He groaned as every sound was like a jackhammer to his brain. Blinking, he tried to focus on the people standing around him, but a hot, wet tongue and muzzle prevented him from seeing anything. “Meatball! Knock it off! I’m okay!” He got his arm between the two of them and tried to push the big lug out of the way.
“No you’re not,” said Boots with a chuckle, clearly relieved along with everyone else that Tuff was alert. “Let the dog give you some mouth-to-mouth, just to be sure. That was some hit you took to the head, dude.” Thankfully, the softball had just grazed the side of his skull—enough to knock him down but not out.
“Tuff.” Chet knelt next to him and brushed her hand over where he’d gotten hit, wincing when he did the same. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Looking up at the woman he loved, he smiled. She looked like an angel with the sunlight framing her head from behind. How he’d gotten so lucky to have her fall in love with him, he’d never know, but he was damn glad the gods of fate had sent her his way, and he’d never take her for granted. “Never been better in my life, sweetheart.”
Three weeks later . . .
“Ma’am, if you don’t show me your dog’s rabies vaccine records, I’m going to have to arrest you and take you—”
Whoa! What? Before Leo could say anything more, which would certainly escalate the situation further, Chet stepped between her trainee and the woman he was speaking with. “What ACO Price means, Mrs. Powell, is we’re trying to make sure the child your dog bit doesn’t need to receive a series of unnecessary rabies shots. If you have the paperwork handy, it will save us the trouble of getting it from your vet.”
“My Bitsy does not have rabies, I can assure you. She’s very clean and gets groomed every week.” The sixty-three-year-old widowed Maritza Powell glared at them in indignation while cuddling “Bitsy,” a Bichon Frise with an attitude, in her arms. Chet and Leo had gone to her house after taking a report from the mother of the five-year-old girl who the dog had bitten an hour ago at a park up the street. While the bite wasn’t too bad, the skin had been broken. If the dog hadn’t received a recent rabies vaccine, they would have to quarantine it for ten days. Mrs. Powell would also receive a summons for a future court date to answer charges of not having her dog properly vaccinated, but the ACOs would not be handcuffing her and dragging her to the police station as Leo had been insinuating. The woman was currently facing a $450 fine for having a dog deemed to be vicious, since this wasn’t the first time Bitsy had attacked someone. A mail carrier had reported the dog had tried to bite her leg a few months ago, but had only gotten a mouthful of polyester. If Powell could produce the rabies vaccination record, enroll the dog in a county approved training program, and have the dog spayed and chipped, the fine would be significantly reduced. If she refused to accept the summons from them today, she’d also be fined $200. Hopefully, it didn’t come to that, which was why Chet was taking over the investigation.
“I’m not implying that she does have rabies, Mrs. Powell,” Chet placated. “But we need official proof of that fact to satisfy the health department. If you could find the certificate for us, that would be a great help.”
The woman rolled her eyes then huffed. “Fine, I’ll get it. But I’m telling you it was that horrible child’s fault. Bitsy wouldn’t hurt a fly. She was just protecting me.”
Against a five-year-old? Oh jeez. After interviewing several people at the park, Chet knew it wasn’t the little girl’s fault, but she kept her mouth shut as the woman left them standing in the foyer to get the paperwork.
“What’re you doing?” Leo hissed in a low voice. “You’re supposed to be letting me handle the calls. I had it under control.”
Chet frowned. “No, you didn’t, Leo. You were about to send her into a hissy-fit—she was already half way there—and if that happened, she’d be completely uncooperative. Haven’t you ever heard the saying that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?” Not waiting for an answer, she continued, “And I’m supposed to observe you handling calls and step in when needed; you’re still in training.” Not for long, though, but she wasn’t going to tell him that now.
