Chapter Six

Nutsbe strolled into the Team Alpha wing of Cerberus Headquarters to find it empty. Sticking his head into the locker room, he called out. "You there, Bob?"

"On my way," echoed from the shower room shared by both the K9s and their handlers.

Nutsbe wandered over to the conference table, pulled out a captain's chair, and took a seat. Here we go. The first step on a painful Achilles heel.

There was a clatter of nails against the tile, and a beast of a dog stopped in the doorframe. His broad chest puffed out, a challenge in his eyes. The draping jowls surely hid sharp teeth along his powerful jaw. The image of a circus performer sticking his head in a lion's mouth came to mind. "You just gonna stand there, buddy?" Nutsbe asked with a friendly, easy-going tone. "Or do you want to come over and give me a sniff?"

The stranger-danger posture shifted, and Beowolf trotted forward with Bob trailing behind him, drying his hands on a white terrycloth towel.

Nutsbe slowly stretched curved fingers towards the K9's scruff and scratched. "Beowulf, huh? I guess that makes sense now. Epic and monstrous." Since Beowolf accepted his scritches, Nutsbe felt safe to bend and put his forehead against the velveteen folds of the dog's forehead.

"O, as in wolf, not U. He's a big boy, all right," Bob said. "But he's not hurting anything."

Beowolf took a step forward, shoving himself between Nutsbe's legs and giving him a thorough sniff from belt to chin. Nutsbe tipped his head back to receive the doggo kisses on his neck rather than his lips. "This guy looks like he could eat an entire village."

"Yeah, well, never say never." Bob moved away from them and sat behind his computer at the top of the table. "Though it would be uncharacteristic. It's not what they're bred for. Their job was to thwart poachers. If the poacher got hurt or even killed, that could cause big problems for the landowner. So they developed a dog that could knock someone down and trap them."

"Yup. If he leans on me any harder, I'm going to tip over."

"Nah, you're not the enemy. While trapping was their job, they're also bred to be docile around a family—a manor dog. They're especially good around kids. Hence their reputation for being gentle giants."

"Such a sweet guy, aren't you?" Nutsbe rubbed Beowolf's sides, feeling the soft caramel fur and thinking this was exactly what it would feel like to pet a lion. "Okay, he's not a biter. How about the risk of getting dragged when I walk with him? These muscles are no joke," Nutsbe said, patting along Beowolf's sides. "How much does he weigh?"

"I bet you'll never have met a more docile walking companion." Bob slid down in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head and looking comfortably at ease. "He was only two-forty last time I had him on the scales."

"Only." Nutsbe laughed. "Yeah, he definitely outweighs me." He sent a glance toward Bob. "And I haven't put my prostheses to the test getting pulled forward with that kind of power."

"I've never seen Beowolf drag a handler. Though, I'd go ahead and introduce him to the idea of your limbs."

This wasn't new for Nutsbe. He did this with the K9s that he occasionally handled.

Nutsbe pressed Beowolf back to give himself room to maneuver. Leaning over, he grabbed the laces on each boot, untied them, and loosened the tongues.

The last time he did this was for the new dog Max before a very long—and frequently odiferous—trek delivering the Malinois to his handler in Estonia.

The Cerberus trainer, Reaper, had been around for that introduction and suggested the approach Nutsbe was now taking as he pulled off his boots and set them aside.

"Take It to the Max" was a tactically trained, high-energy, adolescent Malinois; those descriptors presented their own challenges beyond the gas on that flight.

ThatMax was the second Iniquus Max. The first one, a German shepherd named Maxamillion, had recently retired. Out on a deployment, he tore his ACL and was no longer mission-ready. Now, he lived with Reaper and his family. Reaper's service dog Houston and Maxamillion were besties. As far as Reaper was concerned, there couldn't be enough tactically trained K9s around to guard his family, especially with a new baby in the house.

He had a point.

It wouldn't be a bad idea for Nutsbe to have another set of protective eyes and ears at his place since he preferred living in his own house off campus when his team wasn't rolling out on a mission.

Dragging off his socks, Nutsbe decided he should probably give that some more thought. Especially now that his name was riding the airwaves between Albania and Russia.

Beowolf shuffled back so he could lie down, look at, and then sniff Nutsbe's robotic feet. His massive face tipped up until intelligent eyes caught Nutsbe's gaze. He raised his right eyebrow, then his left, then his right again. It was an almost comical inquiry. "Hey, dude, what've you got going on down here?"

When Nutsbe reached for his Iniquus tactical pants cuff, Beowolf lumbered up to all fours. The effort reminded Nutsbe of camels on the dunes, pushing their bulk forward and backward as they rocked and unfolded to get on their feet.

