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  Ben looked back at Hero, ready to commend his dog for a job well done—but something was wrong.

  Hero wasn’t steady on his feet. He was slipping and stumbling. His front legs were way higher than his back legs. He was rising up, tipping backward . . .

  The man on the ground was clambering to all fours, with Hero on his back—and he was throwing Hero off him.

  Hero couldn’t catch his balance. He scratched at the man’s back and opened his jaws to clamp down on the back of the man’s neck, but he couldn’t find any purchase. Hero slipped sideways and slammed to the floor. He landed on his side with an awful thud and rolled onto his back. His paws stuck straight up in the air as he twisted back and forth and tried to right himself again.

  The convict was up on his feet. He was unarmed, but filled with rage—the fury of a man who had been locked up for years and was about to lose his only shot at freedom. He roared like an animal, bunched his hands into fists, and spun to face Tucker and his parents. Ben watched, terrified and helpless, as the prisoner took a few lumbering steps toward them.

  Hero was scrambling to his feet on the smooth floor. Ben knew that Hero wouldn’t stop getting back up again, no matter how many times he was down. He knew that his dog was preparing to attack—and after seeing Hero flung aside so easily, as if he were nothing more than a sack of garbage—Ben was terrified he would get hurt.

  Just the thought of it was like a kick in the gut.

  Without thinking, Ben raced toward the front of the store, ready to put himself between Hero and the prisoner if he had to.

  It wasn’t more than thirty feet, but by the time he got there, it was too late.

  Hero was in the air, hurtling toward the man once more, his jaw open and his razor-sharp teeth aiming for the man’s arm. But the convict’s reflexes were surprisingly fast. He swung his leg out to the side and toward Hero—a perfectly aimed kick that threatened to crush the dog’s ribs.

  “No!” Ben screamed. He felt like he was trapped in a bad dream—he could see his destination and was telling his body to move, but he couldn’t get his legs to work. Hero was just out of his reach, and Ben couldn’t speed up enough to save him.

  He waited for his dog’s pained cries.

  But just as the man’s filthy boot was about to make contact with Hero, Ben heard the sound of an object slicing through the air. He turned in time to see Tucker, his lips pressed together in concentration and his brow furrowed with effort.

  Tucker swung his mother’s bat with all his force.

  The sound it made when it connected with the convict’s leg was flat and disgusting. It was a sound Ben knew would haunt him forever. But it worked. The man fell to the ground with an agonized cry, and Hero landed safely beyond him.

  The man was hobbled. But if Ben thought for a second that would stop this monster, he was wrong.

  The convict clambered to all fours and half crawled, half clawed his way toward the door, grunting in pain as he went.

  Ben, Tucker, and the others simply stared after him, paralyzed by the man’s shocking display of persistence. He threw himself through the front door and into the parking lot, his head swiveling back and forth as he desperately searched for a way to escape.

  At just that moment, a car turned into the parking lot. From where he stood inside, Ben saw a woman in the driver’s seat, talking and looking in the rearview mirror. Ben followed her gaze and saw a smiling baby waving her arms from a car seat.

  “No!” he screamed. “No no no no no!”

  “Stop him!” Tucker cried.

  Tucker and Ben reached the door at the same instant, right as Hero slipped between them and made it outside first. The car turned into the spot closest to the front door. Through the open car window, Ben heard the woman cooing to her daughter, totally unaware of the drama unfolding just steps away.

  The man tripped toward her car and reached an arm through her window. Startled, the woman let out a small yelp and clutched at her throat. She tried to roll up the window, but he had already jammed his arm toward the inside door handle. The door swung open, and in one movement, he reached down and unbuckled the woman’s seat belt, grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her out of the car. He tossed her to the ground like she weighed nothing.

  “My baby!” she screamed as she fell. “Stop! My baby! Please!”

  The man ignored her pleas and climbed into the car, slamming the door behind him. He threw the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking spot.

  He put it into drive and began to pull away.

  “Hero! Go!” Ben commanded. Hero raced toward the car, his body springing up and down as he ran faster than Ben had ever seen him move. At that moment, Tucker stepped forward and raised his arms. He loaded a rock into his slingshot and pulled the band back in one smooth motion, releasing it with a flick of his finger. The projectile sailed over Hero’s head and rocketed through the open car window, nailing the man on the temple.

  The prisoner cried out in agony, but rather than coming to a stop, he pressed down on the accelerator. The car sped up, careening across the lot.

  Hero didn’t miss a step.

  He zigzagged after the car until he saw his chance and—without hesitation—he took it. Hero kicked off of his back legs and vaulted in a graceful arc through the driver’s-side window, landing squarely on the man’s head and chest, digging his claws into him.

  The car swerved sharply to the right and came to a screeching halt. As he ran toward the car, Ben heard Hero growling and the man moaning.

  Sirens rang out in the distance, growing louder by the second. Tucker’s parents ran out of the store, and the four of them crowded together by the car, ready to stop the man if he tried to escape again.

  But he wasn’t going anywhere this time. He was out cold.

