Chapter 1 - The Alley Where Leo Refused to Move
The first bullet missed my head by less than an inch.
I knew how close it had come because I felt brick dust explode across the side of my face before I heard the shot. One second I was walking behind an abandoned warehouse on Mercer Avenue, rain dripping from the edge of my patrol cap, and the next I was diving behind a concrete loading platform with my K-9 partner pressed against my leg.
The second bullet struck the corner of the platform.
Concrete sprayed across my sleeve.
Leo growled.
It wasn't the aggressive bark most people imagined when they thought of a police dog. It was lower than that, almost quiet, the sound he made when he had already identified a threat and was waiting for me to catch up.
“Officer under fire!” I shouted into my radio. “East service alley behind Mercer Avenue. Multiple suspects.”
Static cracked back.
Then dispatch.
“Unit Twelve, backup is responding.”
Backup.
The most comforting and useless word in the world when somebody already has a gun pointed at you.
I crouched lower.
The loading platform barely came up high enough to protect my chest. To my right stood a line of dumpsters and rusted industrial containers. Beyond those was the only open route toward the street.
To my left, the warehouse wall rose two stories.
A broken window overlooked the alley.
That was where the first shooter was.
The second man was behind the dumpsters.
I couldn't see him, but Leo could.
His ears were aimed forward, body rigid, eyes fixed on a shadow beyond a green dumpster roughly thirty feet away.
Rain rolled from his black-and-tan coat.
I placed my hand against his neck.
“Stay.”
He didn't look at me.
That scared me more than the gunfire.
After six years together, I knew Leo better than I knew some human beings. I knew the difference between his curious stare and his hunting stare. I knew the small movement his left ear made when he heard something I hadn't. I knew when his breathing changed because he was tired and when it changed because danger was close.
And most importantly, I knew when Leo didn't want to go somewhere.
He hadn't wanted to enter that alley.
Twenty minutes earlier, the night had felt routine.
My shift had started at six. Claire had packed leftover chicken and rice for me, even though she knew I would probably end up eating it cold in the patrol car sometime after midnight.
Our daughter, Emily, had chased me toward the front door carrying one of Leo's tennis balls.
“Daddy!”
I turned.
She was nine years old and had perfected the dramatic expression of someone who believed every night shift was a personal betrayal.
“You forgot his lucky ball.”
Leo sat beside her, staring at the ball with more concern than he had ever shown about my equipment.
I smiled.
“He has six tennis balls in the K-9 unit.”
“Not this one.”
Emily held it out solemnly.
It was faded yellow, half-chewed, and ugly enough that no responsible person would have admitted owning it.
I took it.
“Fine.”
She pointed at me.
“And bring him home.”
I glanced down at Leo.
“That the deal?”
His tail hit the floor once.
Claire appeared in the hallway behind Emily.
She wore my old department sweatshirt and had her hair tied loosely behind her head. We'd been married twelve years, long enough for her to read expressions I didn't know I was making.
“Both of you,” she said.
“What?”
“Bring both of you home.”
I kissed her.
“Always.”
Before every shift, I opened the rear door of the patrol SUV and said the same thing.
“Ready, partner?”
Leo jumped inside.
At the end of every shift, I opened it again.
“We made it home.”
It was stupid, maybe.
Police officers have strange rituals.
Some touch a photograph before leaving the station. Some carry the same coin. Some refuse to say a shift seems quiet because everybody knows that's practically begging the universe for trouble.
Mine was a promise to a dog.
We made it home.
Every night.
Together.
At 10:43 p.m., dispatch sent us to Mercer Avenue.
An anonymous caller had reported movement inside an abandoned warehouse. The caller believed teenagers or homeless people might have entered to escape the rain.
Nothing unusual.
The property had been vacant for almost three years.
Police had responded there before for trespassing, stolen copper wiring, drug use and, once, a group of sixteen-year-olds filming a horror video for social media.
When I pulled into the service road, nothing seemed wrong.
That was the first thing that should have bothered me.
No broken windows being disturbed.
No flashlights.
No voices.
No abandoned bicycle.
No sleeping bags.
No evidence that anyone had rushed inside to escape the storm.
Just rain.
I stepped from the SUV.
Leo jumped down beside me.
We approached the alley.
Then he stopped.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
His front paws planted on the pavement.
“Leo.”
Nothing.
I gave a gentle forward motion on the lead.
His ears rose.
He stared into the alley.
“Come on, buddy.”
He took one step and froze again.
I should have listened.
That thought would torture me later.
A K-9 doesn't understand warrants, dispatch calls or officer pride. He understands what his senses tell him.
Leo knew.
I didn't.
I saw a dark alley.
He smelled men who had been waiting there.
I told myself he'd caught a raccoon or feral cat.
I moved forward.
Three steps.
That was all.
Then the first bullet struck the brick beside my face.
Now, trapped behind the loading platform, I heard shoes scraping wet pavement behind the dumpsters.
Someone was moving toward us.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He knew exactly where I was.
That told me something else.
This wasn't a frightened trespasser firing wildly.
It wasn't a drug addict panicking.
It wasn't teenagers.
Someone had planned this.
The shooter above me fired again.
The round struck concrete and ricocheted into darkness.
Leo flinched but stayed beside me.
“Stay.”
His body trembled with restraint.
