Chapter 5

5

CORE, SINGAPORE

Never let it be said he hadn't given her a fair shake. But this was it—her last chance to prove to him she could handle the dog and get the job done. They didn't have time for games. He stepped back, eyeing the long room that served as the weight room. It had a walled-in garden with trellis, which gave the combat assault dog a place to take care of business. As close to a yard as one got in a city dominated by high-rises.

Arms folded, Garrett stood surveying the space.

"What happens if he doesn't find them?" Zim asked, returning to his side.

Garrett gave a cockeyed nod. "Ship her back and focus on what we have." He dragged a hand over his mouth. "Can't afford another fail like we had earlier."

"She said it wasn't a fail but inadver?—"

"Did we track down the production site?"

Zim sighed. "No."

"Fail." He jutted his jaw. "Bring her in."

As Zim slipped out to find Thompson and Surge, Garrett thought about sending her back. Hanged if he knew why, but it went crossways in his gut. Telling Daniels the dog and handler had failed wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. Somehow, Garrett would make the mission happen, find those lipids before they made it to American soil, but Thompson . . . her determination to get it done, and do it right, said something. Impressed him. He'd seen Surge find the tin in the training yard, even when the girl hadn't known about it. Remembered Daniels's words about Thompson having a way with the dog nobody else did.

She'd failed to read the dog . . . because she was reading me.

What did that mean? Making sure the guys did the job was part of his responsibility as master chief. He took that responsibility seriously, to make sure things went well, the guys came home, and the mission accomplished its objective. And this one threatened home turf and lives. So yeah . . . maybe he had been breathing down her neck a lot.

When he heard the door open, he shifted back, retrieved his stainless steel tumbler of black coffee and waited. The dog team entered, Thompson's gaze flying to his. Surge had his black KONG snagged between his teeth. He spotted Garrett—and the KONG popped out. Surge lunged after it, and Thompson released him to retrieve it.

Not exactly a strong first impression.

Neck breathing, remember?

Thompson slid him a nervous glance.

Surge returned with his KONG and dropped it at Garrett's boots.

Thompson scoffed. "Traitor, again, doggo."

Garrett picked it up and tossed the KONG, wondering if the dog would catch the scent on his own.

Lightning fast, Surge secured the toy and returned, this time depositing it in front of Thompson.

"At least you haven't forgotten me just because Walker's here." She smoothed her caramel-brown hair behind her ear. "So, what's up?"

He adjusted his ballcap and narrowed his eyes at her. "You know no inadvertent cues, right?"

Her chagrin worked against the smile that flashed. "Like I said, I know the mistake and won't repeat it."

"Time to prove it." Garrett chucked Surge's snout. "We've hidden the vials in this weight training room. I want him to find them."

She swallowed and gave a hesitant nod.

He edged forward. "Look. We both know he can do it—I saw you two at the ranch. He found the chem scent tin. But what I need proof of is that in a strange environment, under stress and pressure, time constraints, amped energy, the two of you can do what needs to be done. We can't afford another fail—and that's what it was because we did not find where they're operating. So." Maybe a bit too heavy, but she needed to understand the risks. "American lives depend on you two gelling and getting this done. You said he's ready . . ."

She leaned in, pushed up her sleeves. "No doubt whatsoever."

Panting steadily, Surge looked up at her expectantly.

"Then prove it." He handed her the baggie with the remaining vials.

"Surge, ready to work?" When he jumped up, she held the baggie open for him. "Check."

He thrust his snout into the baggie, hauling in heavy scents. His whole body shivered with excitement.

"Surge, seek!"

He immediately diverted toward the nearest weight bench.

Garrett deliberately shifted his position, testing her. Seeing if he could pull her attention off the dog.

But her eyes did not leave Surge. The Malinois followed her hand when she signaled him to check the shelf piled with towels and weight belts. He stopped, going stock still halfway there, his nose sucking in air, then continued.

