Alpha on Duty

Raine

The road curved like a question mark through the thick tress and cracked pavement, winding towards a town that felt too quiet, too tucked away, to be real.

Shitty cell service. Shitty roads. Shitty luck.

That about summed up Cypress Ridge.

The higher-ups called it a reassignment. I called it punishment. After all, apparently breaking two noses in one week was “conduct unbecoming” of a police officer. Personally, I though it was karma catching up to those assholes. Degenerates deserve broken bones. Simple math, especially when they think they can get handsy with a woman who just wanted to drink alone.

Still, they’d packed me up and shipped me out here, to the ass-end of nowhere, a hundred miles from the nearest city. Where the cell service gave out half an hour ago, the small ma and pa diner is probably the local hangout, and the biggest crime is either cows wandering onto the highway or raccoons in the garbage cans.

Exactly what the captain thought I needed.

Cool down, Donovan. Small town, slower pace, maybe you won’t pick so many fights.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel as pine-stained wind swept through the open window. My thumb tapped against the leather with miliary precision—two beats, pause, two beats again. A steady rhythm. One of the few things that still made me feel in control.

The K9 Academy sticker clung to the upper corner of my windshield, shiny and new but proud. I graduated at the top of my class. Although I’m not exactly sure how. But this time, there were no celebration drinks, no phone calls from home. Just silence. My parents hadn’t even acknowledged me after returning from my last tour overseas. My military career wasn’t the life they wanted for their little girl, and after basic training my mother couldn’t even be bothered to look at me. My father called a couple times before my tours started, but eventually the calls stopped.

I tried to tell them that I was transferring but they haven’t even acknowledged the text messages. For all I know, they changed their numbers just so they wouldn’t have to hear from their degenerate daughter.

The town crested into view as I rolled over the last hill. Cypress Ridge unfolded like something out of a tourism brochure. Brick storefronts. Hanging flower baskets. American flags on every light pole. The kind of place where strangers waved from porches and gossip spread faster than wildfire.

It should have felt safe but something in me bristled.

“This is it,” I muttered under my breath. “Fresh start. No war zone. No family. No bullshit.”

Still, my stomach twisted. My therapist said I’m just going through survivor’s guilt and that it should pass. He gave me a stack of self-help books, but I mainly used them as coasters for my late-night whiskey sessions.

The trees felt like they were leaning inward. My phone still hasn’t recovered signal yet. My chest tightened the closer I got to Main Street. I blew out a slow breath through my nose. Not here. Not now.

Focus on the positives. Mountains. Clean air. A department with an opening in their K9 unit. A place where I could do the job without being treated like a liability or mocked behind my back. Maybe.

The Cypress Ridge Police Department appeared at the end of the street—a squat brick building with outdated windows and an overgrown flag out front. It looked like it hadn’t been changed since the seventies. Maybe longer.

“Welcome home, soldier” I thought bitterly.

I parked my truck, killed the engine, and sat for a moment. The silence that followed was loud. Too loud.

I shoved open the truck door, shouldered my duffel, and eyed the precinct. Small-town cops, small-town rules. I’d been briefed, sure, but none of that stuck. All I knew was this: I was the outsider. The one they didn’t want but got stuck with. Wouldn’t be the first time.

K9 training had been my therapist’s idea. “Maybe if you bond with a dog, it’ll help with your PTSD,” she’d said. “Animals are grounding.”

Grounding. Right. More like babysitting.

Still, I had to admit—working with a K9 wasn’t the worst gig. Dogs didn’t give you pity eyes when you had a nightmare. Dogs didn’t ask how many people you’d seen die. Dogs didn’t judge when you finished half a bottle of whiskey just to sleep.

Inside, the air was warm—wood polish, coffee, and a faint trace of dog hair.

A woman stood behind the front desk. Blond bob, early forties, with a crooked smile that made her look like she was either incredibly kind or incredibly sarcastic.

“You must be Raine,” she said.

“Donovan,” I corrected. “Officer Donovan.”

“Right,” she said, offering her hand. “Lieutenant Marcy Greene. You’re early.”

“I didn’t have to stop to take a piss, saved me some time.”

I took the offered handshake. Firm. Confident. Measured.

“Uh. How fortunate then.” Her voice had an edge to it that I couldn’t place, but the slight dip in her smile says she won’t be inviting me to the neighborhood potluck.

Marcy handed me a clipboard. “Caleb will be your partner for this week, He’ll get you acclimated, then we’re set you up with a dog once you’re settled.”

“Got it,” I said, flipping through the schedule. “Newbie-sitting with Officer Maddox, then get evaluated.”

Marcy only smiled. “Officer Caleb Maddox is waiting in the back. Locker room’s the second left, and your uniforms should already be hanging up in your locker.”

I gave a quick nod and headed down the hall.

