Billionaire Mafia Boss Offers $500,000 Reward for Retired Police Dog That Sends His Son to Prison

Chapter 3

They came across an old logging road, overgrown but still passable.

Mike hesitated. Roads were dangerous. Exposed. But they also meant speed. He decided to risk it, moving along the edge, ready to dive into cover at the first sign of trouble.

The road led generally north — their direction anyway. They made good time for about an hour.

Then Shadow stopped abruptly. His body went rigid. A low growl rumbled in his chest.

Mike heard it a second later.

The sound of an engine coming up behind them.

He pulled Shadow into the underbrush just as a black SUV rounded the curve. Moving slowly. Searchlights mounted on the roof, sweeping the road. Two men inside. Both armed.

Mike and Shadow pressed flat against the ground — hidden by ferns and fallen logs, barely breathing — as the vehicle crawled past.

The SUV disappeared around the next bend.

But Mike knew they couldn’t stay on the road. Too exposed.

He led Shadow deeper into the forest, moving at an angle that would eventually intersect with the border, but through terrain so rough that vehicles couldn’t follow. The cost was speed. They were moving at maybe two miles per hour now. Exhaustion making every step an effort.

—

As darkness fell again, Mike found a massive fallen cedar tree — its trunk hollow from rot. The interior was dry, protected from the elements. Just large enough for both of them to squeeze inside.

It wasn’t comfortable. But it was hidden.

Mike pulled out his phone. Twenty-one percent battery. He risked turning it on.

Three missed calls from Sarah.

He called her back. Her voice was tense.

— Mike, where are you? I’ve got movement on my end. Castellano put out word through the contractor networks. Half the mercenaries on the West Coast are heading your way. This isn’t just about revenge anymore. It’s about reputation. If he lets you get away, he looks weak. He can’t afford that.

Mike gave her their approximate coordinates.

Sarah was silent for a moment. Then:

— You’re still forty miles from the border. At your current pace, that’s another day and a half. I don’t think you have that much time.

— What are my options?

— I’m working on something. There’s a guy — ex-Marine, runs a wilderness guide service near the border. He owes me. I’m trying to reach him. If I can, he might be able to meet you halfway. Provide transportation. But Mike, you need to understand — Castellano has deep pockets. Anyone helping you is taking a huge risk.

— I understand, Mike said. — Just tell me where to go.

Sarah gave him new coordinates. A location about twenty miles north. An old fire service station, abandoned. If her contact agreed to help, that’s where he would meet them.

Noon tomorrow.

Mike confirmed and ended the call.

Twenty miles through mountains with hunters on their trail. It seemed impossible.

But impossible was all they had left.

—

The night was long and cold.

Mike dozed in short intervals, jerking awake at every sound. Shadow slept pressed against him, providing warmth. When dawn finally came, Mike was stiff and sore, his muscles protesting every movement.

They crawled out of the hollow tree and started moving immediately. No time for rest.

The morning brought fog — thick and disorienting. Visibility dropped to maybe thirty feet. Mike used his compass, trusting the bearings Sarah had given him.

The terrain was brutal. Steep climbs followed by treacherous descents. Several times, Mike slipped, catching himself at the last second before tumbling down rocky slopes. Shadow navigated better — his four legs and lower center of gravity providing stability.

By mid-morning, they heard voices again.

Close. Too close.

Mike and Shadow froze.

Through the fog, shapes materialized. Three men dressed in tactical gear, moving in a loose formation. They hadn’t seen Mike yet.

He had seconds to decide.

Fight or hide.

With three armed professionals, fighting was suicide. He signaled Shadow to stay silent and low, then slowly backed away — one step at a time, trying to make no sound.

A branch snapped under his foot.

The crack was deafening in the quiet forest.

All three men turned. Weapons coming up.

Mike dove behind a tree as gunfire erupted — bullets tearing through the fog, splintering bark inches from his head. He drew his Glock and returned fire — not to hit, but to create space.

Shadow was already moving. Circling wide. A tactical maneuver they had executed hundreds of times during their years together.

The dog disappeared into the fog like a ghost.

One of the men screamed.

Shadow had found him.

Mike used the distraction to move — changing position, firing twice more. The other two men split up, trying to flank him. Mike’s training took over completely now. Assess angles. Control breathing. Pick targets.

He saw movement to his left. Fired.

Heard a grunt of pain.

Not a kill shot. But enough to take that shooter out of the fight.

The third man was smart — staying behind cover, not exposing himself. Mike heard him on the radio, calling for backup.

That changed everything.

Mike whistled sharply — the recall signal.

Shadow appeared seconds later. Blood on his muzzle. Uninjured.

They ran.

Abandoning stealth for speed. Crashing through the underbrush as more gunfire chased them.

The firefight had cost them precious time and revealed their location. The entire area would be swarming within the hour.

Mike pushed harder. Ignoring the burning in his lungs. The protests from his aging body. Shadow ran beside him, matching his pace, never falling behind.

They covered three miles in less than thirty minutes. A brutal sprint through impossible terrain.

Finally, Mike had to stop. He collapsed against a tree, chest heaving, vision swimming. Shadow paced nervously — ears swiveling, tracking sounds Mike couldn’t hear.

After a minute, Mike checked his phone. Eleven percent battery.

He pulled up the coordinates Sarah had given him. They were close. Maybe five miles from the fire service station.

But five miles might as well be fifty if they were surrounded.

The fog was lifting, burned away by late-morning sun. Better visibility meant they could see threats coming — but it also meant they could be seen.

Mike heard the helicopters again. Multiple aircraft now, the sound echoing through the mountains. He looked up through the canopy and caught glimpses of them circling. Searching.

They had infrared. They had resources.

All Mike had was determination and a dog that refused to quit.