  The baby began to cry in the back seat. Her mother ran to the car from across the lot, ripped open the door, and, sobbing, cradled her baby in her arms.

  Hero spun around and stuck his head out the driver’s-side window, looking right at Ben.

  Ben doubled over, overcome with emotion. He put his hands on his knees to steady himself.

  When his heart rate began to slow, Ben looked up at his dog.

  “Atta boy, Hero,” Ben said. “Good job.”

  19

  RED AND BLUE LIGHTS FLOODED THE parking lot in alternating flashes. Voices crackled and popped on squad car radios. Policewomen and -men scurried back and forth collecting evidence. Two officers jogged alongside a gurney carrying the escaped prisoner, who was handcuffed to the metal bars. They loaded him into a waiting ambulance and sped off.

  Ben sat with Hero in the back of another ambulance, his legs dangling over the bumper. Hero rested his head in Ben’s lap while Ben let the EMTs bandage up his cuts and scrapes, and clean and dress the snakebite on his wrist. But all the while he looked over their shoulders, waiting for word about his dad.

  A squad car turned quickly into the lot and came to a stop a few feet away. Officer Perillo hopped out and ran to Ben.

  “Thank God you’re okay!” she cried. “Ben—you scared us all half to death.”

  “My dad—” Ben began.

  Perillo smiled. “He’s fine, Ben. You did good.”

  Ben let out a choked sob of relief.

  “Our guys picked him up a few minutes ago,” Perillo went on. “He’s going to meet you at the hospital. And they got the other convict while they were there. Good job tying him up, by the way.”

  “Thank you, Officer Perillo,” Ben exhaled, tears filling his eyes. “Thank you so much—for everything.”

  “You got it, Ben.” She put a hand on his shoulder—and pressed down pretty hard. It was more like a warning than for comfort. “Sit tight,” she said with a knowing grin. “I mean it this time. Your mom will be here any second.”

  As she said it, another police car raced down the road and pulled into the lot. The car had barely slowed to a stop when Ben’s mom and little sister flew out of the back seat. With
in seconds, Ben and Hero were being smothered with hugs and kisses and sniffles. Ben felt his mom’s arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Erin and Hero were squished between them.

  Hero wriggled and wagged his tail to a fast beat, and Ben sucked in his breath to contain the flood of emotions he felt at seeing his family again.

  “Dad’s okay!” he said, his voice muffled in his mom’s shoulder.

  “I know, sweetie,” she said, stroking his hair. “I know. We’re going to see him in a minute.”

  She grabbed Ben by the shoulders and pushed him away gently but firmly.

  “Honey,” she began, wiping the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. “You’re safe, and your dad is going to be all right. That’s the most important thing. But, Ben—” Her voice cracked. She took a couple of quick breaths and composed herself. “Ben, you scared me. Again.”

  “Benny,” Erin said as she clutched his arm tightly with her little fingers. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  Ben and his mom burst out laughing through their tears.

  “Okay, Sis,” Ben said, rubbing her head. He wiped away the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and turned to his mom. “Mom, I—” He didn’t know where to begin. What was there to say? After all they had been through as a family . . . “I just— Mom, I just can’t sit by when someone I love is in trouble—when anyone is in trouble. I can’t let it happen when there’s something Hero and I can do to help.”

  His mom gazed at him for a long moment and tucked his hair behind his ear. He didn’t roll his eyes and swat her away, like he normally would. She nodded and smiled.

  “I know, Ben,” she said. “You are truly your father’s son. But you’re still so young. We just have to figure out what to do for the next four or so years.”

  Ben tilted his head and looked at her, confused. “Four years? What do you mean?”

  “Well,” his mom said with a resigned exhale, “you’re almost fourteen. And you’re not allowed to join the police academy until you’re eighteen, so we’re going to have to find something to keep you busy—and safe—until then.”

  Hero dropped his head back into Ben’s lap, and Erin climbed onto the back of the ambulance, put her head down on Hero’s chest, and reached for Ben’s hand. Ben’s mom stretched out her arms and enveloped all three of them in a great big hug.

  Ben felt Hero’s warm fur under his palm, his sister’s little hand on his, and his mom’s firm grip on his shoulder.

  “Thank you” was all Ben could say.

  20

  “GET UP.”

  Ben opened his eyes.

  Noah stood over the lower bunk with a serious scowl on his face and a bag of warm bagels in his hand. Jack stood behind him, shaking his head at Noah.

  “You need carbs,” Noah said, dropping the bag onto Ben’s bed. “And you need to get up and practice before the game.”

  “Thanks,” Ben said, rubbing his eyes.

  Tucker rolled over on the top bunk and stuck his head over the side. “Morning, Noah,” he mumbled. “Morning, Jack.”

  “Morning,” Jack said apologetically. “Sorry about Noah’s charm offensive here.”

  “Let’s go, fellas,” Noah said. “I don’t have all day. Oh, wait—I do have all day. Because I have nothing else to do.” He held up his arm in its stiff white cast.

  Ben buried his head under his pillow. He spoke through the stuffing.