Tugging out his phone, Garrett eyed the two working the training room that ran the entire length of the building. He hit the volume to full and played a hard rock song. Bounced his gaze to the duo as the screaming guitars rent the silence of the test. Surge stuck his snout along a rack of weights but never faltered. Thompson hesitated, her head angling toward him, but she never took her focus off working the room with Surge.

Surge finally moved on past the weight rack and drove toward the squat stations near the cable exercise area. At the anchor for the pull station, he circled in, his draughts of air deep and focused. Then he sat, ears pointed forward, staring at the base.

Delaney crouched and retrieved the dirty sock. Her brow rippled as she felt the toe and then grinned. "Good boy, Surge." Holding the sock, she pulled out the KONG and tossed it.

Okay, they'd done it. "Good job." With all his attempts at distraction, Garrett hadn't been able to distract them. Or her. Why did that bug him? Surge had found the tin with the chems. But in a controlled environment was one thing. Out there, risks were high . . .

Delaney turned to him and proffered the sock. "Yours?"

He smirked. "Thankfully, no." He took the baggie and sock back. "So . . . you satisfied?"

"Are you ?" She squinted at him as he put the vials from the sock into the baggie.

Garrett shook his head. "I'm . . . not convinced."

Delaney sucked in a breath. "We met the exercise, Garrett."

"In a controlled environment. But out there . . . it didn't work." He rubbed the back of his neck. "We're too close to the deadline to find another dog team, or I would. I think it's best we develop a plan without a dog."

She froze in place. "I'm glad you've never failed."

He stabbed her with a glare.

"I mean, clearly you haven't, because you're here. What would that be like, to never?—"

"Enough snark." He squared his shoulders, taking her point quite sharply. "This isn't a game, Rogue. This is lives we're messing with. Lives we determine by our actions if they live or die."

Her brow rippled and she eased up. "Garrett, I'm well aware of that. My saying we can do it is not arrogance or me being cavalier. I know what's at stake. But I also know that he"?—she stabbed her finger at Surge—"is the best chance of locating this stash and protecting the very lives you just mentioned."

He knew, as much as it grated, she was right. And he needed the dog . . . "Okay. I'll concede. We'll give it one last shot—but understand this: it truly is the last shot. And if things go south again, it's not just your ego and position here on the line. It's the lives of thousands of Americans. So out there, you have to do what I say, when I say it. I will not have time to explain why—it just needs to be done. Surge needs us both to be on the same team to make this happen."

"I hear you, but he can only have one trainer."

She was the trainer on the team. A good one too. He wouldn't let anything happen to Delaney or Surge . . . "True. But if something happens to you, I will need to be able to take control of him."

"Nothing's going to happen to me with this SEAL God sent with me." She scratched behind the Mal's ears. Then she tapped Garrett's chest. "Or this SEAL."

Her finger lingered. His heart skipped a beat. What a confident, determined woman.

Wait. Did he have feelings for her?

She lit up like a lightbulb. "I have an idea. Why don't you lead him to find the scent tins still out there?" She pulled out a birch scent tin from her hoodie pocket and handed it to him with the KONG. "He's a SEAL. You're a team leader. You've seen it done."

He tapped his finger on his chin. "Well, that will help Surge get used to following my lead."

She handed him a birch scent tin, stepped back. "Take it away."

He turned to the MWD. "Surge, ready to work?"

His black tail whipped through the air. Garrett opened the tin. "Check."

Surge sniffed eagerly. "Seek!"

He ran straight to the high grass and hit on one.

Garrett jogged after him and picked it up. "Good job, Surge. There's more." He waved his hand. "Seek!"

Surge came sprinting to Delaney and stood on his hind legs, paws on her shoulder. She hugged him, and he dropped down.

"See? The dog is not listening. Nonresponsive."

She laughed. "You waved toward me and commanded a seek. He thought you wanted him to find me."

"Oh. Yeah. My bad."

"Inadvertent," Delaney offered. "Now you know."

He bobbed his head. "Surge, come." The MWD jogged over, and Garrett held open the birch tin for him to sniff again. "Seek!"

