Noah sprinted right behind the dog, gun trained squarely on the suspect's chest, preparing for the violent collision, the tear of heavy fabric, and the inevitable struggle to disarm a hostile felon. The man pulled his hand out of his pocket—holding a small, plastic case. He didn't raise his guard or brace for impact. He simply stood his ground, staring straight at the black mass charging toward him.
Ten feet. Five feet. Two feet. Axel leaped into the air. In mid-flight, Axel did something Noah had never seen a working K9 do. The dog twisted his body sideways, aborting his strike momentum, and skidded heavily onto the wet pavement. He didn't bite. He didn't bark.
Axel dropped straight to his chest at the man’s boots, his ears flattened, letting out a high-pitched, heartbreaking whine as he frantically thrust his nose into the man’s trembling hand.