl myself!" he roared, sprinting around the corner of the wooden porch.
"Rex, take him down!" Marcus yelled, springing out from behind the oak tree.
Rex disengaged from the fallen gunman, his powerful legs driving him through the thick mud like a brown and black lightning bolt. He cleared the five-foot wooden porch railing in a single magnificent leap, catching Miller from behind just as the enforcer reached the driver's side of the Crown Victoria.
Rex’s jaws locked onto Miller’s heavy leather sleeve, the force of the bite bringing the 230-pound mobster down onto the gravel driveway with a heavy, bone-jarring thud.
Miller roared in pain and rage, swinging his heavy left fist into Rex’s ribs. The blow hit with crushing force, but the German Shepherd refused to let go, his eyes locked onto the killer’s throat, his growl a terrifying sound of absolute protective fury.
Inside the Crown Victoria, Clara screamed, pressing herself against the floorboards as Miller raised his knife with his free hand, aimed directly at Rex’s flank.
"NO!" Marcus arrived like a hurricane, his boot slamming into Miller’s wrist before the blade could strike the dog. The knife spun away into the wet grass.
Marcus dropped onto the enforcer, driving his elbow into Miller’s jaw, dazing the giant long enough to slide the heavy steel handcuffs over Miller’s thick wrists, ratcheting them tight until they clicked into the final groove.
Silence fell over the orchard once more, broken only by the heavy pounding of the rain and the raspy breathing of the three men lying incapacitated in the mud.
Marcus stood up, gasping for breath, his hands trembling as he looked down at Rex.
The dog was standing over Miller, his sides heaving, a small trickle of blood dripping from a surface cut on his muzzle where a sharp branch had caught him during the melee. Yet, his dark eyes were bright, focused, and totally unwavering.
"Good boy," Marcus choked out, dropping to one knee to wrap his arms around the shepherd’s thick neck. "Good boy, Rex."
Rex leaned into Marcus’s chest, giving a short, soft bark that seemed to say the fight was far from over.
Marcus walked over to the tree stump and picked up the blue tackle box. He checked the seal—it was intact, the heavy internal drive safe inside its waterproof housing.
He turned back to the Crown Victoria and tapped on the rear window. Clara peeked over the door frame, her face pale, tears streaming down her cheeks as she unlocked the door.
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"Is... is it over?" she asked, her voice shaking.
"Not yet," Marcus said, his voice cold and hard as iron as he looked down at the unconscious Frank Miller lying in the gravel. "Cole thinks we're dead in an orchard. It's time we go back to the city and show Victor Vance what happens when he comes for my dog."