And he did. Even when Delaney deliberately called the Mal, he glanced at her, but stayed focused tight on Garrett and the search. Four more times. Perfectly.

Garrett tossed the KONG for Surge, and the boy raced off. He captured it in the air and carried it around the grass in a victory lap. Then he screeched to a stop in front of Garrett, eyes on his pants pocket.

Delaney laughed. "You cheated! Surge stayed glued to you during the seek exercise because you stored liver treats in your pocket."

He turned his empty pockets inside out, grinned at her, pointed at her pockets.

She turned her pockets inside out to reveal two baggies of liver treats.

He threw his hands in the air in mock offense. "You sassy . . . you are the liver treat briber."

"Rewards, yes, never bribes. Now you know why dog trainers smell like liver." She stuffed one into Surge's KONG and tossed it to him. He downed on the grass with a huff and grabbed it.

They laughed.

"But you had his full attention, the whole time," she said.

"It's good to know he's willing to pay attention to me." He grabbed his coffee and took a sip. "Rogue, where'd you get your attitude from? Daniels mentioned your dad . . ."

She tilted her head. "My sass is not from Dad. It's for Dad. He needs a new titanium prosthetic leg that insurance won't cover. I'm here to stop Sachaai's attack . . . and to earn the money for Dad's prosthetic."

He flinched. "I had no idea. What happened?"

Her jaw tightened. She gave him a long look, then blew out her breath. "Okay. I walked into our family store, and there was an armed man. He shot Dad. Hit him in the leg."

He hadn't meant . . . "Sorry."

She just nodded, stared out into the sunset.

New topic of conversation. "How'd you end up working with MWDs?"

A smile snuck onto her face. "Long story, but when I was a teen, a cop friend of ours . . . introduced me to Heath and the ranch. I never looked back."

"Is Surge your first dog?"

"Technically, he belongs to the ranch, but my first dog . . ." Her voice sounded thick. "Mega. A perfect German shepherd Heath let me adopt after I'd worked with him for a year. I lost her to cancer."

He'd done it again—stepped into tender territory—so he sought another topic.

"Dad told me, ‘It's just a dog,'" she said, deepening her words and voice.

"Ouch."

"It took a long time before I realized he was just trying to help me with the grief. Even with all my years at the ranch and training dogs, it took a long time before I was ready to bring one home with me again." She smoothed her hands over Surge's back. "What about you? How'd you end up in the SEALs?"

"I defended my little brother against bullies. A lot." He twisted his mouth. "I got in trouble over it."

"Uh-oh."

"Yeah, it worked out okay. I was a defensive end on the high school football team, so I had a really good coach. He helped me see that protecting people, rescuing people—it's part of who I am." He shrugged. "I fought my way into the SEALs."

She simply nodded. "Protection. Rescue. Strength. Integrity. You are a SEAL kind of guy."

That sounded a lot like flirting. But that couldn't be. She was probably just saying it instead of the usual "Thank you for your service."

He drained his coffee. "We better get to bed. Another meetup tomorrow. I hope."

* * *

Five stinking a.m.

Surge's cold, wet nose had to wake her up at five a.m. He nudged her again.

Delaney rolled over and ran her hands through the thick hair on his neck. "Okay, boy. Let's go out."

She slipped out of her pajamas and into black jeans and an ABA hoodie, yanked her hair into a haphazard ponytail. When she grabbed the lead from the dresser, she heard Surge's tail whipping back and forth. She clipped it on.

They stepped out into the hall and headed to the kitchen and the lower level's walled-in garden. But her feet slowed as they reached Garrett's room, recalling his instruction not to go out alone. Had to admit, it gave her a giddy pleasure to wake him up so early to come with them.

She knocked lightly on the door and whispered, "Garrett? Surge has to go out. Want to provide escort?"

Garrett groaned. "Uh, yeah, sure. Just a sec."

Surge's toenails clicked as he came to stand with her at Garrett's door, whining.

