Page 42 of The Dog in the Alley

A half-whine, half-growl.

“You don’t think anyone’s reported you missing?” I guessed.

Chuff.

I couldn’t help it—I had to reach out and run a hand over his head. “Sorry, bud.”

He blew out a long breath.

Raj emitted a rather alarming low growl from the back of his throat, and we both looked over at him. The tiger shifter looked up a little guiltily. “Sorry. Just—” He waved a hand at his screen. “Even I am having trouble finding you, my friend.”

Anubis put his head back on his paws and let out a little whine.

Raj offered him a brief smile around another bite of pizza. “I’m not giving up on you,” the tiger shifter told him. “Promise.”

I pulled another piece of pepperoni out of the box and offered it to the dog, who gently leaned forward and took it from my fingers, letting it fall onto his plate before gnawing at it, not taking his big brown eye off me.

I ran a hand over his back, soothing myself as much as I was trying to reassure him, and he gave me a little bit of a tail thump in response.

Raj’s fingers tapped away at his laptop, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

“You work construction or something?” he asked. Construction workers often traveled to other states to pick up extra work, particularly in the winter months.

A soft chuff.

Raj sighed. “Shit.”

The problem with itinerant construction workers—particularly those who might be immigrants or mistaken for immigrants—was that they were often paid in cash, under the table, and with no work record.

And even if they were paid above board, they were usually contractors, so tracing fully legal contractors was still more complicated than tracing someone who had a regular paycheck and a nine-to-five.

Especially because if an itinerant construction worker didn’t show up, people just figured they fucked off, not that they’d been abducted by some sort of weird anti-shifter organization.

“Did you drive there?” I asked. One, it might give us a sense of proximity. Two, if there was an abandoned car, it might help us with an ID.

Growl.

“Fly?”

Growl. I tried to figure out another alternative.

Raj beat me to it. “Bus?” he asked.

Chuff.

“Long ride?” I put in, more to make the conversation feel less unnatural than anything else.

A very loud chuff.

“Cross-country?” Raj asked, an edge of excitement to his voice.

Anubis picked his head up. Chuff.

Raj’s fingers tapped away, presumably changing the search parameters.

“Canyou drive?” he wanted to know.

Chuff.

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