The locker room was empty, dimly lit. I found a locker already with my name on it and sighed at the giant blocky letters RAINE across the top. I changed into my on-duty uniform that was hanging inside. I basically went into autopilot, quickly going through the motions. Badges, check. Utility belt, check. Boots double-knotted, check. My hands were steady, but I could feel my heart doing its own thing.

In the mirror, my reflection stared back: auburn hair scraped into a clean braid, a fine scar along my left cheekbone, the kind of eyes that always look like they were searching for an exit. A face that had done too much. I held my own gaze until it stopped trying to flinch, until my heart and breathing were back to normal.

This is just a town. A civilian town, doing a civilian job.

I shut the locker, letting the metallic clang ground me in the present. No sand. No screaming. Just silence and the distant hum of a coffee machine.

Back in the hallway, I followed the faint trail of voices toward a back room that had ‘briefing room’ on the door. The door was ajar, and I knocked twice before nudging it open.

Two men stood inside. One was tall and broad, wearing a Cypress Ridge PD jacket over jeans like he owned the place. His presence filled the room without even trying. Shaggy dark-blond hair, eyes sharp with scrutiny, arms crossed over his chest like he didn’t trust me yet—but would if I proved I could keep up.

The other guy was older, leaner, wearing the kind of smile that said “I’ve seen some shit” but didn’t talk about it. He gave me a polite nod and stepped back.

The younger one stepped forward and offered a hand. “Officer Donovan, right? I’m Officer Caleb Maddox. I hear you like to use proper and accurate names, but personally you can just call me Caleb. It’s shorter and easier. I’ll be your partner until you get settled in. One week probation. After that, we’ll reevaluate.”

Was he there when I corrected blondie? I doubt my old captain sent any sort of files over other then “Handle with caution” stamped across the first page.

I blinked at the hand, then shook it firmly. “Sounds good.”

His grip was strong. Not a bruiser’s grip, but confident.

“I’m lead K9 handler,” he continued. “Usually run fieldwork with the dogs, coordinate search-and-rescue, patrol rotation, and occasionally herd raccoons out of abandoned buildings.”

Damn. This is turning out to be straight out of a travel brochure.

I gave a small smile at that. “And let me guess, Sundays everyone meets down at grannie’s diner for her meatloaf?”

“She makes a mean meatloaf, but I’m more of a T-Bone steak kind of guy.” His smile reached almost ear to ear, flashing pearly white teeth that looked way too perfect to be all real.

There was a strange note in his voice. Like everyone in the town knew something I didn’t, it makes me feel like I’m the punchline for some sort of inside joke.

Marcy appeared behind me; she spoke over her shoulder as she headed straight for the coffee machine against the wall. “Caleb’s on the best. He’ll show you the ropes. Let you get used to the terrain before you’re assigned a permanent partner.”

I glanced over at her then at Caleb. “My permanent partner will be a dog though, correct?”

His eyes flicked sideways—quick, calculated. “We’ve got a few waiting for final placement. Consider this your trial run. We need to know you will be a good fit here before we pair you up with one of our dogs. The dogs here need.. a certain kind of handler. You’ll meet him when the time’s right.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s a long winded but vague answer.”

“Yup,” Caleb said, already turning toward the hallway. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

We stepped outside through the side door, and the fresh air hit like a bucket of ice water. Clean, crisp, pine.

The backyard of the station was fenced in, half gravel lot and half open training ground. Several dogs milled around, all of them alert but relaxed. The dogs were all massive, they were the size of a Shetland pony. I nearly tripped over myself at the sight of them.

K9 officers called out cues as their partners obeyed with almost military precision.

And then—on the far end of the field, isolated and still—I saw him.

A massive German Shephard, bigger than the others if that was even possible. Sitting perfectly still, as if carved from stone. His head tilted slightly as if he felt me looking. And his eyes—golden and unreadable—locked with mine.

It felt like being pinned in place.

Something in my chest went still.

“That’s Havoc,” Caleb said beside me.

“That name sounds…promising.”

Caleb smiled faintly. “Marcy named him after she caught him stealing all the donuts. He’s in evaluation. Bit of a wild card.”

“He’s enormous. You just let them roam like this?”

“They don’t leave the yard unless they’re partnered. They know their limits. Some just take longer to connect.”

Havoc didn’t blink. Didn’t move. But I felt something sharp and ancient sink into my skin, like a static charge that hadn’t discharged yet.

“So, which one is yours?” I tried to make it sound nonchalant, but I still couldn’t take my eyes off Havoc.

Caleb shrugged. “I spend my time with all the doggies here, so in a way I have several, not just one.”

Time for once seemed to slow down as he took me through the yard, naming off all the officers and their dogs. After the introductions, he suggested we go out for a “welcoming patrol” as he so delightfully put it to give me a small sense of bearings of the Ridge.