Leo’s training period was scheduled to be finished next week, but it wasn’t going to happen. Chet had already spoken to Des about it—several times. The probie ACO was not a good fit for the job—at least, not at this point. She’d found him to be overly aggressive on some calls, like today, and lax when it came to paperwork, restocking, and other bland requirements of a day in the life of an Animal Control Officer. He also seemed to confuse the law enforcement powers allowed to ACO with those of sworn police officers. ACOs only covered a small portion of state’s criminal procedure and penal laws compared to their patrol counterparts. There were many laws they weren’t permitted to enforce, but Leo appeared to have trouble remembering that. Des was going to have to decide whether to assign a new training ACO to Leo for another six weeks or let him go and hire the next person on the eligibility list—and based on Chet’s conversation with Des yesterday, and the one she’d have with him at the end of this call, they were going to let Leo go and offer the position to someone else.
“But—”
“Here it is.” Mrs. Powell unwittingly cut Leo off as she marched down the hallway toward them, waving a piece of paper while still holding Bitsy in her other arm.
She thrust the rabies certificate at Leo who stood stiff next to Chet. He took the document and read aloud the date on it. Bitsy had gotten her rabies vaccine seven months ago, so the little girl wouldn’t need to go through the elaborate treatment. Her mother would be happy to hear that. Chet nodded at Leo, then made a slight hand motion indicating for him to hand the woman the summons he’d filled out prior to their arrival. All he needed to do was verify her date of birth and phone number. Once that was done, he handed Mrs. Powell’s copy to her. She eyed it in confusion. “What’s this?”
“A court summons,” Leo explained. He didn’t need coaching from Chet for that, since it was the third one he’d done in the last two days. “You have to appear on the date and time at the top of the form—the address of the court is there too.”
“But—But I gave you the vaccine certificate. Why do I have to appear in court? This is so ridiculous.”
“You still have to appear before the judge to answer charges of having a vicious dog.” Leo’s condescending tone grated on Chet’s nerves.
“Vicious!” Mrs. Powell screeched, causing the dog in her arms to start barking and growling.
As the woman got riled up again, Chet sighed, wishing she had a huge bottle of Tylenol for the headache which had started with Leo’s non-stop babbling in their truck since the start of the shift and gotten worse thanks to Mrs. Powell and Bitsy. Four more hours before she could clock out and head home. Tuff had wanted to take her out to dinner tonight, but she hoped he’d be okay with eating in. After a long day like this one, she preferred to cuddle on the couch with him and Meat—one little happy family.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tuff threw Meat’s favorite Kong toy across the beach, much to the big dog’s delight. “Go get it, boy!”
He glanced at his watch. Chet was due home in a half hour as long as she didn’t get any late calls. It was the first evening he’d had off all week—he’d been away for two nights, and he hadn’t gotten home before 10:00 p.m. for the others. Tonight, after dinner, he was taking her to the BHS’s indoor/outdoor shooting range. They’d gone there several times, so she could practice with him and he could teach her some military-style shooting tactics she hadn’t learned in her training.
Things had been going great between them the past few weeks. When he was home, they’d settled into a nice routine, spending most late afternoons taking Meat for walks or rides or training and playing with him, followed by making dinner together or getting takeout. Nights were usually spent watching TV, going to a movie or some other fun place, and then sleeping together in Chet’s big bed with Meat snoring away on the floor.
&nbs
p; When it came to sex, yeah, that was damn awesome. Chet had hidden adventurous and kinky sides Tuff had been coaxing to the surface. Nothing hardcore or involving dominance and submission, just a little bondage, slap and tickle, and quickies where there was a chance of getting caught by someone. A trip to a local lover’s lane last week had turned into a teenage boy’s wet dream come true when Chet had whispered in Tuff’s ear that she’d gone to dinner earlier without any underwear beneath her miniskirt. Seconds later, that skirt had been up around her waist and he’d been buried in her scorching heat. After fucking hard and fast, they’d barely had a chance to catch their breaths before a cop car had pulled up and started knocking on the steamy windows of several vehicles parked in the little out-of-the-way spot. Chet’s uncontrollable giggling had resulted in Tuff becoming dislodged from her tight core.
As for everything not sexually-related, that was all going well too. Chet’s mom had a potential buyer for her house, gained by word of mouth after she’d returned to Chicago. One of her neighbor’s had relatives interested in the home. Inspections and loan paperwork were in the works, and, hopefully, by the end of the month, they’d have a date set for the sale. Chet couldn’t wait for Marianna to move down to Florida permanently. Her brother had been happy for both of them, but Chet’s younger sister was, apparently, being a bitch about it, but that wasn’t swaying their mother’s decision to move.
