Pack Justice (Nature of the Beast Book 1) (27 page)

I had the back of Marcello’s SUV to myself, and I spent the entire ride with my head out the window at my wolf’s insistence. At the station, Dan had control of my leash, although I was confident I could pull free if I wanted. As planned, we arrived last almost half an hour after Ramirez. Any other day, the brothers would’ve been reprimanded for being late, but with cheerful grins, they blamed their tardiness on me.

There were far more cops hanging out at the station than I remembered from my previous visits, and the cinnamon scent of Fenerec overwhelmed my nose. At least I had an easy job in the station. I was to stick beside whoever held my leash, stay quiet, watch, and listen.

It didn’t take long for Dan to hand my leash over to Alice, who I identified as another Fenerec from her scent. She crouched in front of me and rubbed between my ears. “And what’s your name, you handsome boy?”

“We’re sticking with Spots out of a love of irony,” Dan informed his coworker.

“Sir Spots the solid black mastiff mutt. I like it. It’s charming. How is he?”

“Watch his leg; I caught him favoring it earlier this morning.”

“Got it, Dan. You, Sir Spots, are coming with me. We’ll get your equipment and then run you through some basic training.”

I had been under the impression Dan and Marcello were supposed to be responsible for the crash course in being a police dog, but the brothers grinned at me and waved a farewell before heading to their desks.

Alice taking control of my leash signaled something to the rest of the room. I had enough time to turn my ears back before the loitering cops swarmed me.

As a human, I enjoyed a set schedule, waking up at the same time every day, heading to work, and dealing with whatever was thrown my way. Captain Ramirez seemed determined to pitch the unexpected at me whenever possible. The training course involved Alice and her merry band of conspirators doing their best to make me jump out of my skin.

Firecrackers were an effective tool in their arsenal, and they delighted in catching me off guard. I wasn’t sure what they were doing, but they seemed to enjoy sending me yipping across the fenced yard they used to work their canines.

The real police dogs were with their handlers and probably enjoying a day off thanks to the Fenerec torturing me with loud noises.

It took several hours before I was so numbed to the bursts of noise I simply stared at Alice in reproach. She grinned at me, headed to the fence, and grabbed a thick pair of gloves and a padded jacket.

I liked phase two a lot more than phase one of their so-called training regime. My job involved biting Alice’s protective armor and dragging her to the ground, pinning her without hurting her.

I found it a challenge, and there was something satisfying about driving the breath out of the cop’s lungs and sitting on her. I disliked the exercises when she was armed. While the weapon wasn’t loaded, the other cops used firecrackers to simulate gunfire, which stoked my wolf’s aggressive instincts. He wanted to go for the throat and eliminate the risk, but I kept him under control—as did my cheetah.

While my feline side wasn’t amused by the training session, he tolerated the loud noises and exercises far better than my wolf.
 

When I was panting and trembling with exhaustion, Alice shifted gears on me again, introducing me to the assortment of drugs their experienced dogs sniffed out. I perked my ears forward, listening to the woman identify each and every drug.

It amazed me how potent the substances were; most burned my nose, and I often backed away, sneezing. One of them was so repulsive I refused to get anywhere near the bag, pulling against the leash when Alice insisted I smell the drug.

I had no idea what was in the bag, but neither of my spirit beasts wanted anything to do with it. Alice frowned, looking at the bag in her hand before staring at me.

“It’s tar heroine, Sir Spots. It isn’t going to bite you.”

It smelled worse than vinegar. I shook my head, sneezing several more times. I put my ears back but sat still when she returned the offensive bag to its box. The next substance she had me sniff also sent me diving for the end of my leash, warbling complaints about subjecting my nose to such harsh fumes.

I learned a lot more about drugs than I wanted, and the more I disliked the drug’s stench, the better I was at remembering it and finding it hidden in odd locations.

“All right, Sir Spots. It’s time to see if you’ve learned anything. Dan and Marcello have seeded samples of drugs throughout the station. Your job is to find them. You’ll be timed.”

I turned my ears back at the thought of doing anything in a hurry. The exercise made my hind leg ache, but instead of whining about it, I sighed and followed Alice back to the station.

By the time the cops finished with me, I had the feeling I’d be grateful to return to my real work—even if it ended up being paper shuffling for several weeks to catch up on everything I had missed.

After a full day of Alice running me through the station on a demented drug hunt, I limped so much I threw in the towel, picked a corner, and dragged the woman to it, staring at the wall and refusing to budge a single inch.

“Come on, Sir Spots. You still have to find your favorite pair of drugs. You can’t give up now.”

I turned my ears back, showed off my teeth, and shuffled closer to the wall.

The cops laughed, and I contemplated whether or not I could make a break for freedom. Could I fit beneath Marcello’s SUV?

If I could figure out how to open the doors to the parking lot, I’d find out.

“What is going on here?” Captain Ramirez demanded.

