Page 16 of Make Me Trust Again
“Perfect. I just got a call. Apparently, there is a wild dog running around Long Road Street. Can you stop and check it out?”
“Sure.”
Maisie gives me the address, and I promise to get back to her after I have some info.
She’s a vet, and she decided to open her own clinic and animal shelter called United Paws. Since I got back home, she bugged me into helping her once because she was short-staffed. And although I was annoyed at first, it turned out it wasn’t that bad. I didn’t mind animals; I’d take dealing with them any day of the week over having to deal with humans.
It takes me about fifteen minutes to get to the neighborhood Maisie mentioned.
Pulling the truck to a stop by the side of the street, I kill the engine and get out.
“Ready to get to work?”
Shadow doesn’t need to be asked twice. She jumps out of the truck, and I close the door behind her before turning around and taking in the residential street. Everything seems to be in order. This isn’t the best part of Bluebonnet. The houses are built closer together, with smaller front yards—some kept better than others. Most houses have seen better days, but some are in good shape.
I start walking down the street, Shadow beside me as I scan the space. There are a couple of kids riding their bikes further down the street. One of the houses has the window open, and you can hear the music blasting outside.
An older woman climbs onto her front porch, bags with groceries in her hands. She gives me a curious look, but I just nod and continue on my way.
“Are there any pups around?” I glance down at Shadow.
Her ears are standing straight, and I can see the determination shining in her eyes. She lowers her head, trying to catch a scent, so I slow down.
Although she was technically retired, Shadow was born to be a working dog. She loved her job. The moment I put her working harness on, you could see something in her shift. She would stand taller, her eyes would turn sharper, more serious. Work kept her mind busy and gave her a purpose.
Even though she didn’t have her working harness right now, I could see that shift in her. A spark that she lost in the last few months was back. She lifts her head, her pointy ears peaking slightly as if she’s listening. There is a slight tilt to her head, and then, before I know it, she goes into a run.
Cursing silently, I hurry after her. The sudden movement makes a jab of pain pierce through my lower back and down my leg, but I push it back and focus on not losing sight of my dog as she runs down the street and then slips into one yard.
“Fuck,” I hiss softly.
My breathing is ragged as I try to keep up with her. She slips around the house when a loud cry pierces the air.
My heart plummets, and all my senses go into high alert at the sound. Years of training kick in, making everything else fall to the background as I push harder. Turning the corner, my eyes scan the space, taking in my surroundings and assessing the situation.
Shadow circles around another dog.
A woman is standing with her back pressed against the wall.
And not just any woman.
Rose Hathaway.
Her hand is covering her chest as she pulls as far back as she can, her other hand trying to feel for a way out, but there is none.
Shadow barks in warning as she stands in front of her, and those big blue eyes full of fear meet mine. “I didn’t do a-anything. He just came out of nowhere.”
The panic in her voice is unmistakable. It’s like I’ve been sucker punched, all the air leaving my lungs as my heart kicks into overdrive.
What the hell is she doing here?
But before I can get an answer, the dog’s attention shifts to me. Our eyes lock. He growls once again, baring his teeth at me, and his stance turns even more hostile.
I lift my hands in the air, my voice coming out soft. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”
I take a small, tentative step forward, toward Rose, as I take in the dog. It is one of those Belgian Malinois. The dog is as big as Shadow, but clearly malnourished. You can see his ribs peek from beneath his short brown fur. And then there are the scars. Some are old, faint white lines you can see on his body, others are fresh, lines and even cigarette burns, with dried blood coating his fur.
The rage at the unnamed person who did this to such a glorious animal simmers inside my gut, but I push it back. The dogs could sense it, and they don’t understand it’s not directed at them, but what was done to them.
