Her heart pounded in her throat. Was that a pellet gun? Kids? Did he get hit?
She reached his side and sank to her knees. Robo tried to raise his head, but he collapsed, one paw stretched forward, his body limp.
It was too dark to see, so she ran her hands over his fur, searching for blood. She lifted him and slipped her hand down the far side of his body. It connected with a hard object stuck in his fur.
She pulled it loose, and held it up to catch the moonlight. A dart, like the kind used to tranquilize animals.
Pfft!
Something hit her square in the back, between her shoulders. Pain bit hard, and a burning sensation spread outward. Another dart! She reached over her shoulder, but she couldn’t touch it. She tried reaching below, and it glanced off her fingertips. She struggled for another inch, grasped it, and pulled it out.
Her arms grew slack; her hands shook. With a huge effort, she tossed the dart toward the tall grass at the edge of the house.
Her vision narrowed to a tunnel, and threads of thought dangled in her mind. Her Glock—locked away in her gun safe. Willie—with his disfigured face and blackened tongue. Robo—is he still breathing?
As she lost control of her body, she flopped down beside her dog. She struggled to press her face against his chest to see if she could detect his breath, a heartbeat.
A shape loomed over her, and she tried to focus her narrowing vision. Dark clothing, hood pulled tight, gas mask hiding his face. He nudged her with his foot.
And then, there was nothing but darkness.
TWENTY-FOUR
Cole was waiting to hear from Mattie. After everyone else went to bed, he’d turned off the lights and was watching television in the darkened family room. When his phone jingled in his pocket, he fished it out, hoping the call would be from her.
Unknown number. Though tempted to push it through to voice mail, he soon changed his mind. A caller at this time of night probably had an emergency. He answered the phone.
The voice on the other end sounded panicky. “Dr. Walker, help! Come to Mattie’s house.”
“Who is this?”
“Riley. Something’s wrong with Robo!”
Cole headed toward the garage. “Let me talk to Mattie.”
“She’s not here!”
“Where did she go?”
Riley began to sob. “She’s not here! I don’t know. She didn’t answer the door. The front door was locked, but the yard gate was open. Mattie never leaves it open.”
The garage door rumbled upward, and he jumped into the truck, turning the key in the ignition and jamming the gearshift into reverse. “Take a breath, Riley. Stay calm. Tell me what’s wrong with Robo.”
“I think … I think he’s dead. He’s down in the yard, and his tongue, it’s hanging out.”
“Check to see if he’s breathing.”
“I can’t tell. It’s too dark.”
Cole had sped halfway down his lane. “Put your ear to his chest, Riley. See if you can hear a heartbeat.”
There was a pause on the line during which he hit the highway and turned toward town. He floored the gas pedal.
Riley spoke, her voice quivering with tension. “It’s beating. He’s barely breathing.”
But where’s Mattie? He tried to keep his voice calm. “I’m almost there. Leave him where he is. Don’t move him.”
He searched for ideas. Someone had tried to poison Robo last summer; maybe this was a repeat. “Have you called the police yet?”
“No, I called you first.”
“Can you go to a neighbor’s house or someplace that’s well lit?”
“The neighbors all have their lights off. And I don’t want to leave him.”
“I’m almost there. Go ahead and pet him and talk to him, but stay on the line with me.”
He’d powered the truck up to well over ninety during the mile of highway that led into town, but slowed as he hit the city limits. Pressing hard on the brakes, he screeched around the turn onto the street that would lead west to Mattie’s house.
He could hear Riley talking to Robo in soothing tones; she’d evidently managed to get her panic under control.
“I’m a block away, Riley.”
Her voice quivered. “He’s still breathing, but he’s not moving at all.”
He reached Mattie’s yard, pulled the truck onto the grass, and aimed its headlights toward the open gate, lighting up Riley’s silhouette as she knelt beside the prostrate dog. “I’m here, Riley. I’m hanging up now.”
As he gathered his stethoscope and a flashlight from the truck console, he disconnected the call and tapped 9-1-1. Dispatch at the sheriff’s office answered.
“This is Cole Walker. There’s an emergency at Deputy Mattie Cobb’s house. Her dog Robo is down in the back yard, unresponsive, and Mattie isn’t on the premises as far as we know. Send an officer right away and get the sheriff over here, too, as soon as possible.”
He ended the call, sprinting toward the back yard to kneel next to Riley. “Good job, kiddo. Let me take a look.”
Cole flipped on the flashlight and inserted the earpieces of his stethoscope, splaying the light over Robo’s body as he placed the resonator on his chest. Heart rate was slow but strong, respirations shallow and intermittent. Limbs and torso were immobile, no muscular movement or fasciculation. No sign of vomiting or foaming at the mouth. He quickly palpated Robo’s fur and entire body. No blood that he could see or feel.
He lifted an eyelid and shone the light, waved the light away and back—pupil constricted, pinpoint, no reflexive movement. He tapped Robo’s eyelid. No eye blink.
This didn’t look like poison. It looked like sedation, paralysis. Even though Robo’s heartbeat remained strong, the lack of steady respiration concerned him. If his oxygen levels went too low, his heart could stop beating at any time.
What am I dealing with here? Phenobarbital? Ketamine? How could someone get to a protection dog like this and sedate him?
He thought of a dart gun—like the one Ed Lovejoy planned to use with the sheep. He rolled the limp dog into a sternal position, looking for a dart. Not seeing one, he swept the light around the grass. Nothing.
He placed one hand lightly on Robo’s chest to monitor the pattern of his breathing.
Riley had begun to sob. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I don’t know yet, but he’s still alive, and we’ll do what we can to keep him that way.” A patrol car, overhead lights pulsing red and blue, pulled up beside his truck. Riley started to get up and go toward it. “Stay put, Riley. Let him come to us.”
Cole didn’t want there to be any confusion that would put the girl in danger. He shouted to the officer and waved him over. The deputy came running, hunkered down and on guard, hand on his holstered weapon.
“Is that you, Dr. Walker?”
“Yes. This is Riley, she’s with me. We’ve got Robo here. He’s unconscious. Neither one of us has been in the house. We don’t know where Mattie is.” He tried to be as succinct as possible. “I’ve got to get Robo to the clinic, and fast. He’s having trouble breathing.”
“I’ll check the house,” the officer said as he dashed away.
Even though his first impulse had been to follow and go look for Mattie, he knew that Robo took priority. Mattie must be around somewhere. I can’t let her dog die.
The time between Robo’s breaths had grown more prolonged. Cole shone his light on his mouth and checked his mucous membrane. Blanched. He pressed the gum with one finger and released. Poor capillary profusion and refill.