Page 64 of Every Little Kiss
Coming up clean and not wanting to be late to another briefing, he pulled out his phone and opened his Fido Finder, an app made by a search-and-rescue volunteer out of Montana to help locate scenting dogs—dogs like Bullseye who had a habit of following scents when not on the job.
Within seconds, a red dot appeared on the digital map, and Ford looked down the street toward the park. On the edge of the field, a boy stood petting Bullseye, who was practically sitting on top of the kid—like a professional search dog with his find.
Ford walked over to find a boy, clearly with the camp, wearing a red cape and shoes that blinked every time he hopped. And the kid was hopping as high as he could. With his arm in the air, a stuffed toy in hand, doing his best to keep it out of Bullseye’s reach.
“If you sit on the grass, I’ll give it to you,” the boy said, but Bullseye just gave him a wet lick to the face. The boy laughed.
“Try using one-word commands,” Ford said, then looked at the culprit. “Sit.”
Bullseye sat still as a statue. So did the boy. His eyes big as saucers, his lips pressed firmly together, and clutching his toy to his chest in a defensive gesture that would have taken Ford out at the knees. Except the boy’s identity had already leveled him.
Ford had caught a few glimpses of Paxton over the years, but the last time he’d been this close to the boy, Ford had been cradling him to his chest on a helicopter headed for Mercy General. Near hypothermia, spotted in his dad’s blood, and tears staining his pale cheeks, the kid never made a sound. Not one during the entire twelve hours they were trapped in that cave.
He’d even cried in silence.
“Hey there,” Ford said, crouching down to his level. “You’re Paxton, right? This is Bullseye.” Ford gave Bullseye a rewarding pat to the head, then proceeded cautiously. “I’m Ford, a friend of your mom’s.”
Ford waited for some sign on how to continue. Tears, fear, a spark of recognition. The first two made his palms sweat, but the last made him want to pack up and leave town. The kid gave him nothing to work with, leaving Ford with two choices: convince him to go back to camp or call his mom.
The first would be a challenge because Ford already knew how Paxton felt about camp—so thrilled he’d rather sit in a field alone. He didn’t know Liv’s schedule, so the second might pull her out of work.
And possibly blow Ford’s biggest secret.
“Why don’t we go find the other kids?” Ford asked, holding out his hand.
Paxton looked at it and then stuck his own thumb in his mouth.
Ford scanned the park, looking for a camp counselor who could explain how a kid was standing next to a busy street unsupervised. He spotted a cluster of capes and brightly colored tights on the jungle gym, a good football field away.
“Are you allowed to be over here?” he asked, and was met with silence. Time for a new strategy. Ford leaned in and whispered to his stuffed animal. “He’s good, Superdog. You told me he was an accomplished superhero and that he wouldn’t break, but I have to get Deputy Bullseye here back to headquarters, and I can’t leave until I know the location of the camp.”
Paxton didn’t speak, but his eyes took on an excited twinkle.
Relieved he was getting somewhere, Ford quickly looked both ways, then as if imparting a direct order from Superman himself, said, “I need to get a message to someone in the camp. She has blue eyes, blonde curls, and goes by the name Ballerina Girl. Do you know her?”
Superdog remained tight-lipped on the subject, and Paxton kept sucking that thumb, but his head moved in a tiny nod.
“You do?” Ford made a big show out of wiping the sweat off his brow. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that. They said you were good, but that’s impressive.” Ford pulled out his department-issued notepad and pen and scribbled a note. Folding it in half and half again, he scanned the park a third time. “Can you help Bullseye get this to her?”
Paxton looked at the note and then at the group of kids who were hanging from the bars and playing tag. He swallowed hard and then with a shaky nod, pulled his thumb out of his mouth and reached for the note.
“Thanks, Superboy.” Ford handed him the secret message. “Now, she won’t take it unless Bullseye gives her the secret handshake. Verification is important in our line of work.” And because Ford knew that when it came to boys, the only thing cooler than superheroes and fast cars was a dog with a few tricks under his collar, he said, “Now, watch carefully. I’m about to show you the secret handshake. Ready?”
Paxton nodded, but his eyes were peanut butter on jelly, never looking away as Ford demonstrated.
Putting Bullseye on his leash, Ford stuck out his fist, made firm eye contact, and said, “Give me rocks.”
Bullseye threw his head back and barked, then tapped his paw to Ford’s fist. And then, because that was only the beginning, Ford made a sound of fireworks exploding, and Bullseye wiggled his paw as he pulled back.
“Like sparks of an explosion,” Ford said, and Paxton’s face lit with excitement.
Giving Bullseye a good rubdown, Ford handed Paxton the leash and then stepped back. “Now it’s your turn.”
Paxton tucked the note under Superdog’s cape, Superdog under his arm, and then made a fist with his free hand. He looked at Ford, who gave him a go-nod, and he stuck it out for Bullseye. When the dog did nothing, Ford said, “Try it again, and this time say, ‘Rocks.’”
Paxton’s tongue peeked out in concentration, and he tried it again. With no command, Bullseye eyed the fist and let out a big yawn.
Paxton dropped the leash and toed the ground.