“Sir Spots seems to have an opinion on his assigned task, ma’am,” Alice reported.

“I see. What’s the issue?”

“Tar heroine and meth, apparently. He wanted nothing to do with either one of them out in the yard, and he’s balking at locating the two samples in the station.”

“Oh?”

“He’s pretty good at locating substances, actually. He has an extreme dislike for those two. He gets within ten feet of them and turns tail.”

“Anything else?”

“He’s limping like a cripple. There’s no way he can go on a patrol this way.”

“How many tests have you run on his sniffing ability?” Tugging at my collar to get my attention, Captain Ramirez crouched beside me. I turned towards her, lowered my head, and whined.

“Two. Perfect scores except for his reluctance to go anywhere near tar heroine and meth. I’d bet my badge he knows where they are, but good luck getting him to show us.”

“I think you’ve tortured the poor mutt enough. Take the samples back to the drug safe.” Captain Ramirez took my leash and gave my collar a tug. “Come along, Sir Spots. You can sit in my office and look threatening while I deal with some unpleasantries.”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what Ramirez considered an unpleasantry, but it had to be better than running around the police station sticking my nose in places my nose didn’t belong, including the pockets of amused cops.

Maybe I wasn’t a real police dog, but the next day, Marcello and Dan sent me out on a string of drug busts and raids, determined to test my nose’s sensitivity. The third tip took us into an abandoned warehouse. The place reeked of narcotics, challenging my wolf and me to hunt down the sources of the vile odors.

The other dogs had trouble, too, which appeased my pride a little. Alice unclipped my leash and gave me the command to search for the drugs. I cursed her, the Albano brothers, Captain Ramirez, and every other Fenerec on the planet in my head, and growling my discontent, I obeyed.

I lifted my nose, inhaled, and held my breath to buy time to sort through the smells. The pervasive stench of ammonia made my eyes water, and my spirit beasts struggled to distinguish more subtle scents.

One smell, however, caught my wolf’s attention. Like the ammonia, it was strong and singed my nose, but it was a smell I recognized after some thought.

As a human, I found the odor of gun oil pleasant. I didn’t own a gun nor did I care to, but I’d gone to the firing range enough times to be familiar with the care of firearms. The process of oiling a gun had always intrigued me.

In a warehouse of empty racks and abandoned shipping crates, the police were supposed to be the only ones carrying the scent of gun oil.

The source was somewhere ahead. Flattening my ears and showing my teeth, I prowled forward, following my nose in the direction of the stench.

A smart man would have turned around and headed for the safety of numbers, but my wolf and cheetah urged me onward. My cheetah knew about firearms, and he didn’t appreciate the idea of leaving a threat at our back.

My wolf wanted to hunt, and he didn’t care if his prey had two feet or four.

I found two men on the far side of the warehouse. Both of them were armed, their guns out and ready. I didn’t care what sort of pistols they carried; guns were tools to kill people, and I understood there would be shots fired.

Their first mistake was standing so close to each other.

I slammed my full weight into the larger of the two men, my teeth closing over his wrist. I bit down hard enough he screamed. The gun hit the floor and bounced over the concrete, out of reach beneath one of the racks. Satisfied he wouldn’t be bothering anyone, I lunged for his accomplice.

The man pulled the trigger as I hit him. The sound, which made my ears ring, accompanied the thump of impact. Fire burned through my shoulder. Although I staggered, my momentum kept me on target. We collided, and I locked my jaws on his arm.

Breathing hurt, but determined to keep him from firing another shot, I shook my head until the gun hit the floor.

My wolf and my cheetah wanted me to paint the warehouse with the man’s blood. With a shake of my head and a little more pressure from my teeth, I could snap his arm. Instead, I held on, jerking my entire body back to knock my prey off balance.

He fell forward, and I released him, hopping back. I snarled and snapped at them both. When they recoiled, I held my ground. One of them opened his mouth, but I couldn’t tell what he was saying—or screaming—through the cacophony in my skull.

I hadn’t realized or appreciated how noisy gunfire was at close range until a gun was discharged in front of me. In hindsight, charging two men armed with guns was among one of the most profoundly idiotic things I had ever done in my life.

At least my shoulder hurt less than when Idette had broken my leg. Standing on all four paws wasn’t pleasant, but I could do it, which I considered a triumph. I barked and growled warnings at my two captives.

When the police made their appearance, I tried to slink away, but Alice caught hold of my collar. She snarled something at me, which I answered with a whine.

She took one good look at my matted, bloody shoulder before she planted her foot against my side and knocked me over. She pinned me down with a knee against my side and dug through my thick fur. I had no idea what she was doing, but it hurt like hell. When she was done, she held a blood-smeared bullet in the palm of her hand.

With a low groan, I covered my eyes with my paws and pretended I didn’t exist. When Captain Ramirez found out, she’d kill me. I didn’t know what Andrea would do, but I didn’t want to know.