She chuckled. "I suggest you hurry."

The door popped open, and he stood there in workout shorts, threading his arms through his black-ribbed shirt, which he pulled down.

She swallowed, taking note that he'd clearly used that weight room.

He stuffed his feet in his shoes. "Let's go."

His rough voice made her gulp again. She rolled her shoulders, looked away. "C'mon, Surge."

They walked down the hall and turned into the kitchen. Early morning sunlight brightened the soft yellow room. She wondered how Damocles had scored this nice downtown condo. Caldwell had said the team had it to themselves until the remodel was done.

"Just a minute." Garrett stopped by the coffeepot on the counter by the door to the walled-in garden, reached for the coffee pod.

Surge paced back and forth between her and the door as if telling her how to get outside.

And the coffee was ready. Garrett handed her a cup.

"Oh." She tried to act natural, not surprised. "Thanks."

"Let's get him outside before he does his job here." He punched open the back door.

The heat hadn't yet hit the nineties but sure was racing toward it. The city haze hadn't started yet. She stood silently next to Garrett in the walled-in area, the smell of the city and concrete mildew assaulting her. She took a sip from her mug.

Too bad it wasn't Choca Cantika, but coffee was coffee when you needed it. Especially when made by a handsome operator.

Garrett opened his mouth as if to say something, but Zim and Caldwell came jogging out into the long, narrow space.

"Hey, Boss," Zim called. "Good news!"

Caldwell nodded. "Message came through—Andre sent us the details on the meetup. So it's still on."

Delaney felt her heart jam into her throat. Things were getting real. She'd vouched for Surge, and now she'd without a doubt have the chance to make good on that promise.

Garrett's gaze hit hers, and she knew not to falter. She gave him a nod of assurance. Or maybe that was her subconscious trying to convince her things would be fine.

He returned his attention to the guys. "Hakim?"

"Intel reported the plane transporting him had engine trouble, so they diverted, delaying him. But the big guy is en route."

Garrett rubbed his chin. "You already hacked into the street cams in the area?"

"Have been since we got here." Caldwell's phone pinged. He pulled it out of his pocket and poked at it for a moment. "This is huge," he said, sliding a glance at Zim. "Intel suggests Tariq Sayyid will likely be in on the meetup."

"Tariq?" Zim gaped at him. "He's already here? The genius chemist who came up with Sachaai's lipid? Man, wish I knew how he did that! He's a stinking mad scientist. I mean, his use of science to kill and maim . . ."

"Yeah, not real sure why he's here, though. The formula is already in play. No need to have such a high-value asset here." Caldwell huffed. "Taking him out of the game would be doing everyone a favor." His jaw clenched. "Stakes are ramping up."

"When's Hakim due?" Garrett asked.

"Unknown. Damocles is feeding me intel as fast as it's coming in, but for now, we only have the time and place for the meetup with Rashid."

Again, Garrett's gaze found Delaney's, and he studied her for a long moment.

"We're ready," Delaney said, her pulse hammering, trying not to be overzealous but oddly desperate for him to believe in her—them. "Whatever you need, we can do it."

He looked to the others. "Okay. The meetup plan stays the same. Except, while I'm talking to Rashid to acquire the chems, Zim will try to make good with Tariq. Get some usable info on neutralizing it, if you can. Caldwell, get us a full background on this Tariq." He eyed Delaney. "Thompson, you and this combat assault dog"—he stroked the head of the Mal leaning against his leg—"will wait in the alley, a block from the meetup outside that law building."

Relief smeared a smile into her mood and face. "Understood."

* * *

She really was a maverick, something he was coming to like about her.

But his heart skipped a beat. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. Or Surge.

It was about Heath's warning to protect them, right? Their status on his team, right?

He adjusted his ball cap. "On my signal, you two approach from the corner. We'll pretend to be a couple meeting for a date in case the Sachaai guys return."

Her eyes widened, but she nodded.

"We leave in half an hour."

Zim swallowed back a grin. "I'll bring the FTIR for this chem search."