Meanwhile, Meat’s training was progressing nicely, to the point he’d been allowed off leash at the beach and park over the last week. He immediately came when Tuff or Chet called him and hadn’t had any run-ins with other dogs. In fact, they’d been surprised when a small terrier had challenged the pit bull one evening and Meat had ignored him. Instead, he’d gone off and flirted with an Australian Shepard that’d caught his eye. Not that he could do anything with her—he’d gotten snipped two weeks ago, and Tuff had treated him to an extra-large beef bone in commiseration. Now with his “cone of shame” off, he was back to flirting with the ladies with no chance of fatherhood.
As Tuff threw another long ball, his cell phone rang. Pulling it out of his pocket, he glanced at the screen before answering it. “Hey, Irv. What’s up?”
“How soon can you get here?” his supervisor asked without any preamble or explanation where “here” was—Irv practically lived at the BHS headquarters.
Shit—so much for a relaxing dinner tonight. “Fifteen, unless we’re going wheel’s up. In that case, a half hour. I have to drop Meat off at the house.”
“Bring him with you and make it ten.”
Tuff was not surprised Meat was welcome to tag along, but he was a little taken aback by the tersely given order. “Uh, sure—on my way.”
The call disconnected, and Tuff whistled loudly. “C’mon, Meatball! Gotta go to work!”
Twenty minutes later, the big lug was snoring underneath the conference table Tuff, Boots, Reaper, and Dusty were sitting around. The big bosses were behind closed doors in Chase’s office, and the man’s secretary, Shannon, had told the team members to wait for them in the conference room. The four were chatting and joking when Chase, Irv, Ian Sawyer, and an unfamiliar woman and another man strode into the room. If their expressions were anything to go by, this was not going to be good. As they all took seats around the table, Chase made the necessary introductions between his team and NCIS Agents Barbara Chan and Nathan Dobrowski.
Chase sat in his usual chair at the head of the table. An overly loud snore erupted in the brief silence when the man paused. He let out a chuckle. “That’s Meat, by the way. Trust me when I say his snores are a lot better to deal with than his farts. I hope to God you stopped feeding him lamb, Tuff. He can clear out the entire floor after eating that shit.”
As Dobrowski raised an amused eyebrow then glanced under the table at the massive canine, Tuff smirked. “Yes, I passed your request onto Chet, and she changed his diet back to chicken.” That had been an interesting few days when she’d switched his food to try a new organic brand—smelly was an understatement. There’d been nights when they’d needed to banish him from Chet’s bedroom, much to Meat’s annoyance. It’d been a tossup which was worse—his gastrointestinal distress or his whining outside the closed door.
With her ever-present tablet in her hands and a microphone headset on, Gordo rushed into the room. She was already tapping away on the screen before her ass hit the seat she’d chosen. The huge monitor behind Chase lit up and numerous computer windows opened. Without looking at the intel, the boss said, “All right, let’s get to it. Tuff, the FBI coders have deciphered—sort of—the mess on the chip that was pulled out of Meat, and it’s not good. Agent Chan?”
“Thank you,” the female NCIS agent responded. “Ms. Gordon, please put up the first image.” The computer wizard tapped her tablet, and a photo of a pretty blonde, in her midthirties and wearing a Naval uniform, came to the forefront of the big screen. “This is Major Arabella DeWitt, a doctor from the Naval Medical Research Center, in Bethesda, Maryland. She was one of their top scientists, working on a biodefense agent called BR7-MX, and—”
“Wait, was?” Boots asked. “Is she dead?”
“We don’t know.” Chan glanced around the table, her gaze landing on Irv. “She went AWOL three months ago. We haven’t been able to figure out if she went into the wind on her own or if foul play was involved.”
Chase’s second-in-command’s jaw tightened, and he clenched his fist—actions that weren’t missed by several people in the room. Dusty opened his mouth first. “Do you know her, Irv?”
The man’s tone was flat as a flounder. “I went to high school with Bella. Haven’t seen her since our five-year reunion.”