  “So, we literally saved a whole bunch of lives, helped catch a couple of escaped felons—oh, and I got bitten by a snake and Tucker’s parents got held up at gunpoint—but you’re still upset about your broken arm and one game?”

  Noah thought for a second.

  “Yep,” he said with a shrug.

  “All right, then. Guess we’d better practice, Tucker,” Ben said. “Let’s do it for poor Noah here.”

  Tucker hopped down from the top bunk and stretched out.

  It was hard to believe it had been just five days since he and Tucker had trekked into the woods with Hero.

  When he got home, Ben never thought his wrist would heal fast enough to pitch in the playoff game.

  But here he was.

  With Tucker.

  Somehow, during their epic trek through the woods, their shared love of baseball hadn’t come up—and Tucker had never brought up the fact that he was an ace pitcher and the captain of his school team.

  Tucker’s parents had decided he’d earned a little time off from school. Once Tucker learned about Ben’s pitching dilemma—and realized just how much help he needed to get ready for the playoff game—he had decided to come back to Gulfport with Ben.

  Tucker, Noah, and Jack had been training Ben all week, pushing him as hard as the doctor would allow.

  They had only a couple more hours to go over a few final pointers. Ben stumbled out of bed, ran his hands through his hair, and stretched out his stiff body. Hero got to his feet too, his tag clinking against his collar. He sniffed at Noah’s cast, and Noah scratched him under the chin with his good hand.

  “Good morning, Hero,” Noah said. Scout scurried over from the corner and rubbed up against Noah’s legs. “Good morning, Scout.”

  “Make yourself useful and feed those two, would you?” Ben grumbled at his friend.

  Noah held up his cast again. “Sorry. Can’t do that. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Right,” Ben said, heading out his bedroom door. “Doctor’s orders.”

  Just hours later, Ben squinted into the sunlight. He shook out his pitching arm and squeezed the ball in his fist a few times. He turned sideways, eyed the batter carefully, nodded at his catcher, drew in his knee, and pulled his arm back, poised to throw the ball.

  But first he paused. He turned his head ever so slightly and scanned the bleachers until he found what he was looking for.

  There they were.

  He put his fingers to the brim of his baseball cap and tipped it in their direction.

  Ben caught Tucker’s eye. Tucker raised his right arm up, rotated his wrist sideways, and mimed pitching a ball—signaling Ben to go with the slider.

  Ben nodded.

  “You got this, Ben,” Jack called out from a few yards off to his left, where he crouched at first base.

  There was no way around it—Ben wanted to win this game. The pitch he was about to throw could be the deciding play. And he was ready.

  But whether he won or lost wouldn’t change the most important thing about Ben’s life: Everyone he loved was gathered together and watching him from the stands.

  His dad, mom, and sister sat side by side on a metal bench with Tucker, his mom and stepdad, and Noah and his parents. Jack’s mom was right there with them.

  Ben’s dad was bandaged up, and his knee was in a stiff brace—but he was going to be fine. Next to him, Officer Perillo and her daughter waved their hands in the air and let out a loud holler.

  At their feet, Scout watched the game with big eyes and his full attention, his head swiveling back and forth as the ball flew around the field.

  And next to Scout sat Hero, serene, focused, and alert. Ben could feel his dog’s watchful gaze on his every move.

  Ben looked at Hero for a long moment, then turned back toward the batter. He released a perfect sideways pitch that snuck over home plate at the last second. The batter swung—and got nothing but air.

  “Strike three!” the umpire called out.

  The crowd went nuts. Just before his teammates swooped in and carried him to the dugout on their shoulders, Ben heard his family and friends whistling and yelling his name.

  Louder and clearer than all of them, Hero howled in celebration, his beautiful cry filling Ben’s ears.

  Hero, buddy, Ben thought, this one’s for you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Hero, Scout, and I are lucky to have such an amazing team: Les Morgenstein, Josh Bank, Sara Shandler, and Romy Golan at Alloy; Margaret Anastas, Luana Horry, and the sales, marketing, and publicity groups at Harper; and Katelyn Hales
at the Robin Straus Agency. Thanks to you all!

  Hayley Wagreich and Robin Straus, thank you for walking, feeding, and training me.

  And what’s a writer—or a dog—without a family? My love and thanks to Brian, the goons, Virginia Wing, Kunsang Bhuti, and now . . . Vida the rescue superpup! I look forward to many heroic adventures together.

  BACK AD

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Anna Campanelli Photography

  JENNIFER LI SHOTZ is the author of the #1 New York Times bestseller Max: Best Friend. Hero. Marine., about the coolest war dog ever. She is also the author of the Hero series. Among other things, Jen has written about sugar addiction, stinky shoes, and sports-related concussions. A Los Angeles native, she graduated from Vassar and has an MFA in nonfiction from Columbia. She lives with her family and new puppy in Brooklyn. For the occasional tweet, follow her @jenshotz.

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  CREDITS

  Cover photos by Shutterstock

  Photo illustration by Allied Integrated Marketing

  Cover design by Rick Farley

  COPYRIGHT

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  HERO: RESCUE MISSION. Copyright © 2017 by Alloy Entertainment. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.