Chapter Ten

Bob drove silently, taking sideroads to stay off the highway and out of the post-workday snarl. It was a perk to have navigation from Iniquus. The computer system could develop the most strategic path from Point A to Point B in real time. It lowered stress and increased the operators' time efficiency.

Nutsbe draped an arm over the back of the seat, rubbing Beowolf's head.

The whole way back to the campus, Nutsbe held on to the picture of Olivia smiling at him. She'd not only told him where she lived, but she was candid about her personal situation and the upcoming divorce. Did she say all that to let him know she was almost free? That she might be interested in him? Kind of sounded that way to Nutsbe.

"Home again, home again," Bob said, pulling into a spot by Cerberus Headquarters" front door. "How about you get Beowolf and hand the lead to me so Beowolf has a clear understanding of who's in charge now." Bob reached up to press the automatic button to raise the hatch.

As the lift gate pinged a warning to stand clear, Beowolf crouched in the back, waiting for Nutsbe to round the vehicle and give him an unload command.

After giving Beowolf a final scrub and a promise to pick him up early the next day so they could have a walk together before court duty, Nutsbe said good night to Bob.

Once in the Panther Force War Room , Nutsbe sent an encrypted heads-up message to Sy Covington, letting him know that his legal name—the one that Russia knew—was in the federal court documents. Granted, it wasn't the first time his name had been listed in various courtrooms across the United States. Nutsbe was often called as a witness. But this was the freshest iteration.

Yeah, this one felt bad to him.

Usually with his job, Nutsbe was danger-adjacent. The field operators were the ones fast roping into the fray.

The FBI, Russia, Albania—Nutsbe didn't love that his name was part of the chatter that U.S. intelligence was picking up.

Nothing to be done, Nutsbe concluded as he headed home for the day.

The operators liked to talk about the three-foot square around them. Deal with what's in front of you.

What was in front of him was a day in court with a scared young woman who had obviously walked into hell and somehow survived. He didn't know the how or the why, but he'd hear her story tomorrow. And he needed to get his mind right. He needed to show up as strength and protection, no matter his personal shortcomings.

It was about his ego; Nutsbe fully recognized that.

When anguish came up, Nutsbe wanted to fix it. He wanted to relieve the burden, to cool the burn, to assuage the pain.

If there was no physical action he could take to make it better, his whole system went haywire.

It sucked.

This deficit on his part had interfered in all his relationships with women. They needed an ear to listen to them when he'd rather have a hammer in his hand fixing the damned thing.

Nutsbe was aware of his hypocrisy. He had down days, bad days—physically and psychologically. When he'd left the military, going to therapy had helped—talking it out, and yeah, emoting—whether it be to rage or cry. He did that, especially in the beginning with survivor's guilt and acute traumatic stress. Nutsbe wanted to tell his story. But he certainly didn't want anyone to tell him what to think or feel or, worse, to try to fix him and say that he was emotionally better.

Better was a journey, and it was his alone to travel.

After a while, his feelings evened out. He got used to his new life, and things improved.

They were good.

His life was really good.

For him, therapy was ongoing, as it was for everyone in field positions at Iniquus. You'd think he would have gotten better at being around women crying after all these years. But so far, he had not.

Nutsbe could use some tips, maybe some mentorship from Beowolf. Beowolf had moved calmly through that whole scene. Having Beowolf in the room had been interesting. He was like an emotional sponge, seeming to sop it all up. But when the front door shut, he trotted away from the group to the middle of the lawn, looked around, and shook his coat like he'd just come out of the lake. He shook it long and hard. And Nutsbe thought that was how Beowolf was able to do what he did. He took it on, then shook it off.

Skills. Man, Nutsbe would love to learn that trick.

With that thought, he concluded that with Beowolf in the courtroom doing his Beowolf support duties, Candace would get what she needed, and Nutsbe would be off the hook, searching for a way to pressure wash that woman's pain away.

To get off the gerbil wheel and clear his head, the whole way home, Nutsbe sang along to the music blasting from his radio. Pulling into his drive, he thought it would be cool to see Olivia in action tomorrow—watch her shift from a friendly neighbor into a cut-throat prosecutor.

