Page 43 of More Than a Hero
Pete smirked. “I have a feeling Nero’s about to make our night a whole lot more interesting.”
She chuckled, patting the dog’s harness. “He’s locked in and ready to go.”
Jeremy and Pete followed as she led Nero to the trunk. A deputy popped it open, revealing an empty cargo space.
The suspect, now in cuffs and pinned against a patrol car, barked out a laugh. “Ain’t got no right to be searchin’ my shit. Y’all got nothin’ on me.”
The deputy holding him didn’t so much as blink. “Speeding. Evading law enforcement. Resisting arrest. That’s plenty.”
The man scoffed. “That ain’t nothing.”
Before Pete could respond, Nero let out a sharp bark and lunged toward the back door of the sedan, his paws scraping against the metal. The energy shifted instantly as every deputy tensed.
Jeremy and Pete moved in, wrenching the door open. A blast of stale air mixed with fast-food grease hit them. The back seat was a mess with discarded soda cans, snack wrappers, and crumpled receipts, but nothing obvious.
Yet Nero wasn’t letting up. He sniffed the seat, then abruptly sat on his haunches, ears pricked, muscles taut.
Carly’s voice was calm but sure. “He’s found something.”
Pete took the crowbar from a nearby deputy and wedged it between the seat cushions. With a sharp grunt, he pried them apart. The second he caught a glimpse of the plastic-wrapped bricks crammed inside, he let out a low whistle. He turned to Jeremy, a slow grin stretching across his face. “Bingo.”
The energy at the scene shifted again, this time with electric urgency.
“Start bagging it,” Jeremy said as the deputies moved in with evidence kits. “And get the forensics team out here.”
Carly held Nero back, but the dog was still restless, nose twitching as he pulled against his handler. Pete frowned. “There’s more?”
Carly nodded. “Let him work.”
She loosened the leash just enough for Nero to guide them. The shepherd sniffed along the floorboards, then suddenly twisted toward the back door and started pawing at the panel.
Jeremy didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the crowbar and jammed it into the seam, using brute force to pry it open. A second later, another set of plastic-wrapped bricks tumbled onto the ground.
Pete exhaled. “Son of a bitch.”
The team worked efficiently, cataloging each find. Pete jogged back to his SUV and grabbed the field testing kit. Hedidn’t need to test every package—just enough for confirmation. The moment the reagent turned blue, he exchanged a look with Jeremy.
“Cocaine,” Pete muttered.
The methodical process of bagging, labeling, and logging began. Photographs were taken, and body cameras recorded every step. No one was taking shortcuts. Pete and Jeremy had seen too many cases fall apart over a sloppy chain of custody.
The tow truck from Baytown rolled up just as the last of the drugs were secured. As the car was lifted from the ditch, they found more hidden compartments—stacks of cash beneath the driver’s seat and another stash of drugs crammed behind the dashboard.
They worked alongside Baytown officers, state police, and even a DEA agent out of Virginia Beach for hours, processing what was quickly shaping up to be a major bust.
“The driver keeps swearing he didn’t know what was in the car,” a deputy said. “Claims he borrowed it from a friend.”
Pete snorted. “Yeah, sure. We’ll dust for prints.”
“What about the kid?” Jeremy asked, his tone shifting slightly.
“Sixteen. A juvenile. Local.”
Pete let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. “Once everything is processed, we’ll question them both.”
By this time, the sun was lowering, and Pete and Jeremy also needed to get everything back to the sheriff's department. All the evidence bags were loaded into the back of their SUV in front of witnesses. The DEA agent shook their hands and said he would check in with them tomorrow. The two state police officers did the same. Now, with a convoy of deputy cruisers in front and behind them, they drove to the sheriff's department. Once there, the unloading process was much the same. Everythingwas cataloged and placed in a secure, locked holding area for potentially dangerous evidence.
The haul was substantial—too damn big for comfort. He barely had time to roll the stiffness from his neck before the ESDTF Captain Terry Bunswick strode into the room, his presence commanding as ever. Right behind him was Colt, the county sheriff, his rugged features etched with the weight of responsibility. The two men, along with the sheriff from Acawmacke County, shared leadership of the Eastern Shore Drug Task Force, and if they were both here in person, Pete knew this bust had already made waves.
