Page 71 of Surge

“Surge?”

Another whine.

Working dogs didn’t just randomly whine. She followed the sound down the hallway and into the laundry room, where he was sniffing Caldwell’s duffel in the corner under the stainless steel utility sink.

He saw her and planted his rump on the floor, ears pointed at it. He nudged it with his nose, eyes lasered on the duffel.

Heart jamming in her throat, she gaped. This wasn’t obsession with dirty socks. This was ahit.

“Good boy,” she whispered, stock still, listening for what was going on in the living room. Caldwell and Zim were intent on a conversation. She quietly closed the laundry room door, pulled the duffel to herself, and unzipped the front pocket. Looked over her shoulder again.

Deep breath. She opened the pocket and peeked in. Nothing. Wait. Something was stuck in the corner. She pulled it out.

The random purple plastic trash she’d seen Caldwell fidgeting with the other day. What was it doing here? There had to be something in Caldwell’s duffel that’d rubbed off on it.

Delaney unzipped the main part of the bag. “Check it, Surge.”

He sniffed it, then he nosed her hand holding the plastic and downed, his ears pointed at it. His tail twitched, and he woofed as he belly-crawled even closer to the piece of purple plastic. “It’s this, Delaney. Are you stupid?” he seemed to say.

“Good boy.” She chucked his chin, then stood and studied the translucent, glittery plastic that gave beneath her fingers. Silicone.

Surge was homed in on this thing. Whatever it was, it must’ve been exposed to Sachaai’s chemical encapsulation lipid. She had to talk with Garrett.

Zim and Caldwell were up and moving in the living room.

She shoved the silicone in her pocket. “With me,” she signaled. They left the room and headed down the hall to the front door. She stuffed on her socks and shoes.

What was Caldwell even doing with this silicone . . . thing? Maybe Garrett was right about the CIA operative.

* * *

“You’re sure?”

“I don’t bull people, Walker.”

At Chapel’s terse response, Garrett nodded. “Thanks. Appreciate it.” Call ended, he rammed his cell into his pocket, paced the safe house’s tiny yard that reeked of the river. According to Chapel, he had vetted Caldwell before even recommending him to ABA.

So . . . Caldwell was Caldwell. He didn’t care if the man liked or trusted him.

But Zim . . . Samwise was no longer here, but Zim, he had become more than a friend to him. A battle buddy. Iron sharpening iron.

Garrett’s stomach twisted, knowing he’d done a fine job of making the whole team not trust him, including Delaney. Shoot, even Surge.

Frankly, he was starting to doubt himself.

He hopped up, grabbed the handrail of the deck above him, and began chin-ups. He had to recalibratehimselffirst. Then the mission. Hopefully convince the team.

“Garrett?”

At the soft, warm voice, Garrett dropped to the ground, a strange something spiraling through his chest as he faced her. “Hey, Delaney.”

“Hey.” She entered the yard with Surge, then paused and glanced back to the house. “I need to talk to you.”

“Sure. But first, I owe you an apology for laying into you last night.”

She smiled. “We’re good. And I?—”

“I’ve lost the trust of the team.” He couldn’t stop talking. “It’s my fault we don’t have the chems now.”

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