I checked my weapon.
The man behind the dumpsters moved closer.
My radio erupted.
“Unit Twelve, officers are ninety seconds out.”
Ninety seconds.
Try counting to ninety while two people are shooting at you.
You'll learn that time can stretch until every second becomes its own lifetime.
I thought of Claire.
Emily.
The old yellow tennis ball sitting on the passenger seat.
I thought about the ridiculous argument Claire and I had that morning because I'd forgotten to replace the kitchen faucet.
I remembered telling Emily that we'd make pancakes Saturday.
All those ordinary things suddenly became enormous.
You don't think about life's biggest moments when you believe you're about to die.
You think about unfinished little ones.
The footsteps stopped.
Leo's growl deepened.
I looked toward the dumpster.
A man stepped into the open.
Black rain jacket.
Dark pants.
A ski mask covering his face.
Approximately ten yards.
His gun came up.
There wasn't enough cover for me to shift left.
If I stood, the shooter above had a clear line.
If I stayed where I was, this man had me.
His weapon leveled at the center of my chest.
And in that instant, I knew.
There would be no time.
I heard a metallic click.
Leo moved.
I hadn't commanded him.
There was no hand signal.
No word.
My partner made the decision himself.
Eighty-five pounds of German Shepherd slammed into me.
Leo struck my chest hard enough to throw me sideways.
The gun fired.
Once.
Twice.
I hit the pavement.
Leo was already airborne.
His body collided with the masked man's arm, knocking the weapon aside.
I raised mine and fired toward the attacker.
The man stumbled behind the dumpster.
Then another muzzle flash exploded from the warehouse window.
Leo jerked.
He landed wrong.
For six years, I'd watched that dog jump fences, scale barriers, climb ladders and leap through windows.
I knew what Leo looked like landing.
This wasn't it.
His rear legs collapsed first.
Then his chest struck the pavement.
“Leo!”
He tried to rise.
Couldn't.
Something in me broke.
The alley disappeared.
The shooter disappeared.
Training disappeared.
All I saw was my dog lying in the rain.
“Leo!”
I crawled toward him.
My radio screamed with voices.
“Jenkins, stay behind cover!”
“Units entering north side!”
“Shooter second floor!”
I didn't care.
Leo lifted his head when he heard me.
His eyes met mine.
Trusting.
Confused.
I reached him.
My hands moved across his body.
Then I felt warmth.
Blood.
Too much.
“No.”
I pressed my palm against his side.
“No, no, no.”
His service harness was soaked.
At first I found one wound near his ribs.
Then I moved my hand beneath his shoulder.
My fingers came away red again.
A second wound.
Two bullets.
The man had fired twice at my chest.
Leo had taken both.
Sirens filled Mercer Avenue.
Doors slammed.
Officers rushed into the alley.
Someone fired toward the warehouse.
Another officer grabbed my vest.
“Jenkins, move!”
“I’m not leaving him.”
“You’re exposed!”
“I said I'm not leaving him!”
I pulled Leo against me and bent over him.
His breathing came shallow and fast.
For six years, he had placed himself between danger and me because I asked him to.
Tonight, I hadn't asked.
He'd chosen.
“Stay with me,” I whispered into his wet fur. “Come on, buddy. You saved me. Stay.”
Leo's ear moved.
That tiny movement gave me hope.
Officer Ramirez dropped beside us.
“Warehouse team is going in.”
“I need a vet.”
“We've got transport coming.”
“Not coming. Now.”
A department medic rushed into the alley carrying a bag.
She knelt beside Leo and cut part of the harness loose.
I watched her face.
Police officers learn to read medics.
They train themselves not to react around victims, but there's always something in the eyes.
Her expression changed.
“What?” I demanded.
“We need to move.”
“Tell me.”
“Jenkins—”
“Tell me if he's dying.”
She pressed gauze against his side.
“We need to get him to emergency surgery.”
“Is he going to make it?”
She didn't answer.
That silence was worse than any answer.
Behind us, officers shouted from inside the warehouse.
Then came another voice through the radio.
“Command, be advised, second floor clear.”
A pause.
Then:
“We found evidence this location was staged.”
I barely heard it.
My entire world had narrowed to Leo's breathing.
But Ramirez heard.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
The radio crackled again.
“Tripod in the window. Shell casings. Food. Radio scanner. Somebody has been waiting here.”
Waiting.
For whom?
The medic moved Leo onto a collapsible stretcher.
As she lifted part of his harness, something metallic slid across the pavement.
His identification tags.
I grabbed them.
One of them was dented.
Freshly.
A bullet had struck near it.
I wrapped my fingers around the cold metal.
Then another officer ran from the warehouse.
“Jenkins!”
I looked up.
He was holding a disposable cell phone inside an evidence bag.
“We found this upstairs.”
“Later.”
“No. You need to see this.”
He turned the screen toward me.
One message remained visible.
Only six words.
THE K-9 UNIT IS ON THE WAY.
I stared at it.
The rain suddenly felt colder.
This hadn't been a burglary call.
It hadn't been an ambush for whichever officer happened to arrive.
Someone had known I would come.
May you like
Someone had known Leo would be with me.
And while the medic rushed my bleeding partner toward the emergency vehicle, I realized the bullets that nearly killed us might only have been the beginning.
