Wanted for Life

by Allison B Hanson

  She stood to stretch her legs and refill her coffee. As she walked into the kitchen she realized Pudge hadn’t barked to come back in from his morning walkabout.

  He was practically an appendage. She wondered what could have kept him from barking at the door. Unease gripped her as she pulled her gun in case it was a who instead of a what that was keeping him outside.

  “Please let it be a squirrel,” she repeated like a mantra.

  After checking through every window that faced the backyard, she finally opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

  There was Pudge, lying at the bottom of the four steps that led down to the yard. His side was moving up and down rapidly as he panted. It was apparent he was in some kind of distress.

  Someone had taken down her dog.

  And they were probably coming for her next.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Shit. Pudge?” she called as she briefly scanned the yard for an attack, then ran to him. This wasn’t like him. Nothing would keep him from coming to greet her with a big, sloppy lick.

  Instincts told her she needed to secure the yard first. Someone might have done this to lure her out. They could be waiting in the shrubs Colton had strategically planted to give cover along the fence line.

  Instead, she set her gun down so she could help her dog.

  “Pudge? What’s wrong, buddy?” Normally the dog communicated pretty clearly without the use of words, but this time it would have been a lot easier if he could just tell her what hurt. “Oh, God.”

  His eyes were open but unfocused. His breathing was labored and wheezy. Something was very wrong and she needed to get help.

  “I’ll be right back,” she promised before running off.

  Keeping her gun handy, she raced back inside and used her computer to find a vet nearby. If this was a setup, they were slow to react. No one had jumped her yet. And heaven help them if they did. It was one thing to come after her, but to hurt an innocent animal was uncalled for. She would make them pay.

  She’d made a habit of keeping all her things packed so she could run at a moment’s notice. She needed to make sure there was no evidence left behind if Colton was suspected of harboring a fugitive. She couldn’t let him take the fall.

  It was a simple thing to toss her new laptop in the bag and strap it across her body. Getting the dog up was another matter.

  She’d named him Pudge because when they had picked him up he was nothing but a pudgy ball of fur. He’d resembled a bear cub and fit in the crook of her arm.

  Now at ninety pounds, he weighed almost as much as she did.

  “Come on, baby. Up you go.”

  Using her rescue training, she managed to get him on her shoulders, and used her legs to push herself to a standing position.

  “No more sharing my food with you, tubby.”

  God bless him, he let out a sad little whine of protest. It broke her heart.

  “I’m hurrying, buddy. Please hold on, okay? I’m going to get someone to help you.”

  Following the instructions she’d memorized from the website, she pulled in at Dr. Westcott’s office at eight minutes after twelve to see a sign on the door that said they were closed for lunch from noon to one.

  Damn.

  Pretending she couldn’t tell time, she checked the door. It was locked.

  The property was multi-purpose. The office was in a small building, and a sidewalk connected it to a large residence. Hopefully that was where Dr. Westcott took his lunch breaks.

  She rang the doorbell then knocked for good measure, all before realizing she hadn’t considered any form of disguise.

  Too late for that now. An older man opened the door with a frown on his face and the corner of a sandwich in his fingers.

  “I’m so sorry, but my dog is dying. Please help him.”

  The man let out a sigh and nodded. “What kind?”

  “German shepherd.”

  “Okay. Pull around back. It will be easier to get him in. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Please hurry.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m hurrying.” Though his response indicated he was put out, his voice was full of concern.

  As she got back into the vehicle Colton kept for escape purposes, she realized she couldn’t go back to his home after this. She was compromised.

  If the vet succeeded, she would drop Pudge off and keep going. It was the only way to keep Colton safe.

  The doctor met her by the door, and together they moved the dog into a narrow hall with a number of doors.

  “The first room on the left,” he instructed and gestured with his chin. “Up on the table.”

  Once Pudge was situated on the black vinyl, Angel positioned herself between the doctor and the door. Her gun was in the back of her jeans.

  “So, what seems to be the problem?” he said more to the dog than to her. “Are you having trouble breathing…?”

  “Pudge. His name is Pudge. He’s a little over a year old,” she said, sharing the information the doctor might need to save the dog.

  “His tongue is swollen, and it’s obstructing his airway.”

  “Was he poisoned?” she asked, guilt twisting her stomach. If this animal was injured in order to get to her she would never forgive herself.

  “Why would you assume he was poisoned?” the doctor asked, looking at her. Really looking at her.

  Her fingers twitched and she tensed, ready to reach for her gun.

  This was it. Her body prepared to run.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “No, no. You have it all wrong. Come on, guys. Think this through. It’s a bookshelf. Why on earth would the shelves go vertically?” Colton pointed at the pile of parts at his feet.

  “Um. I don’t know.” Braden turned to Kenny. “Is vertical the up and down one?”

  “Yes. Be careful. He might pull the gun on you.” Kenny eyed Colton suspiciously.

  Damn it.

  “I’m ten feet from you. I can hear you talking,” Colton reminded the brainiacs.

