Page 23 of Black Dog

Storm snapped the handcuff in place and they were gone.

Elora turned to Ram. “No matter how long I live I’ll never get used to that.”

When darkness claimed the cell where Blackie was being held, for what he didn’t know, the air seemed colder. He hadn’t slept on a cement floor since he was a very young dog. In fact, he’d grown quite used to sleeping on the loveseat at the foot of Elora’s bed. Or with Helm when he was home.

He curled himself into a tight ball, his tail covering his nose, and closed his eyes. It wouldn’t occur to Blackie to feel sorry for himself. Dogs don’t indulge themselves in activities or thought patterns that are neither practical nor productive. No. His mind was focused on three things.

Get out.

Get free.

Go home.

For the time being, the practical thing was to sleep. To wait. To try to stay warm.

Meanwhile, the excitement of the crowd nearby along with their collective shouts and whistles were disturbing. Even more disturbing were the sounds that could be heard underneath and in short breaks of silence. Dogs fighting.

In the darkness, Ram said, “I know you’re awake.”

“How?”

He let out a small breathy huff. “After all this time I know the rhythm of your breathin’ when you sleep.”

“Oh.”

“It was a big break we got, Elora. Learnin’ the fucker’s name. We’ll find him. And when we find him, we’ll find Blackie.” Her lack of reply bothered him. “You do no’ believe it.”

“No. It’s not that I don’t believe it. It’s that I’m worried about not finding himsoonenough.”

“Stop your worryin’. Like I told you before. The dog is one of us. Tough. Resourceful.”

“You didn’t say resourceful before.”

“No? Well. ‘Tis true. Is it no?” She rolled into Ram, nestled her face into the curve of his neck, planted a kiss there, and startled a little when Ram’s phone rang. “Jumpy. ‘Tis no’ like you.”

He looked at the face of his phone. Storm. “Aye. Puttin’ you on speaker so Elora can hear.”

“Simon called.”

“Aye?”

“About the Sweeney character.”

“Aye?”

“He’s no stranger to law enforcement.”

“No surprise.”

“Simon sent some of our people on a rundown to his address. He’s got a room in a hotel turned flop house. Nobody there. Got some leads on who to ask about dog fights. Just hold tight. We should be getting some concrete info tonight.”

“Call when you have somethin’. How’s Litha?”

“Snoring like a freight train.”

“Storm,” Elora cut in, “that’s not the kind of information wives want shared.”

Storm chuckled. “Yeah. So don’t tell her I ‘shared’.”

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