Koda’s growl echoed in the quiet ballroom, vibrating through the leather leash and straight up my arm.
“Julian, don’t move,” I said. My voice was barely a rasp, but it carried across the silent room.
Julian let out a sharp, nervous laugh. He took a step to the right. “Dave, come on. Call your dog off. He’s ruining the moment.”
Koda tracked him perfectly. The German Shepherd didn’t bark. He just kept his nose pressed firmly against the fabric of Julian’s left pant leg, his body rigid.
“I said, don’t move,” I repeated. I looked up at the podium. Chief O’Malley hadn’t sat back down. The older man was gripping the edges of the wooden lectern, his knuckles white.
“Officer Hayes,” Chief O’Malley said. His voice was dangerously calm. “Stand still.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. The charming, golden-boy facade cracked, revealing something ugly underneath. “This is ridiculous. The dog is malfunctioning. Miller, you trained him wrong. I’m going to file a formal complaint against you and your mutt.”
He reached down to shove Koda away.
“Don’t touch him!” I snapped.
The room erupted into whispers. Two uniformed officers at the nearest table stood up, their hands instinctively dropping to their duty belts. The flash of a camera bulb popped from the back of the room.
“Chief, this is a setup,” Julian pleaded, his voice rising in pitch. “He’s trying to sabotage my promotion. I’m the valedictorian of the academy. I’m the face of the new task force!”
“You’re the face of a lot of things, Julian,” Chief O’Malley said. He stepped down from the podium. His polished oxfords clicked against the floor. “Sergeant Davis. Bring the portable scanner.”
A heavy-set sergeant hurried out from the kitchen, carrying a black duffel bag. He unzipped it and pulled out a handheld ion scanner, usually used for quick explosive and narcotic trace detection.
“Hold out your hands, Hayes,” O’Malley ordered.
Julian didn’t move. His eyes darted toward the emergency exit. “I refuse. This is a violation of my rights. I want my union rep.”
“You waived your right to a private search when you put on that badge this morning,” O’Malley said coldly. “Davis. Scan him.”
Sergeant Davis stepped forward. He ran the wand over Julian’s chest, his arms, his back. The machine stayed silent. Then, Davis lowered the wand to Julian’s left thigh.
The machine shrieked. A loud, piercing beep that made the guests flinch.
Julian flinched too. He tried to pull his leg away, but Davis grabbed his ankle, locking it in place.
“It’s a false positive!” Julian screamed, his face turning a deep, blotchy red. “It’s the fabric! It’s the detergent!”
“Cut the pant leg,” O’Malley said.
Davis pulled a pair of trauma shears from his belt. He didn’t hesitate. He slid the cold steel blades under the fabric of Julian’s trousers, right where Koda was still sniffing, and sliced upward.
The dark blue fabric fell away.
The room gasped.
Taped tightly to Julian’s thigh, wrapped in layers of clear industrial plastic, was a brick. It was the size of a paperback book. The white powder inside was packed so tightly it looked like solid marble.
“Fentanyl,” I whispered.
Julian stopped struggling. The fight drained out of him all at once. He looked at the brick, then at Koda, then at me. The arrogance was completely gone. He looked like a child caught in a lie, but the stakes were infinitely higher.
“They said it was just a one-time run,” Julian mumbled, his voice hollow. “They said the dog wouldn’t smell the vacuum seal. They said I was untouchable.”
“You’re untouchable now,” O’Malley said. He nodded to the two officers who had stood up.
They moved in fast. They pulled Julian’s arms behind his back. The metallic click of the handcuffs was sharp and final. They didn’t read him his rights right there; they just marched him toward the kitchen doors, away from the press and the guests.
Julian didn’t look back at the podium. He didn’t look at the crowd. He just stared at the floor, his shoulders slumped, entirely defeated.
Chief O’Malley walked over to me. He looked down at Koda, who was finally sitting calmly, his tail giving a single, slow thump against the floor.
“Good boy,” the Chief said softly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, foil-wrapped steak. He handed it to me. “Give him this. And Miller?”
“Yes, Chief?”
“Write up the arrest report. I want it on my desk by 0600.”
I clipped the leash back onto Koda’s harness. The heavy metal clasp snapped into place.
The heavy oak doors of the ballroom clicked shut behind the officers, leaving only the sound of my dog chewing his reward.