  “Are you carrying the gun now?”

  “No.” Yes, he was. Since there weren’t students in the building today, the metal detectors were off.

  “I looked it up and I think it was a Glock,” Kenny said. If Colton had punished them with research on firearms he would have been able to leave by now.

  “I told you it was an air pistol.”

  “Nope. See.” Kenny proceeded to pull out his phone and held it out so Colton could see a photo. “The hole in the end of it was a lot bigger than an air pistol. Believe me, I got an up close and personal look at the hole.”

  It was time to abandon the pretense of an air pistol. Kenny was obsessed.

  “It’s perfectly legal for someone to keep a firearm for home protection. And had you two bandits been packing more than eggs, I would have been prepared to defend my home from intruders.”

  “Can you teach us how to shoot it?” Kenny asked.

  Part of Colton wanted to say no and go about his business, but the teacher in him—the person who thought maybe these two could turn out to be something better if someone just spent a little time with them—nodded. He could replace their fascination for guns with a healthy respect for firearms.

  “Write down your parents’ phone numbers on this paper. I’ll contact them and make sure it’s okay. But it won’t be for a few weeks. I have other plans.”

  Other plans, like helping a fugitive hide from the police while she hunted down the real killer. He could only imagine their faces if he actually said that out loud.

  The selfish part of him—the part that wanted to spend more time with Angel—hoped his plans would take more than a few weeks.

  Hell, he’d be happy if it took the rest of his life. Except he knew Angel wouldn’t want to spend the rest of her life hiding out in his three-bedroom rancher.

  “Cool!” Kenny said as he jotted down a number and slid the paper over to Braden.

  “If I teach you how to shoot a gu
n, you’d better use the skill for good. Like saving someone.”

  “Definitely.” Braden shoved Kenny’s arm.

  “We could become cops. They don’t have to go to college.” Kenny practically beamed with excitement.

  “They can’t have a juvenile record, either. So, no more vandalism.” Colton pointed out.

  “No problem. We promise.” Kenny held up four fingers. Obviously he hadn’t been a Boy Scout. Shocker.

  “You won’t be able to become cops if you spend the next four years building this bookcase. Get back to work.”

  “Can you give us a hint?”

  Because Colton wanted them to be done so he could get back to Angel, he conceded and told them where to put the brackets.

  When they both nodded with renewed hope, he tucked the instruction sheet away and went back to thinking about Angel and what she might be up to.

  He hoped her day was going well.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “I don’t think he was poisoned.” The doctor looked back to his patient, posing no threat to Angel for the time being. She was still poised by the door. She knew she could outrun him if it came to that, and the gun pressing against her spine ensured she could get away.

  If she had to.

  “I’m going to guess he tried to take on a bee and lost.”

  The man moved to a cabinet and removed a yellow box. His movements were sure and slow, but she was jumpy and flinched when he snapped the seal on the flap.

  “I’m just going to give him a shot to counteract his body’s reaction.” He glanced over at her. “Can you come around and talk to him while I inject him. It won’t hurt, but I don’t want him to be frightened.”

  This would mean giving up her spot by the only exit. She would be cornered.

  But Pudge needed her help.

  She let out a breath of determination and moved around the table.

  “It’s okay, baby. It’s just a shot. It will help you. Don’t be scared,” she soothed, though she knew dogs could smell fear, and she must reek of it by this point.

  Pudge didn’t so much as twitch when the shot was administered to the scruff of his neck.

  “Now, let’s see if there’s anything else—”

  “Dr. Westcott?” a woman called from the front of the building. “You’re back early.”

  Angel’s panic must have been easy to read, because the doctor reacted instantly.

  “My assistant. Get in here,” he whispered as he held open a closet door and, without thinking, she squeezed in among the boxes.

  Not only was she not close to a door, but now she was trapped in a tiny space. What was the doctor doing? Would he write the woman a note telling her to call the police? Would he block the door until they got there?

  “Who’s this?” the woman asked.

  “This is Pudge. He decided to eat a bee. But the bee bit him back. Didn’t it, boy?”

  “He’s gorgeous. Where’s his person?” the woman asked.

  “She had to run back home. Forgot her wallet.”

  Shit. She didn’t have a wallet. She’d left her stash of money and credit cards in her own vehicle. The escape plan had been to take Colton’s car to the storage facility to get her own.

  She hadn’t even thought about money. Her primary concern was to get help. Damn. How was she going to pay this man for his services, and his loyalty?

  “Okay. I’ll start a file for Pudge. Should I let your one o’clock know there will be a wait?”

  “No. I think I’ll be done in time.”

  “Okay.”

  Angel heard jingling, much as she heard when Pudge left a room, but lighter. The closet door opened and the doctor frowned at her.

  “Tell me I won’t be sorry for not turning you in when I had the chance,” he whispered and raised a furry brow.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I didn’t kill Heath Zeller,” Angel assured the vet, looking him right in the eye, hoping to convince him of her innocence.