"Good," Garrett said, and the team hurried into the safe house and got ready.

Fifty minutes later, Garrett was in the perfectly clean, brightly sunny Singaporean street with Zim, behind the circular law office skyscraper. At least it wasn't Casablanca-foggy like last time.

He and Zim were ready—with Caldwell overwatching at the safe house. Delaney was in the alley he'd ordered her to stay in. He tapped the Sig in his tactical pants, keyed the comms. "Good to go, Rogue?"

"At my station, Surge eager to work."

He wished he had eyes on her. "Caldwell, have eyes out?"

"Eight street cameras are still feeding into my computer. I see all three of you."

Garrett rolled back his tense shoulders and leaned against the concrete blocks of the law building, settling into his chill undercover personality.

Zim stood next to him, tossing a smiley-face stress ball between his hands. Garrett shook his head with a chuckle. Zim smiled, tossed it high in the air, caught it behind his back.

"Your six, Bear," Caldwell said. "Coming out of the law building. Rashid appears to be armed. Bald, trim beard. Cream shirt. Black pants. Tariq behind him. Red collared shirt. Wire-rimmed glasses. Slick black hair."

"Got it." God, help me focus.

The two Sachaai approached.

Garrett met them. "Rashid?"

The tall man nodded, his gaze sweeping the area, likely making sure they were safe, with Tariq staying directly behind his boss. "You're the clay pot food guy. Andre told me you said the sample was ‘the real thing.'"

"I did. I'm pleased. Ready for the product."

Acting casual, Zim moved to Tariq, held out his hand. "Who's this?"

Tariq just stood there.

Zim dropped his hand. "You make the chem vials?"

Tariq's black eyes lasered in on Zim, whose face was a mask of stone as he took another step forward.

Man wasn't going to talk.

And thankfully, Zim got the hint and backed off, leaning against the wall.

Clearly not pleased with that interaction, Rashid shifted closer. Extended his hand, and when Garrett took it, the guy yanked him forward. "Before we make this deal, understand that I have gunmen in place."

He and Zim had weapons too.

"I see three, Bear," Caldwell comm'd.

"I wouldn't expect any less," Garrett said, totally chill.

"I like to know who I'm doing business with."

Garrett shrugged. "Like you said, I'm Clay Pot. Anonymity helps keep me under radars."

Rashid scoffed. "I am not afraid of being caught."

"You must be. You showed up with gunmen. And Hakim is a coward too, sending you to do his business."

The metallic shink of a weapon chambering a round drew Garrett's gaze to Tariq, who now held a Glock to the side. Fourth gunman.

"Bear, I think he's testing you," Caldwell said.

Like Garrett needed the spook to tell him that. But the idea of Rogue a block away shot to the front of his mind. "What's the problem?"

" You need to know who you're dealing with—someone strong, willing to do the dirty job."

Garrett held the guy's gaze, knowing he was vetting him. "I'm here for the goods, not you. We can deal and I'm out of here." Besides, the man in front of him was not the man his sights were set on. "If Hakim were so strong, he'd come do this deal himself."

Rashid's lips twitched. "I can show you how strong we are."

The deal was high dollar and solid. No way the guy would walk. "Enough," Garrett said. "I'm walking away." He strode away, feeling Zim fall in behind him.

"Stay put, Rogue!" Caldwell bit out. "Don't move."

At the mention of Delaney, Garrett slid his gaze in her direction—but stopped halfway when he spotted her at the back door entry of the building next to the law building. Holy—how had she gotten that close? Worry smeared her pretty face. He gave her a silent, subtle shake of his head.

"You want the chemicals, don't you?" Rashid called.

At the callback, he winged up an eyebrow at Delaney, who withdrew into the shadows with Surge.

"Told you it was a test," Caldwell said, relief coloring his voice. "Rogue. Stay."

Garrett turned his attention on Rashid. "You done vetting me?"