With his motor idling, Nutsbe looked past his fence to see Olivia's roofline. She'd been living right there all this time. He'd run by her house day after day, waving at her pooch—Henrietta, the cockapoodle-do. He grinned. It was all so bizarrely normal that she had lived a sedate suburban life, then went to work, facing down vicious criminals. "Poor Henrietta has fence envy," he said, putting his car in reverse.

Sunset turned the clouds tangerine and purple. There was still daylight left to burn, enough time for a quick fix, he thought. Nutsbe motored back up the street and hung a left. Within ten minutes, he was at the hardware shop. Thirty minutes later, he tied an exterior door frame to the roof of his vehicle.

A quick run of the circular saw. The wizz of his drill. The cool metallic taste of screws held between his lips. And the piece de resistance, a coded door lock so Olivia could access the yard any time she wanted, and the job was complete.

Nutsbe stood back and admired his work. The wood would take a little time to weather and blend in. But all in all, it looked professional. Nutsbe whistled as he cleaned his tools and returned them to the garage.

Coming back around for a second load, he thought that a dog lying on the porch, keeping him company, would make this scene complete. He missed Beowolf.

Bending to pile the discarded lumber onto a tarp, Nutsbe wished the project had taken longer and required more physical exertion. He needed something more to burn away the excess energy in his system. A lot was going on in his world. The prep work for his team's next mission covered Nutsbe's desk. That needed his full attention; his planning often made the difference in keeping his team safe. Then there was Candace and the trial. And big in his mind was Olivia and her smile. And, of course, just as Kennedy predicted, that low-level hum playing through his mind had a distinctly Russian thrum.

Dragging the tarp to the compost, Nutsbe decided to go in and read—let some author's vivid imagination pull him away from the shit mountain he was trudging up.

Not all shit. There was Olivia. Shit with a flower on top.

Taking off his boots at the door, in sock feet, he walked up the stairs to his bedroom, grabbed his novel, and laid back on a stack of pillows piled behind his head.

A dog would complete this scene.

His parents had always had little dogs, which weren"t his style, but a bullmastiff? Now, that was a dog Nutsbe could vibe with.

A dog would make noises—gurgling tummy, panting tongue, yipping dream. The house wouldn't sound this silent.

Nutsbe lifted his phone and tapped his app, bringing up brown noise to help him concentrate on his paperback. But what filled his ear was the sound of a motorcycle pulling to a stop behind his house. Nutsbe didn't remember seeing a motorcycle parked in the neighborhood. And this one sounded like it was at Olivia's.

Phone in hand, Nutsbe padded to his bedroom window and, standing to the side of the curtain, lifted it just enough to get eyes on the noise. With a final motor rev and a kick that lowered the stand, a man climbed off the black bike. Clad in jeans and a thick leather jacket, he dragged his helmet off his head, tucked it under his arm, looking around with a practiced eye.

This wasn't a casual turn of the head. This was someone scanning the environment for anyone who might be paying attention. He hadn't looked at the house yet. And Nutsbe remembered the sidewalk conversation where Bob thought Olivia looked tired. She had mentioned motorcycles. And yes, motorcycles were new. That one, pulling into her drive, was new.

Nutsbe tapped the phone to bring up the Iniquus switchboard.

"Iniquus communications. Identification."

"Nutsbe, Panther Force." It was against Iniquus" policy for employees to contact first responders. It had a bit to do with legal ramifications and reputation. It was mostly about clear communication and a web of professionals that could deploy to handle the event smoothly and efficiently. Iniquus had capabilities that local governments could only dream of having.

"I'm at my personal residence," he said as he watched the motorcycle guy put his helmet on the back of his bike, walk knowingly to the backyard, and begin to search under the rocks, pots, and mat, assumably for a key.

"What is the nature of this call?"

"Possible breaking and entering at the neighbor's house directly behind mine."

"I have your GPS location on the board. I have the house behind yours as 8398 Millrace."

"I believe that's correct. Gray house, raspberry-colored door. I'm witnessing a man looking under pots and rocks and feeling along window ledges." He put the call on speaker and opened the video to record. With the camera facing Olivia's house, Nutsbe continued to narrate. "He's lifted a rock. He just broke the kitchen door window. He's reaching in." Iniquus Communications recorded all calls. This data could become evidence in court. "The door is now open. The owner's car is not in the driveway, over." He switched from an informational call to an operational one.

