Despite how gorgeous this guy obviously was, there was no way he could have such an aggressive dog in his kennels. Already ropes of saliva dangled from the dog’s mouth as he bounced around the backseat of Penelope’s SUV, trying to get at Creed.
“Why do you think I’d want a dog that obviously hates me?”
“Oh, sweetie, he doesn’t hate you,” she said in her wonderful southern drawl. “It has nothing to do with you. He hates all men.”
“Oh good, that makes me feel so much better.”
“He’s wonderful with other dogs. Very loving.”
That didn’t surprise Creed. Still, he couldn’t train a dog that wanted to attack him.
“He’s crazy smart and only two years old.”
Before Creed could respond, Penelope clapped her hands three times and the dog sat down.
“Good boy, Chance!” She buzzed down the car window enough to toss him a dog treat. He caught it, chomped and swallowed. It was a pathetically small treat for such a huge mouth, but he stayed put, hoping for more.
“You named him Chance, expecting me to give him another?” Creed whispered so the dog wouldn’t get excited at hearing his name.
“His previous owner likes playing the slots in Biloxi. Thought he’d bring her good luck. Turns out her new boyfriend doesn’t much like the dog. Especially when he’s hitting on his girlfriend and the dog attacks.”
“That’s what she said?”
“In her police record. Then she changed her mind. Recanted. Said the dog attacked her boyfriend for no reason at all.”
“Damn, that’s cold.”
“Boyfriend or the dog. She chose the boyfriend. Dog’s gotta go.”
“And because he attacked someone—”
“That’s right. He’s on the docket for elimination this week. Actually, tomorrow.”
Creed let out a long sigh. He tucked his fists into his jean pockets.
“Can’t you get in a lot of trouble for this?” he asked her.
“What are they going to do? They can’t fire me. I think they need my annual donation and volunteer services more than they care about one dog.”
Creed forgot and leaned against the vehicle. Chance jumped up, banging front paws against the inside of the door. He snarled and was trying to bite through the three inches of open window.
When Creed glanced over at Penelope, he caught her with eyes wide and mouth open, as if she wanted to give another command but realized it might be too late for that.
“Does anyone know you brought him here?”
“Brought who?”
He smiled and shook his head. She was good.
“Let me go get Andy,” he said. “She’ll need to settle him down. Most likely she’ll need to be the one to train him, too.”
30
“Are you sure that’s her real name?”
Hannah looked up from the stack of papers and nodded at Claudia Reed.
“I got it from her passport.” Then before Claudia could ask the next obvious question, Hannah added, “Yes, it’s a valid passport.”
Hannah had been volunteering at Segway House since the day she helped open its doors. She hated, however, that the anniversary of her service reminded her of her husband’s death. Ironically, if it hadn’t been for Marcus getting killed in Iraq, Hannah probably never would have become involved in such a place.
She also never would have met, let alone become friends with, the petite blonde sitting behind the computer. They came from two entirely different worlds. Claudia’s childhood had been filled with beautiful things and privileges that generations of wealth and influence afforded her, while Hannah grew up on her grandparents’ farm, working from dawn till dusk and scratching for every dollar she earned. But war was the great leveler, and this one had taken both their husbands without asking for pedigree or résumé.
Claudia Reed and Hannah had started Segway House with three other military wives who had also lost their husbands, in either Iraq or Afghanistan. Claudia was the only one who could afford to work full-time as the director without taking a salary.
Their fund-raising efforts were always tough. People were tired of a decade of war and wanted to forget about it. The problem was, the number of veterans who needed help only continued to grow while their government also grew tired and cash-strapped.
Hannah had just started to go through the stack of requests Claudia had handed her when she walked through the door. Last week they had approved and written checks for thirty-four grants, a total of $47,810. This week looked to equal that challenge. At a glance, she had seen requests to finance a ramp to be built for a new amputee. Another veteran was asking for a quick loan to help to have his electricity turned on, so he could return to his home. He was still waiting for his first disability check. They didn’t do loans. They called them grants and didn’t accept payback, but many of these young men and women were fiercely proud and included the wording in their request if for nothing more than to feel better about asking for money.
Segway House wasn’t limited to veterans. In the last year they had started taking in runaways, drug addicts, abused women and, sometimes, their children. They never had enough rooms to meet the demand. And there were always more needs than they could address.
At the same time, their clients and residents confided in them things that they didn’t even share with family members, and because of this, Hannah knew that she could trust Claudia.
“She’s not listed as a runaway.”
“Missing?” Hannah asked, but already knew that there was no one looking for Amanda.
Claudia shook her head and finally gave her fingers a rest from the keyboard, swiveling her desk chair to focus on Hannah. “Do you need anything?”
Hannah knew it would be the only question she would ask. Claudia wouldn’t push her to reveal anything else. Nor would she give unsolicited advice.
“I fear she’s one of those kids who done slipped through the cracks,” Hannah said, letting herself slide into slang in hopes of relieving some of the seriousness.
She wasn’t sure what she expected when she asked Claudia to do a national search. All she knew was that she had a bad feeling about the girl. Whatever trouble she had gotten herself into had not stopped back at Hartsfield’s international terminal just because Ryder had rescued her. And no matter what he wanted to believe, Hannah knew neither of them would be able to protect this girl if that drug cartel decided they wanted their property back.
“Do you know if we have any residents with electrical experience?” she asked, purposely changing the subject. “I need someone to check out our breakers before Rye hooks up any more of his gadgets.”
31
The quiet was almost unnerving. O’Dell shut the cruiser door, and the echo it produced made her immediately notice. There were no sounds of traffic or jets overhead. No humming air conditioners or barking dogs.
During the entire trip — what Sheriff Holt claimed was ten minutes but seemed like twenty to O’Dell — they had met up with only one other vehicle on the winding back roads. Rows of huge live oaks flanked both sides of the Bagleys’ long, graveled driveway, and the canopy of branches and leaves overhead made it feel like they were driving through a tunnel. Even the two-story house was tucked back into the woods that surrounded the property.
The quiet and isolation had O’Dell’s mind already working. A man could be tortured on this property and no one would ever hear his screams for help or his cries of pain.
There was no response to the sheriff’s knock on the front door. No shuffling of feet, no shift of curtains. O’Dell walked to the corner of the porch, keeping away from the only window, then turned to get a better look down the driveway. She wondered at what point someone inside would be able to see the black-and-white cruiser.