  “Hell, I know that.” He grumbled as if she’d insulted him.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “This dog trusts you, even when he’s scared. Animals know people better than people know people. You can’t be all that bad. Plus, you rushed him in here not caring that I might have called the police.” His voice was still low, so as not to alert his assistant.

  “He’s not really my dog, but I had to help. No matter what happened.”

  The vet nodded once, went to the door, and stepped out in the hall. “Rose? Can you go pick up a package at the post office? The green card is on my desk. I was going to do it at lunch, but I got tied up.”

  “Sure thing, Dr. Westcott. Can you cover the phones?”

  “Yes. I’ll be fine until you get back. Thanks.”

  The front door opened and closed, and the doctor came back into the exam room.

  Pudge was breathing easier by now. The medicine was working. He whined and Angel rubbed his neck to comfort him.

  “It’s okay, boy,” she soothed.

  The doctor petted him, then pried his mouth open, which Pudge didn’t care for.

  “My, what big teethies you have,” the doctor joked, as if Angel was any other pet owner instead of a wanted murderer.

  “I’m going to need you to hold him down. I see the stinger in his tongue.”

  “Pudge,” she complained. “Why were you eating bees?”

  She leaned on his shoulder and rubbed his chin as the doctor made quick work of grabbing his tongue. Using tweezers, he yanked the stinger out of Pudge’s tongue.

  “There you go,” Dr. Westcott announced.

  “I have a problem.” Angel bit her bottom lip.

  “Nationwide manhunt is a little more than a problem, I’d say.”

  “No. The thing you said about me forgetting my wallet.”

  He chuckled.

  She grimaced. “Maybe you should have turned me in for the reward money to cover the bill.”

  “Nah. It’s okay. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that everything works out.”

  She hoped that was true. If so, this man would win a billion dollars in the lottery and the people responsible for Heath’s death would get hit by a meteor. She frowned at that last thought. No. Death by meteor was too good for them.

  “Thank you,” she said, knowing the words weren’t enough to convey her gratitude.

  He nodded.

  “So, who do you think set you up?” he asked casually.

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m still working on it.”

  “I guess it’s kind of hard to conduct an investigation from behind bars.”

  “Yes. That’s why I’m trying to stay on this side of those bars.”

  “Well, your friend here is good to go. Good luck to you.” He patted Pudge and helped him down from the table.

  “Thank you for everything.” She’d never be able to thank him enough. Not only had he saved Pudge’s life, but he’d saved her, as well.

  She paused at the door wanting to tell him the truth.

  “I really didn’t kill Heath Zeller, but I have killed other people.”

  The man shook his head. “So have I. It’s not the same thing. That’s us doing our jobs.”

  She realized this was not just a veterinarian, but a veteran as well.

  She nodded in understanding and respect, then patted her leg for Pudge to follow her out of the building.

  While she wanted to trust the doctor, she also knew people changed their minds. Especially when rewards were involved.

  It wasn’t safe to go back to Colton’s house.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “You two have ten minutes, then I’m leaving and you’ll have to come back tomorrow,” Colton threatened Kenny and Braden later that afternoon during their third try at the bookcases.

  The boys groaned their displeasure.

  “I gave you the instructions two hours ago and you still can’t figure it out,” he added so they understood how disapp
ointed he was.

  He’d thought his little lesson might spark some love of engineering, or at the very least, prepare them to be men—who never read instructions. But no. Ten minutes in, they’d already broken the scrench and lost three screws.

  “I think we got it this time, Mr. Willis.” The boys stood to the side, glowing with pride. Braden even held out his hands presenting their work.

  “Good. Now move them over to the wall and put that pile of books on them.”

  “Any particular order?” Kenny asked.

  “No.” He didn’t want to wait around while these two mastered the alphabet. He just wanted to get home to Angel.

  As he tossed his things in his bag, eager to leave, he was stopped by a loud crack and the sound of books falling to the floor.

  “I told you that wasn’t the way it went,” Kenny challenged his partner in crime.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Seven thirty,” Colton said as he rubbed his temples and sighed.

  He was still muttering curses regarding the mental capacity of the neighbor boys when he pulled into the garage and got out of the car.

  He would solve their problems tomorrow. For the rest of the evening, he would enjoy every moment he had with his guest.

  The first sign something was wrong was the silence when he walked into the kitchen. Pudge wasn’t eagerly greeting him, tail wagging and dancing in a circle to go out.

  “Hello?” he called as he moved into the living room.

  It looked like the same living room he’d been walking into for the last year. There was no laptop on the coffee table, bracketed by guns.

  No beautiful woman sitting on the floor tapping away, completely oblivious to her surroundings.

  “Oh, no.”

  He went out into the backyard and rushed to the gate. Across the alley, he opened the garage and went in. The space was damp and cool, but mostly it was empty.

  His woman was gone. His dog was gone. And his 2004 Corolla was gone.

  His life had become disturbingly similar to a country song.