Working his pants legs over the prostheses, one then the other, Nutsbe gathered the fabric up until he exposed his knees and thighs dotted by sensor pads on their mapped and tattoo-marked positions, the end of his residual limbs, the bone anchors, then the metallic robotics prostheses below.

Beowolf padded back a step. His massive square head with the black mask tipped this way and that. His eyes were curious.

Nutsbe smiled down as the moist nose tickled his knee and chuffed warm air over his skin.

As Beowolf inspected, every once in a while, he'd look up to check on Nutsbe. With that connection, a strange feeling passed between them. Something tightened deep down in Nutsbe's abdomen. The sensation moved up into his chest and across his shoulders as Beowolf continued his assessment.

A dog sitting shotgun to keep him company as he drove through packed gridlock traffic would be nice, Nutsbe thought. And yeah, there was also the idea that on days when Nutsbe used his wheelchair, no one would dare come close, let alone tip him over backward.

Besides the safety factor, a dog like Beowolf might be nice to have around for companionship, especially one with a temperament like Bob described. It would be good if Nutsbe could find a dog that could also do an Iniquus job, so the doggo could go in for training and socialize at the Cerberus Kennels during the day or hang out in the fields so he wouldn't get lonely and mischievous at home alone. Especially when a mission meant round-the-clock focus in the Panther Force War Room.

Nutsbe decided to give that some thought, maybe have a talk with Bob about any holes Iniquus needed filling and see if that was something the Kennel Master could take on.

The next time Beowolf caught his eyes, Nutsbe thought things had clicked into place, and Beowolf understood the situation. Beowolf turned in a wide circle and backed himself up like a semi, stepping into the space between Nutsbe's knees. Plopping into a sit, Beowolf scanned the room and settled his gaze on Bob.

"I think he's okay with the hardware," Nutsbe said as he pushed Beowolf forward to get himself put back together—pulling on his socks and boots, adjusting his pants legs.

"Okay, next step is for you to take him for a walk." Bob stood and twisted toward the door where leather leashes hung from a hook.

"Can he run? I guess gallop would be the better term." Nutsbe reached for the lead that Bob extended toward him. It was important that he was the one who attached it to the collar so Beowolf wasn't confused about who was in control. "Could he jog with me?"

Bob stood back as Nutsbe moved past him through the door to the hall and across the entryway. "Bullmastiffs are more of a walking companion. I'd say no to being a jogging partner, especially at the distances you run." He swiveled to tap the automatic door button. "They like to go outside and meander around."

With the heat wave blown out to sea by the rainstorm the other day, they stepped out into one of the more pleasant late afternoons Nutsbe could remember.

"Your backyard with lots of space and plenty of trees," Bob said, trotting down the step, "that's the kind of thing mastiffs would like—someplace to prowl around and smell the flowers." He stopped on the sidewalk. "How about you take the river path. It's a twenty-minute circuit. Make sure you're very comfortable with each other, so there are no issues this evening."

"You're going to be there, aren't you?" Nutsbe asked. "I thought you were driving."

"I'm going to make the introduction and answer your questions in the car. But I won't go in with you. Bullmastiffs like things the way they like them. You, the witness, and Olivia will be teammates with Beowolf. If I'm there at the meeting but not there as part of the team in the courtroom, he might be agitated that everyone isn't accounted for."

"Interesting." Beowolf lumbered beside him as Nutsbe moved down the steps to stand beside Bob.

"One thing with the bullmastiff, though, Nutsbe, is they're super smart. What I want you to do when you're working with Beowolf is not to tell him ‘no.' Only tell him what you want him to do. It's not ‘Don't bark.' It's, ‘Quiet.' It's not, ‘Don't jump'—not that he would but as an example—it's, "Sit.' Otherwise, with Beowolf, he'll think, ‘Well, you took that off the table, but look at all these other choices I have.' And Beowolf is clever."

"And slobbery."

"That goes without saying with these dogs." Bob handed out the terrycloth hand towel he had tucked into his belt. "Just keep the slobber off the judge's robes, and you'll make a great team."

"Hear that Beowolf? No slavering on the judge."

Beowolf raised his brow and gave him a look that Nutsbe read as, are you kidding me right now? Nutsbe chuckled and turned back to Bob. "How long are we going to be at this meet and greet?"

"Half-hour, forty-five minutes. We're not settling in for the evening." Bob checked his watch. "You'll be back at Iniquus before nineteen hundred hours."

"And you don't know anything about this case?"

"What I know is that it's an Olivia Gladstone case—which means that it involves the worst of society's worst—that you are providing a ‘last-minute dog,' as she calls it, and that I'm grateful that you're willing to pit yourself against your kryptonite."