A Breed Apart

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  • Format: Trade Book
  • Copyright: 2009-05-19
  • Publisher: Dell
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Lt. Elliot Elliot, aka E Squared. A botched drug raid yanks him off the street and into a cubicle at the Pearson Institute of Health Sciences, where he's reduced to hunting down stolen laptops. Then the ultimate insult: track down an escaped lab animal, a seventy-five-pound black Labrador retriever. But the dog turns out to be an extraordinary creature at the heart of an international collision between science, money, lust, and life itself. And as Elliot struggles to understand what's going on, the dog must wage its own desperate battle for survival . Elliot encounters a trophy wife from his own past, a professional killer with a medieval bent, a comatose surgeon with a checkered history, and a billionaire locked in a frantic struggle to stay aliveall connected to a dog that guards a secret far deadlier than anyone can imagine.

Author Biography

Pierre Davis (aka Pierre Ouellette) entered the creative realm at age 13 as a lead guitarist for numerous bands in the Pacific Northwest, including the nationally known Paul Revere and the Raiders. He went on to play with such jazz luminaries as saxophonist Jim Pepper and bassist David Friesen, all the while composing sound tracks for short films and videos. To support his music habit, he became a freelance writer and eventually co-founded an advertising agency specializing in high technology, serving as its creative director. During this period, he wrote two novels eventually published in seven languages, with both optioned for film. Pierre currently resides in Portland, Oregon, where he now devotes himself exclusively to writing fiction and playing jazz guitar in a little bar just down the street.


Part One


Elliot slouched in the sad yellow stink of the aging van. He watched the rain smack the windshield as he listened to the muted squawk of the police band and wondered how many cigarettes it took to make something smell this awful. Next to him, Sparks sped the process along by lighting up. Carefully, of course. He didn't want to send a signal to the dope house down the block.

Elliot Elliot. E squared. Double E. Dubby when he was a kid. The legacy of an idiot father long gone in an old Toyota pickup. Took the tools of his trade with him. A pool cue. A maxed-out credit card. An empty beer cooler.

"Couldn't you step outside with that?" one of the guys asked from the back. A young guy, nonsmoker obviously. You saw that all the time these days.

Sparks ignored him. Sparks was top dog. Team leader. Sparks called the shots. He turned to Elliot, the greenest among them, recently yanked off desk duty, pushed through training and out onto the street. Sparks pointed through the windshield into the gloom and drizzle beyond. One crummy little house after another. Almost identical, especially at 5 a.m.

"Check out the ride."

A tricked-out Honda sat in the little driveway where Sparks pointed.

"Dead giveaway. They're never smart enough to drive something shitty. They gotta haul out their dick and wave it around."

Sparks referred to the residents of the house. A Mexican-Colombian conspiracy, intelligence said. Bad boys backed by_combat-level armament. Dealers of meth, crack and coke. High-octane drugs only. Perfect for a customer base running on empty.

Sparks snorted. "Cool cars. Bad dudes. Crappy houses. It's always the fuckin' same. Always. I want out." He exhaled twin cones of pale blue. "Two more years. That's it. I'm outta here."

Sparks rubbed his beard. Sparks always rubbed his beard. He had amazing whiskers. His face went from nude to opaque in just a couple of hours. Elliot once asked him why he didn't just grow a beard. Because I'd look like a fucking terrorist, he replied. A career-limiting move, for sure. Right now, he just looked sleazy.

"I've heard some people don't deal so well with retirement," Elliot ventured.

"Not me," Sparks said. "I'm ready. I'm more than ready. You watch your ass out there. These guys won't go down easy."

Elliot nodded. At the briefing, they'd learned of six possible residents. Five murder raps and sixteen armed assaults among them. Elliot was fearful, but not frozen. Elliot was ex-military, sort of.

Sparks looked at his watch and stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray. "It's showtime."

He grabbed the radio mike and checked in with the support team tucked away in the next block, then turned to the rear. Six faces framed in blue helmets turned toward him. "Okay, you guys know the drill. Be cool."

They all spilled quickly and quietly out of the van. They formed up single file, then trotted up the street through the gloom, Elliot in the rear. The light thump of combat boots pushing through the drizzle.

Elliot's Kevlar vest bobs slightly as he trots along. His M16 feels weightless. He rides high on the heat of the moment.

Sparks signals a halt as they pour into the front yard. No light seeps from anywhere in the house. A streetlight rakes the front and pushes the porch into shadow. Sparks points to the tactical light mounted under the barrel of his rifle. The signal is understood. When they crash in, they will go to tactical light so no time is lost hunting for a light switch.

They steal onto the porch. They split in two and bracket the front door. Sparks opens the screen door. Very carefully. Sims and Carter come up from opposite sides with the entry ram, a heavy metal tube with two handles.

The ram flies forward just as Elliot sees the tricycle

Excerpted from A Breed Apart by Pierre Davis
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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