MY K9 PARTNER SAVED MY LIFE LAST YEAR—BUT THIS MORNING HE REFUSED TO GET IN THE CAR

Most days, Bravo leaps into the cruiser before I’ve even opened the second door. He’s a machine when it comes to routine—vest on, check. Seat harness clipped, check. Look out the window like he owns the streets? Absolutely. But today… he just sat there. Rigid. Watching me. Not growling, not scared—just staring. I tried again. “Let’s go, partner.” Still nothing.

It threw me. This dog has charged into burning buildings, sniffed out a body in the middle of a swamp, and literally dragged me out of the line of fire once—once—when my radio jammed and backup was too far. But today he wouldn’t even get in the damn car.

And then, just as I was about to lift him in myself, he backed away. Sat down. And barked—one sharp, clipped bark that echoed through the garage. I looked at him. Really looked. And that’s when I saw what he was trying to tell me. The cable on the undercarriage was loose.

Not just loose. Cut. I ducked under the cruiser, heart slamming in my chest—and what I found was taped up just behind the left wheel well made me freeze. Because the wiring led to something small. Something black. Something ticking.

My breath hitched. A bomb. Someone had rigged my cruiser with an explosive device. It wasn’t big enough to destroy the entire vehicle, but it didn’t need to be—it would’ve been plenty deadly for anyone sitting inside. For me. For Bravo.

Sweat prickled along my spine as I crawled backward, careful not to touch anything. My mind raced. Who would do this? And why now? Bravo whined softly from above, his nose nudging my shoulder. He’d known. Somehow, he’d sensed danger where I hadn’t even thought to look. I reached up and scratched behind his ears, trying to steady myself.

“You saved us again, buddy,” I murmured. His tail thumped against the concrete floor, slow and deliberate, like he understood every word.