"Nutsbe, be advised that Alexandria P.D. is en route to that location, over."

"Received. Over." Nutsbe let the curtain fall back in place. He sat on the edge of his bed, bending to pull out the tennis shoes he kept there for quick access. He tugged them on and laced the second shoe when he heard high-pitched barking.

Nutsbe wasn't subtle when he dragged the curtain back. There was the man with Henrietta in his arms. She was squirming and fighting him, her teeth bared and lunging.

Nutsbe was moving. Out the bedroom door, grabbing at the handrails, he vaulted down the stairs, tore down the hall, through the kitchen, and out his door.

As he ran, he stuck the phone into the hidden chest pocket designed at the exact height and width to insert his smartphone and record his actions. The elasticity in the fabric anchored the phone in place despite physical action. "Are you getting this? Over," he asked as he pulled the new fence door open.

Thank god for the new fence door.

"Video and audio, receiving clearly. Recording. Over."

Nutsbe stepped into Olivia's yard. "Hey, what's going on?" he yelled, hoping that the guy would freak, drop Henrietta, and take off for his bike.

Henrietta squirmed around to see Nutsbe. Then, using the guy's surprise, she got her back legs against his ribs and shoved. Slithering from his grasp, she bounded toward Nutsbe.

Crouching with wide arms like a goalie at a soccer match, the man cut off her line of escape. "Come here, Henny. Come to Daddy. Come on, sweet girl." He tried to croon, but his voice was a sawblade of menace.

Henrietta was doing her best to escape. Zig-zagging this way and that, her eyes held wide, showing the whites, she stayed just out of the man's reach while trying to work her way toward Nutsbe.

When Olivia talked about her pup, it was so obvious that Henrietta was well-loved and the kind of support for Olivia that Nutsbe had begun to want for himself. It enraged him that anyone would try to take Henrietta from Olivia.

"This is B.S." Nutsbe took another step forward. "Stop chasing that dog."

As the motorcycle guy turned to assess him, he stepped under the bright glow of Nutsbe's automatic security lights. Nutsbe saw that the guy had been badly beaten. The bruising on his face was fresh enough that the contusions were just beginning to turn colors. His eyes were bloodshot from impact. Dried blood had coagulated into a black scab beneath what looked like a broken nose.

Henrietta darted past Nutsbe into his backyard.

Nutsbe shoved the door. It slammed, locking automatically.

Now, it was Nutsbe and the biker alone in the backyard. Nutsbe had no quick exit route. His shoes sunk into the moist ground, so he knew he'd be slow off the X.

Shifting his weight only made the muddy mess worse.

"What the hell are you doing?" The guy stormed. "That's my dog." He jutted a pugnacious chin, breathing heavily from the exertion of the chase.

"I don't think so," Nutsbe kept his tone even. He was being recorded, and that was incentive to cool his rhetoric. "If she is, she doesn't seem to like you much."

"I'm taking her to the vet. She hates the vet." He took a step forward. "How about you open that door and give me my dog back."

"You're taking her to the vet on a motorcycle at eight-thirty at night?"

Lifting his arms like he would throttle Nutsbe, the man ran for him.

Nutsbe put one hand on his fence for stability as he lifted his knee to his chest and shoved, catching the guy in his stomach and forcing him backward.

As the biker landed on his butt, legs in the air, head in the mud, Nutsbe paid attention. From the fall, it was hard to tell. This guy might be an amateur, but it might also be that he was caught off guard, and his head was already clanging from an earlier beatdown.

"Dude, cut it out." Nutsbe tried to de-escalate. "You don't want to fight me. It looks like someone beat the shit out of you already today."

The look in the biker's eyes said he had an agenda. And Nutsbe was getting in his way.

Nutsbe watched the guy's hands for the sudden appearance of a weapon. If he pulled a gun, Nutsbe was doomed.

Sirens sounded up the road as Nutsbe took a sidestep and sank again. This was going to suck for sure if that cop car didn't show up fast.

The guy got to one knee and posted his forearm on his thigh. He looked away and waved a hand as if in surrender.

A moment later, the guy was launching himself at Nutsbe, trying to get in a sucker punch that Nutsbe averted by leaning out of the way. The crack of angry knuckles splintered the wood on his fence.

