Chapter 4 - The Saboteur's Footprint
I swallowed the rage burning in my throat. I looked past Harrison’s shoulder, through the glass door of the trauma room. Dr. Lin was pressing a syringe into Titan’s IV tube. He was still alive, but barely. If I went to jail tonight, I wouldn't be able to protect him when the court order went through tomorrow morning.
Slowly, deliberately, I unclipped my leather belt, unholstered my sidearm, and removed my gold officer’s badge. I placed them into Harrison’s open hands.
"You're making the biggest mistake of your career, Captain," I said softly.
"Go home, Marcus," Harrison said, looking away as he pocketed my badge. "Don't make this any worse than it already is."
I didn't go home.
Forty minutes later, dressed in civilian dark jeans and a waterproof jacket, I slipped under the yellow police line tape at Centennial Park. Night had fully fallen, bringing with it a freezing drizzle that turned the grass to mud. The park was deserted, illuminated only by the faint glow of distant streetlights.
I pulled a high-lumen tactical flashlight from my jacket and dropped to my knees near the weeping willow trees where the attack had occurred.
Something wasn't adding up. Timber Rattlesnakes were native to Eastern Washington, separated from Seattle by the massive Cascade Mountain range. They did not naturally inhabit urban public parks in Western Washington, especially not during November when cold-blooded reptiles were deep in winter brumation underground.
Someone had brought that snake here.
I moved the flashlight beam inch by inch across the soggy earth, sweeping past the crushed grass where Titan had landed. Ten feet away, near the hollow base of a large oak tree, the flashlight beam caught a glint of reflective gray metal buried under a pile of pine needles.
I knelt, using a gloved hand to brush away the wet leaves.
It was a heavy-duty, stainless-steel locking latch—the kind used on professional industrial reptile transport crates. Beside the latch lay a small plastic shipping tag stamped with a serial number and a corporate logo: Vanguard Biological Supplies.
My breath caught in my throat. This wasn't an accidental escape. Someone had brought a dangerous predator into a crowded public park and intentionally or carelessly released it right near the children's play area.
CRUNCH.
The sharp snap of a twig echoed behind me in the dark trees.
May you like
I spun around, sweeping my flashlight beam toward the sound. "Who's there?!"
Before I could bring my arms up to defend myself, a heavy iron bar swung out from the darkness, striking me brutally across the side of my jaw. Sparks exploded in my vision, and I collapsed sideways into the freezing mud.
