Page 13 of Radar (Iniquus Certified Cerberus Tactical K9 #2)
Radar barked at Jerome. Sniffed at him. Pawed at him. And Jerome didn’t move other than a gentle quaking and a good deal of sweat.
Finally, Radar turned his attention to the inside of the car, assessing the interior, looking over the seat to the back.
He didn’t seem to find what he was looking for.
Next, Radar tried threatening. He growled and barked, stomping his foot on the accessory box between them.
“Help.” Jerome squeaked quietly as he white-knuckled the steering wheel, his whole body quivering.
Xander felt for the guy. Radar was intimidating as hell.
Finally, Radar bent his head, gathering something into his mouth, then he scrambled back over Jerome’s lap and leaped through the window.
“Reaper here. Jerome, what did he pick up?”
“My phone and, goddamit, he took my lunch. That’s my lunch, man.”
Radar was tearing across the field while Reaper was laughing over the radio. “What did you pack?”
“My mama’s meat loaf sandwich. I’ll be pissed if he eats it. Reaper, there’s gonna be hell to pay if he eats that sandwich.”
At the edge of the woods, Radar dropped the bag and moved to the same spot he’d stopped before and stared into the distance.
From the camera feed, Xander couldn’t make out what made that spot interesting.
A moment later, Radar was back snuffling the lunch bag.
Xander watched with interest. That meat probably smelled delicious.
Was it enough to distract Radar from his mission?
Xander could see the bag was wet from Radar’s saliva.
Radar’s nose went into the top, and he snuffled the scents, but instead of pulling the sandwich out, Radar dropped the phone inside.
He chomped down on the items and trotted into the woods and over toward Xander’s tree.
Xander laid the screen down.
Radar was in view. He placed the items at the roots and barked for Xander.
Xander wondered if he thought the food was part of helping him.
Reaper was on the radio. “Xander, the only thing you can say is ‘Radar, get help.’”
“Wilco,” Xander said, then leaned out of the tree house. “Radar, get help.”
Radar picked up the bag, dropped it, and barked.
Xander had to bite off the good boys and praise. He stuck to the script, “Radar, get help.”
Radar picked up the bag and stood on his hind paws, lifting the items toward Xander. Xander lay on the boards and stretched long but couldn’t reach it. So, he said again, “Radar, get help.”
Bag in mouth, Radar trotted away.
The whole thing was genius. Radar had found food and comms. If he’d brought Jerome’s water bottle, Xander would be set.
Xander turned back to the screen to see what Radar was up to.
Radar had once again dropped the bag, then picked it up again. Xander assumed to get it better positioned in his mouth because a moment later, Radar was hauling ass toward the tree.
Radar pressed his paws onto the trunk and was able to run two paces up the tree, release the bag into Xander’s waiting hand, before falling back to the ground.
Xander immediately clambered down from the tree to give Radar whole-body scritches and high-pitched, enthusiastic praise.
But Radar wanted none of that.
He stomped his foot and ran out. Traced back and ran out again just as he’d attempted with Jerome.
Xander wondered if Radar was leading him back to Jerome’s car. Which was fine, he needed to return the man’s things.
About a hundred yards out, in the exact spot that Xander remembered Radar had stopped, looked into the woods, and stomped, Radar stopped again.
There, Xander found a woman curled up under a tree reading a book.
“Your bandage?” Xander called out.
“My bandage,” she said with a wave.
Xander wondered why Radar had bypassed her when searching for help. And the only thing Xander could assume was that the “find human” command sent him on a search that fell into one of two camps—a victim or a perpetrator—and neither was suitable for the command, “Get help.”
Could that be right?
The whole thing, from start to finish, was mind-bending. Xander knew some men on the battlefield who couldn’t have juggled all the balls that Radar had during one of the most complicated training evolutions Xander had ever seen.
The radio sizzled. “Jerome here. I have a meeting. I need that phone.”
“Yeah, yeah, come on over and get it,” Xander said. “Oh my god, man, your mom is the best cook. I’ve never had a meatloaf sandwich as good as this one. No wonder you were ticked about your lunch.”
“Dude, you’d better be kidding or we’re going to dance.”
“Mmm, sorry, can’t hear you past my moaning. So good. Wow.”
“Dude!”
“Gotta go.” Xander put the radio back on his belt. He hadn’t approached the woman with her book because he didn’t know what role she was playing here.
A rescue team came up the mound with a soft approach.
Radar turned and braced a low rumble in his chest, warning the crew against advancing as he maintained control over the area.
Xander commanded Radar to allow the team to come forward with a “Radar, leave it.”
The group wore jackets with identifying logos that weren’t from Cerberus. Reaper must have wanted a crew that was new to Radar.
The men stepped in to perform mock first aid on both Xander and the woman with the book, laying “the victims” on stretchers, and moving them to the car where they were set down, all under the close observation of noble Radar.
That whole scene was beyond expectations. It was miraculous.
Reaper pulled up in his car. “Clear,” he said. “End of evolution.”
Xander was high-pitched praising Radar and playing tug, only coming to a stop when a red-faced man stomped over. “Hey! I’m Jerome. I need my phone. And I need my mama’s meatloaf sandwich.”