"Ouch, that had to have hurt," Nutsbe kept his tone even. "How about you take a step back?"

The guy gave a single shake of his hand and yipped to relieve the pain. Something the hell sure was motivating the guy. He rounded with a hook that Nutsbe pressed away.

The siren drew closer, and a second one joined the cacophony at a distance.

The man lifted his fisted hands and pummeled Nutsbe as Nutsbe did his best to block and parry. "I need that dog. Give me my dog." Yeah, despite the bad start, this guy was trained. Nutsbe would say ex-military. When the biker kicked toward Nutsbe's shins, he jumped out of the way, throwing himself off balance.

Nutsbe did his best to step and dodge. Since Iniquus had all this on tape, Nutsbe didn't want to do anything that would signal that he was the aggressor and he refrained from landing his own punch. With as much anger as Nutsbe had firing in his system right then, he wasn't sure the man would survive the contact. A manslaughter charge would only make this day that much more complicated.

As the attacker got a foot up on Nutsbe's thigh and shoved, Nutsbe grabbed at the cuff of his jeans, curling his fingers into the fabric, letting himself go with the strike"s momentum. This did two things, limited the damage to Nutsbe's body and dragged the guy off his feet. Nutsbe twisted the man's heel, glad he'd primed his muscle memory using this move when he was fighting Chuck just that morning.

The twist of his foot forced the attacker onto his stomach. Nutsbe clambered on top, wrapping his hand around the man's head and shoving his mouth and nose momentarily into a puddle.

Nutsbe kept the guy in this stress position just long enough that the guy realized he could drown. When he stopped squirming and submitted, Nutsbe let him turn his head and gulp in some air.

"Police!" Nutsbe heard a take-charge alpha voice. "Don't move."

Nutsbe slowly ducked his head to look under his arm. Not seeing the officer, he gasped out, "Operations. Is that Alexandria P.D.? Over."

"Affirmative. We've accessed your house security cameras. By our count, there are two police vehicles. Three officers, weapons are at retention ready, and high guard. Over."

"Copy. Over." It was good to have eyes on.

Following the officers" directives, Nutsbe found himself up against his fence, spread eagle. "Name?"

The nut job was getting cuffed beside him, and Nutsbe didn't want to give his name. "My company called this in. They can provide you with my information. Anything you need beyond that can be addressed with my lawyer."

"Lawyer, huh?" The police officer laughed. "The guy is lawyering up before he's even in cuffs. Whelp," he said, "put your left hand behind your back. Leave your right hand in place."

"My name is Mickey Pauley," The attacker said. "This is my house. He has my dog in his yard, and he won't give her back to me."

Sure enough, Henrietta was on the other side of the fence, barking her head off.

"Is that right?" the police officer asked Nutsbe as he clapped a cuff around his wrist, none too gently.

"Lawyer," Nutsbe said on an exhale. Mickey Pauley was either lying his head off, or he was probably the soon-to-be ex-husband and didn't belong anywhere near here. "Operations," Nutsbe said, "Check with Bob, Cerberus Team Alpha, for the lawyer"s name and phone number we were assisting earlier this evening." Nutsbe didn't want to use Olivia's name lest this guy was lying, and he could use the information to squirm out of charges. "Please apprise her of the situation. Over."

"Hey," the Pauley guy yelled. "Who are you talking to? What's going on here? Officer, look at how he's hurt me. Look at my face. I need an ambulance."

Nutsbe shook his head as the officer patted him down, got below the knee, and startled. He pulled Nutsbe's pant leg past his sock and took in the prosthetic leg. He scratched his nose and stood.

Today was one for the books.

"I'm checking your pockets for weapons." The officer who had cuffed Mickey Pauley started going through the guy's pockets, pulling out his phone, his wallet, and a pouch of tobacco.

"Officer, are you listening to me? Look here." Pauley raised his shoulder and leaned to the side, lifting his jacket high enough to expose the police badge clipped to his belt. "I want to press charges against that man. Every charge available to me."

Nutsbe wondered why the guy had kept his badge secret until that moment. All he could think of was that he didn't want his commander to know this went down.

Pauley turned his head and spat at Nutsbe's feet. "I want him to go down hard."

Yeah, buddy?You're just another name on the list.