THE HIDDEN PARK SNARE

The crimson aiming beam from my taser stayed centered on the chest of the broad-shouldered stranger.

He stood only yards from Titan and the little girl, gripping a thick branch like he had been ready to use it.

“Put it down,” I told him again.

My voice came out level, but every nerve in me was screaming. Training was the only thing keeping panic from taking control.

The man stalled. His gray jacket rose and fell over a pounding chest as his eyes bounced between my weapon, Titan, and the child in the wet grass.

Then his fingers opened.

The branch slammed onto the nearby path with a heavy crack that made several people in the crowd flinch.

“You’ve got this backwards,” he said, backing away with both hands raised. Anger shook through every word. “That dog went after a child.”

People lining the walkway began talking all at once.

Phones appeared above heads, camera lenses fixed on me, Titan, and the sobbing little girl trapped beneath my partner’s body.

They did not see the years of drills, deployments, searches, or lives Titan had helped save.

They saw a police K9 on top of a child, and a handler who seemed unable to stop him.

To them, Titan was a dangerous animal gone bad. I was the officer who had let it happen.

My badge, my record, my future—none of that mattered in that instant.

All I could focus on was the girl beneath Titan and the fact that my seven-year partner was not responding the way he should.

“Claire! Get to her!” somebody shouted from behind the ring of bystanders.

A woman broke from the crowd and dropped to her knees in the soaked grass.

Her white blouse was streaked with green and mud. She crawled forward through tears, calling desperately for her daughter.

“Emily! Oh God, Emily!” Claire cried.

She reached the tall grass, seized the girl by the ankles, and began dragging her away from Titan.

My stomach locked tight.

A moving child could trigger pursuit in the wrong dog, and even the best-trained K9 could react unpredictably under stress.

My hand hovered near Titan’s collar. If he lunged or clamped down, I would have to force him off.

That was the kind of decision that could destroy a partnership forever.

But Titan yielded immediately.

As Claire pulled Emily clear, Titan eased backward without a snap, a growl, or even a glance at the girl.

He planted his paws in the mud and held his ground, positioned between the mother and child and the bushes behind him.

Claire crushed Emily against her chest, checking her arms, legs, and face with shaking hands.

“Did he hurt you?” she begged. “Did that dog bite you?”

Emily’s tear-wet face disappeared against her mother’s shoulder. Between ragged hiccups, she shook her head.

“No,” she managed. “He only pushed me.”

The breath tore out of me in relief. No blood marked her skin. Her clothes were not ripped. Titan had not mauled her—he had knocked her down.

Claire swung toward me, grief burning into fury. “I’m reporting you. I’ll call the mayor, the media, everybody. That animal should be locked in a cage, and you should be locked up with him.”

“Ma’am, I know this looks terrible, but—” I began.

Titan’s bark detonated across the park.

I stopped cold.

He was not looking at Claire. He was not watching Emily. His stare was fixed on a broad puddle near the bushes, where recent storms had turned the low ground into brown water.

Emily’s yellow frisbee bobbed near its center.

Titan’s hackles stood high. His ears lay flat, and his nose worked in short, frantic pulls at the air above the water.

“Titan, heel,” I said quietly.

He backed one step toward me and pressed his side against my leg, trembling hard. This was not aggression. This was fear.

I pulled my flashlight free despite the daylight. The ornamental bushes cast deep shadow over the puddle. “Nobody comes closer,” I ordered. “Stay off the grass.”

The man in the gray jacket shouted behind me, demanding that I arrest my own dog. I gave him nothing and moved past Claire and Emily toward the water.

Wet soil and rotting leaves filled the air, but beneath them was another odor: sharp, metallic, bitter. Ozone. The smell left after lightning tears through the sky.

My beam crossed the muddy surface, catching cloud reflections and the drifting yellow frisbee. Then I angled it lower and saw a dark green metal shape sunk into the hollow.

It was a city electrical junction box, meant to feed power to the park lights and concession areas. Its heavy cover should have been bolted shut. Instead, someone had taken the lid away, leaving the live equipment submerged beneath the water.