A broad smile filled Rashid's face as he laughed. "We're like those American convenience stores, checking ID of people purchasing alcohol." He hefted a briefcase onto the hood of a vehicle. "Real thing. Exact amount you ordered."

To the side, Garrett said, "Zim, check it."

The petty officer strode over and took a look, then backed up and nodded.

So far so good. Garrett drew out the envelope of money, handed it to Rashid, and took the briefcase.

Rashid flipped through the cash. "Good. Next time we won't vet you, Clay Pot."

He walked away with Tariq even as Garrett started backing up toward their exit.

"He's gone," Caldwell said two minutes later.

"Rogue, you still at the law building?"

"Yes—I moved into the—" A gasp severed her words.

Garrett's heart jammed. "Rogue. What's wrong?"

Nothing.

"I don't have eyes on her," Caldwell stated.

"Rogue!"

"I'm here," came her hushed, frantic words. "Rashid just walked right past me. He's here!" she hissed.

"On my way!" Garrett shouted and moved fast, avoiding a full-out run in case they still had eyes on the area.

"No! Wait." Her breaths came heavy through the comms. "He's gone. I turned my back to him, petting Surge like he's my pet. Didn't even notice us. Turned left a block down from me."

"He's not on my cameras," Caldwell said, clicking away on his keyboard. "Gunmen are gone too. Okay, got him—three blocks east, getting into a black sedan. Muddy license plate. Can't read it."

Garrett grunted. "Let's get after the chemicals, then. Join us, Rogue. Now."

As planned, when she got to Garrett on the street, they held hands, chatting about the weather as he petted Surge.

A few minutes later, he squeezed her hand and opened the briefcase.

"Surge, time to work," Delaney said as the Malinois's sleek black tail thwapped Garrett's leg. She pointed to the briefcase. "Check."

Surge sniffed from one end of the case to the other, his snout digging into the vial packets for a long draught.

"Good boy," she said. "Now, seek-seek."

The Malinois swiveled around and homed in on Garrett, who held his breath—another fail?—but the MWD lifted his nose in the air for a moment, then dropped to all fours and started out of the alley. He zigzagged down the street, narrowing the scent cone past more skyscrapers . . . gratefully in the direction Caldwell said Rashid had climbed into the car. Surge stopped at the corner, sniffed, and headed right.

"This is where Rashid turned left," Rogue admitted. "But he's certain."

"Hope he's right. Maybe they deliberately headed away from the stash," Garrett mumbled.

She nodded, and they followed the dog as he worked the scent. On the long leash ahead of them, Surge turned down a short set of concrete stairs that led into the basement of a building and scratched at the door at the bottom.

"Hold up, boy," Rogue said, following him. "Boss, he wants in. What do you want to do?"

Garrett saw a small engraved sign above the door. "Caldwell, can you translate for me?" He read aloud the Malay sign, spelled it while the spook entered it into his computer.

"Shoemakers Extraordinaire," Caldwell reported.

Shoes? Huh. "Thanks." He walked down to the door and tested the doorknob. Locked.

"I got it." Zim worked a lockpick and the door swung open.

Garrett pulled out his Sig and did a quick look-see into the long hall lit by the occasional light. "Send the dog."

Surge spurted inside, making quick work of reaching the end with no diversions right or left. No windows. Garrett advanced behind the dog team, verifying the area was clear.

Surge stopped and sniffed at a door room labeled "Janitorial," then continued on to the next door . . . but nothing.

"Has he lost it?" Zim asked from behind.

"No," Rogue said quietly, "he just hasn't found it yet."

Garrett worked his jaw.

Surge trotted down the hall, then skidded to a stop and circled back. He scratched at a door. Whimpered and downed, ears and eyes trained on the door.

After visually tracing the jamb for sign of explosives or trip wires, Garrett tested the door. Locked. "Zim."

"On it." The guy worked his magic, then backed up, bringing his weapon to the ready.

Garrett flicked open the door and verified no unfriendlies in sight. "Send him," he instructed Delaney, who moved into the room with her four-legged partner.

