Page 63 of Surge

Surge shifted and licked her face, his eyes saying, “Stop running your hands all over me.”

He was right. He was fine and didn’t need a fourth head-to-tail—to foot—check. “Sorry, Buddy.” She chucked his chin, and he rested his head on her lap. She roughed his hair.

She could still feel that Sachaai’s arms around her neck. Surge had saved her.

Her sudden deep breath surprised her. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding her breath. He sat up and nuzzled her ear.

While she’d seen Surge in training, experiencing him in real action had jolted her.

He’d attacked the other Sachaai before the guy’d even gotten to Walker.

He stinking leapt onto the top of the stinking sixty-four-inch LD3 container to fight three stinking terrorists beside Zim.

This Malinois was not a comfort pet. But the shaking in her hands was dying down, buried in his thick neck fur.

He twisted and looked out the window, then woofed in her face.

She laughed. “You want to go out?”

Another woof.

She grabbed his KONG tug. “Let’s go.”

His toenails clicked behind her through the hallway. Then they stopped. Where’d Surge go? She went back down the hallway a bit.

There he was, in the living room under Caldwell’s chair, sniffing intently at his ruck.

Caldwell was intent on his computer work and didn’t even notice Surge.

She patted her leg so the Mal would come to her instead of unzipping and emptying the ruck.

His gleaming brown eyes were so focused on it that she had to pat her leg again. He scooted backward out from under the chair. Slowly. She gave a low whistle to get his eyes on her, and he finally came.

Neither of the men noticed.

“With me, Surge,” she whispered, and they jogged down the hallway to the kitchen and out to the tiny backyard accessorized with a bamboo sofa.

Outside, the sun high in the sky gave the Jakarta buildings a gleam, God the creator showcasing himself to the people who lived in this suburban Jakarta neighborhood. The hum of traffic was a sound that felt like home. The grassy area—like the other yards in the neighborhood—was well manicured, perfectly cut.

And it was stinky. Her nose wrinkled—chemicals and trash and mold all together. She looked across the street. There was the source of the stench—the river. The houses on the other side of the street were built right up to the serpentine brown river. There was just enough space between the houses that she could catch a glimpse of a multicolored walking bridge.

Delaney gazed at the houses around them. Some kids were playing out in their tiny yard. A couple walked down the street, carrying groceries. A crew painted the house across the street.

She didn’t have a choice about this stinky yard. Surge needed time outside. But this was only for a few days. She didn’t live here like the neighbors did. What would that even be like?

Done with his business, Surge trotted over and dropped the rope KONG at her feet. She didn’t want to accidentally send a black Mal streaking into the river or onto a neighbor’s lawn, so tug it was today. But her mind was only half on the game.

“Hey, Surge,” she said.

He stopped and looked up at her, his ears flicking, listening as he held the KONG end of the tug in his mouth.

“You heard Garrett. Those goons who almost killed me scared him. I’m just a team member cause he needs you?” Scared? Not what she knew of Garrett. She sucked in a deep breath. “Surge, was he being personal?”

Surge gave a huff, then jerked the KONG back and forth so hard it nearly wrenched her shoulder. She laughed and pulled back but let him have it after a minute. The river’s heavy stink was starting her in on a headache. She rolled her shoulders. If she ignored it, it wouldn’t come.

Garrett came up behind them. “That dog pull your arm out of its socket?”

Had he heard her talking to Surge? She chose to wave like he’d just arrived. “Fortunately, he never has.”

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