Hutchins' head snaps toward the sound, his grip loosening fractionally. I suck in air and scream as loud as my damaged throat allows.
"Duke!"
The barking gets closer, crashing through marsh grass at speed. Hutchins releases my throat and spins toward the approaching sound, reaching for something on his belt. Not a weapon—he wouldn't bring a firearm to this. But his hand finds a tactical knife, blade catching fading sunlight as he pulls it free.
Duke explodes into view fifty yards out, Belgian Malinois in full attack mode with Devlin running behind him. But fifty yards through marsh grass and uneven ground takes time, and Hutchins has a knife and nothing left to lose.
He turns back to me, blade raised, making his choice in the split second before Duke reaches us. If he's going down, he's taking his symbol with him.
I grab the only weapon available—the solar-powered speaker unit mounted to the barrier—rip it free of its mounting, andswing it at his head with every ounce of strength and rage I have left.
The unit connects with his temple. Not hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough to stagger him back a step. Hard enough that when Duke hits him three seconds later, Hutchins is off-balance and unprepared.
Eighty pounds of trained aggression takes Hutchins down into marsh water. The knife goes flying. Duke's jaws lock onto Hutchins' arm, holding him down with professional precision that allows no escape.
Devlin reaches us seconds later, weapon drawn, Duke's lead in his other hand. "Release."
Duke holds for another heartbeat, making sure the threat is secure, then releases and backs off to Devlin's side. Hutchins lies in marsh water, arm bleeding, eyes wild with rage and fear and the realization that it's over.
"Stay down." Devlin's voice carries absolute authority. "Move and he goes back to work."
Duke sits at perfect attention, every muscle coiled and ready, eyes locked on Hutchins like he's memorizing every detail for the report. Blood seeps from Hutchins' arm where Duke's teeth broke skin. His face is mud-streaked and the cold control he maintained during his confession is completely gone, replaced by the desperate fury of a man watching his worldview collapse.
Devlin moves to me, keeping his weapon and attention on Hutchins. "Andi. You hurt?"
"Throat." My voice comes out raw and damaged. "He confessed. Everything. The break-in, the magazine, the explosive device. Said he was sending a message about women and civilians."
"I heard." Devlin's expression is cold fury barely contained. "Security is two minutes out. Can you walk?"
I nod, even though my legs are shaking and breathing hurts and I can feel bruises forming where Hutchins' fingers dug into my throat. I can walk. I can stand. I can testify.
Hutchins makes a sound between a laugh and a sob. "You think this changes anything? You think arresting me stops the truth? There are others who see what I see. Who know women don't belong in combat roles or command positions. Who understand civilians undermine military readiness. You won this round, but the war isn't over."
"There is no war." I look down at him, this bitter man who tried to kill me because he couldn't handle that the world changed without his permission. "There's just you, facing consequences for attempted murder. And me, going back to work tomorrow because bird strikes don't care about your prejudices."
Security vehicles appear in the distance, lights cutting through dusk. Captain Nelson and his team will handle the arrest, the evidence collection, the formal charges. My part is done except for the testimony and the paperwork and the long process of turning terror into justice.
Duke moves to my side, pressing against my leg with gentle insistence. I bury my hand in his fur, drawing comfort from solid warmth and steady presence. He found me. Tracked me through marsh grass and fading light and got here in time to save my life.
"Good boy," I whisper, voice still raw. "Good boy, Duke."
His tail wags once, slow and deliberate, like he's saying it was just his job but he's glad I'm okay.
Devlin keeps his weapon and attention on Hutchins until security arrives, but his free hand finds mine and holds on tight. Physical confirmation that I'm here, I'm breathing, I'm alive despite Hutchins' best efforts to make me a symbol and a warning and a casualty of his personal war against progress.
Nelson reaches us first, taking in the scene with trained efficiency. Hutchins in marsh water with Duke's bite marks bleeding through torn coveralls. Me with visible bruising already forming on my throat. Devlin standing between us with a weapon and absolute determination that nothing else happens to me tonight.
"Miss O'Rourke." Nelson's voice is professionally concerned. "We need medical to check you out."
"I'm fine." The lie is automatic, but my damaged throat and shaking hands betray it. "He confessed. Everything. I can give a full statement."
"Medical first, statement after." Nelson signals his team. "Master Sergeant Hutchins, you're under arrest for attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering, destruction of property, and terrorism against a federal contractor on a military installation."
They haul Hutchins upright, cuff him with efficiency that says this isn't their first arrest of someone who thought personal grievances justified violence. He doesn't fight, doesn't resist. Just stares at me with hatred so pure it makes breathing harder than his hands around my throat did.
"This isn't over," he says as they lead him toward the security vehicles. "Others will finish what I started. Women like you don't belong?—"
"Save it for your court martial." Nelson's voice is cold and final. "You have the right to remain silent. I suggest you use it."