Tuff got the impression there was more to it than the brusque explanation, but nothing else was added. Tuff looked at Chan. “What’s she got to do with Meat’s microchip?”
“As I was saying, Dr. DeWitt has been working on BR7-MX for three years. During a prior research study, she and two other doctors accidentally created a biochemical that could basically eat a human from the inside out over several days, similar to necrotizing fasciitis or, what the press likes to call it, flesh-eating bacteria. From what I understand, and as you can imagine, BR7-MX produces a slow, painful death, but it’s faster than its natural counterpart. It would take the victim about thirty-six hours to die, and there’s nothing that can be done to stop it—at least not yet.”
“What the fuck?” Reaper spat. “Who dreams up this shit?”
“Again, it was accidental. It was discovered while they were working on the formula of a nerve gas the Russians were trying to develop.”
Tuff shook his head. “Okay, but I still don’t understand how Meat fits into all this.”
As if on cue, the pit bull let out a snort followed by a yawn before settling back down under the table. Despite the seriousness of the meeting, a few people smiled while Gordo chuckled; the woman had a huge soft spot in her heart for the dog and now kept a jar of treats in her war-room, in case Tuff brought Meat in for a visit.
“At first, the FBI had no idea he did fit into this,” Chan said. “But once the code was partially cracked, and they realized it was somehow connected to NavMeRC, they contacted us, and we were able to fill some of the blanks. Meat—by the way, I freaking love that name—wasn’t originally with the fight club he was rescued from.” An image of a couple in their midthirties appeared on the big screen. “Dr. DeWitt’s sister, Carla, and her husband, Evert Robertson, rescued and raised pit bulls on the ranch they owned in Maryland. Meat had apparently been rescued from an abusive owner not too long ago. Carla had bonded with him and decided to keep him instead of putting him up for adoption. The same goes for the other two dogs that were stolen from their foster homes here in Tampa—they were part of the Robertsons’ permanent pack.
“A little over three months ago, Dr. DeWitt’s associates, Dr. Lisa Imbierowitz and Dr. Simon Czubek, who were working on the BR7-MX with her, were both killed—Dr. Imbierowitz in a hit and run,
and Dr. Czubek in a home invasion, six hours later.” Their photos become enlarged on the screen, along with crime scene images. “While none of us like the coincidences, there’s been no evidence to link the two incidents. From what we figured out, the team had a breakthrough earlier that day, and they were on the verge of creating the antidote. After the other two doctors were killed, Dr. DeWitt put the formulas for both the BR7-MX and the nearly completed antidote onto microchips, then implanted them into the dogs, for safekeeping, we presume.”
“Or she could’ve been hiding the formula until she found a buyer for it,” Ian added, wryly. While he didn’t say anything, it was clear Irv wasn’t happy with that suggestion. Tuff got the impression this wasn’t the first time it had come up in conversation today.
“That’s a possibility we have to consider, but, at this stage, we believe it was to keep it from falling into the wrong hands.”
Tuff thought back to the day Chet and her mother were held hostage and something niggled his brain. “Why did they need the dogs alive?” He glanced at Boots and then Chase. “Remember? Chet told us Martinez needed Meat alive. She couldn’t figure out why he didn’t just shoot the dog and cut out the microchip.”
Chan leaned forward and crossed her arms on the table. “About eight years ago, Dr. DeWitt was on a team that help perfect a self-recoding microchip—a little 007 project the Navy was doing for the NSA.” Meaning, it was one of those things that most people would think Hollywood had made up, when, in reality, it actually existed. “Once it’s introduced into a live body, in this case, Meat and the other dogs, there’s a reaction to the oxygen-rich blood. As long as it remains within a living, breathing body, it’s fine. If it’s removed, like Meat’s was, the code used for the content is no longer decipherable using the original cryptogram. When all three microchips were read with the proper scanners, before Meat’s was removed, they would’ve all made sense, and the formula would be almost completely intact. Now that his has been removed from the oxygen-rich blood, that portion of the formula has a new cipher—one that doesn’t make sense with the other two parts which, we think, are still in the two stolen dogs.”
Tuff Enough Page 15
