Page 67 of Surge

Delaney let Surge do his thing, sniffing around to feel comfortable in here.

“Delaney, you and Surge ready to find the chems?” Garrett’s low voice echoed off the high ceiling.

She nodded and turned to her sleek, powerful boy. “Time to work, buddy.”

Surge started wagging his tail, but it slowed to a stop as he thrust his snout in the air. He angled toward a vertical support beam, trailing that knowing nose up and down it. Then he sat, ears pricked on a small piece of fabric caught on a nail sticking out of a support column.

“Um . . . good boy,” Delaney said, scratching his ear. She was confident in Surge’s nose, but that wasn’t an LD3 container.

“What on earth?” Zim pulled it off the nail.

Surge barked.

The support beam behind them pinged, and Zim slammed into her, knocked her and Surge to the ground, pinning her under his weight. Heart in her throat, Delaney shoved aside the squall of panic, gripped Surge’s lead tight but didn’t dare move.

Apop-poperupted from Garrett’s direction, and a thud came about halfway down the middle aisle.

Still pinned, Delaney shifted her eyes down the concrete aisle to . . . a body.

“Stay to the side with Surge,” Zim hissed. He rose, gun at the ready.

Weapon trained on the body, Garrett advanced, signaled left to Zim, and he went right.

Delaney signaled Surge to come and crawled behind the container. Surge crawled in next to her. She shoved herself to a sit, her hand over her mouth as she gasped for air. Surge stood in front of her, his muscles rippling as he leaned forward, watching for bad guys. She might not be trained, but he was.

“Clear,” called Zim.

“Clear.” Garrett—in one piece,Thank You, God—banked around a corner and motioned her toward him. Even as she emerged and nodded, he keyed his comms. “Three, how’d you miss active unfriendlies in here?”

No answer in the comms.

Delaney took one last deep breath. Emotions travel down lead, and she did not need to set Surge off with her newbie reactions. She and Surge joined the men.

Garrett looked her up and down, his forehead creasing. “You okay?”

She drew in a shaky breath and released it, appreciating his raw intensity, that he was on her side. She’d never want to be on the receiving end of that. “All good. You?”

His face smoothed. “Obviously fine, Rogue.” He jerked his thumb toward the body. “That fabric Surge hit on? It’s from his shirt.”

“Let me guess, he had a Sachaai tattoo,” she said.

Garrett nodded. “Probably handled the chem vials.”

Zim held up a phone. “Thanks for the use of your dead face, Mr. Bukhari.” He rubbed his nose. “Check out this last text on his phone. Half hour ago. From Hakim.”

Hakim

Americans headed to container yard. Kill them.

Garrett roughed his hand through his hair. “They knew . . .” His shoulders drew back. “Like they did with the cargo plane.” He closed his eyes for a long moment, then he gazed at each of them in turn. “Let’s find those chemicals before Hakim realizes his goon didn’t make it and sends more goons.”

“Or shows up himself.” Zim shoved his gun in his holster and the phone in his tac pants pocket. “Lead us to it, Surge.”

Delaney pulled out the baggie of tubes and extended it to him. “Check.”

The Mal sniffed and his eyes shimmered with anticipation.

She loved his constant readiness when his nose work was needed. “Surge, seek!”

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