Trailing them with Zim, Garrett eyed the boxes for labels.

Surge began barking.

A crash sounded amid a shout.

He doubled back and found Zim on the floor, grappling against a blond man for control of a handgun. Garrett kicked the man's arm, and the gun spun across the floor. The man scrambled for the gun.

Garrett snapped his weapon at him. "Sto?—"

A blow pummeled his shoulders. Felt like steel or something. The impact thrust him forward, but he staggered up and around just in time to see a bald Asian man coming at him again with a pipe.

The blond smashed Zim up against the wall.

Crack!

The report of the weapon startled Garrett, and he wondered who'd shot. The blond tipped into Zim, going limp.

Baldie swung at Garrett, yanking him back to his own life-or-death fight. He dodged the pipe, coming up with a hard knife hand—but Baldie tackled him. Garrett's head bounced, giving his attacker the split second necessary to get him in a choke hold. The grip proved lethal, and Garrett struggled to free himself.

A blur of black sailed at him. He felt the brush of fur even as a vicious snarl-snap sounded from Surge, who nailed the guy.

Garrett seized the distraction and freed himself. Whipped around with his weapon. Aimed at the guy and fired. Once, twice. As he watched the last breath wheeze from the guy, he spotted an S-shaped tattoo on his neck. He eyed Zim's attacker and saw the same thing.

"Surge, out!" Rogue commanded, catching the dog's collar and drawing him back.

Gaining his feet, Garrett eyed Zim to be sure he was okay, then walked the perimeter of the room, circling back to the team.

"You okay?" Delaney asked.

"Yes, thanks to Surge." He exhaled, studying the force multiplier who'd interdicted just in time. "He saved my life."

Surge wandered to one of the upturned boxes, sniffing.

"I wish I could say I gave him the order to do that, but he ripped away from me without hesitation," Delaney admitted.

"Good. This time, I'm glad." He smirked, watching as the Malinois focused on a particular box.

Surge took in long draughts, started to sit, then moved to another box. Same thing.

"He looks confused."

"I . . . don't think that's it."

Surge finally downed in the middle of the room, ears pointed to the boxes.

"Wait," she gasped, her face alight. "You don't think . . ."

"Mother lode," Garrett murmured. "Just don't understand why there isn't more security."

"Overconfidence," Zim suggested.

"Way to go, Surge," Rogue exclaimed.

Then the Mal rushed out into the hall and into another open door. Garrett and Zim flew past Rogue, found him sitting at the edge of the empty room, alerting on a long workbench. But he moved to a line of sewing machines, same. And a pile of leather in one corner.

Shoeboxes filled another corner.

Garrett signaled Rogue into the room. "Saw you coming out of the alley during the meetup."

She cringed and wrinkled her nose. "I got worried . . ." She patted her leg, and Surge rushed in to sit next to her.

"Point is, you stayed, though you wanted to go rogue and do your own thing. That would've compromised all of us. You did good." He nodded around the room. "Especially here. Thanks."

Surprise rippled through her face, and she seemed to soften. "You're welcome."

They cleared the rest of the building with little effort and no further contact. Which just didn't sit right. Too easy.

While waiting for Caldwell's people to come inventory the warehouse of shoes, Surge whined.

Delaney thumbed over her shoulder. "There's a small park with grass just past the front gate. I'd like to let him take care of business."

Garrett pointed out the window at a park in front of the building. "Okay. He deserves a break. You both do."

Her eyes blinked fast.

Which surprised him. He wasn't always a cranky bear. Was he? "Be back in fifteen. We don't have much left but stay close. They could return, and it won't be friendly if they do."

She smiled. "Will do, Boss."

As she headed out, Garrett took the briefcase into the other room where Zim was photographing the Sachaai-labeled boxes, which Caldwell's people were loading into a vehicle to take back to the safe house.

This was a significant stash of Sachaai chemicals. But it still grated. Why wasn't there more security? He eyed the warehouse, wondering what they'd missed. Maybe he should do another search . . .