by Alex Kava
She didn’t move for several beats, and just when he thought he’d need to tell her again, she started leaving.
The dog hadn’t come any closer. But now, Creed could see the bloodstain on his tan-colored coat. Blood covered the dog’s chest and shoulder. He was soaking wet from the rains but still bleeding. And despite being injured, he was intimidating as hell.
“It’s okay,” Creed changed his cadence, making it friendly and reassuring.
The dog watched, eyes wide. His black muzzle swung back and forth then jerked down. He was trying to keep the flies off of himself. But he didn’t attempt to come forward. He was panting and waiting. Clearly trying to figure out if he’d need to defend himself, again.
“Just stay,” he said, and immediately he saw a hint of recognition at the word.
Creed backed slowly away. The dog held himself up to watch as Creed turned and opened the Jeep’s tailgate.
“I thought he might bite you,” Maggie said, clearly feeling the need to explain her actions. “He looks like a pit bull.”
“He probably will bite me,” Creed said, “But I don’t want you shooting him. It looks like someone else already did that.”
He pushed aside a duffel bag and started digging for another that was stashed to the side. Grace wagged at him but kept her perch by the window, more interested in the dog, as if her job was to keep an eye on him.
“What can I do to help?” Maggie asked.
He glanced over. Her holster was still undone. She noticed and deliberately snapped the flap closed.
“We’ll need to get a muzzle on him.”
He pulled it out and showed it to her. He also brought out a bite sleeve, towel and a slipknot lead. The dog had a thick collar on to match his thick neck, but a clip-on leash would be worthless.
Creed moved Grace’s dog crate forward, turning it so it faced the window she was looking out.
“Time to get inside, Grace,” he told her as he gestured to the zipped open door. Reluctantly, she obeyed. He secured the closure and placed the crate against the side door, so she could continue watching the big dog.
Then he slid out a spare crate that had been laying flat on the bench. He unfolded it, making sure the sides were secure, and it wouldn’t collapse on itself if the big dog thrashed around inside. He positioned this crate as close as possible to the open tailgate with the crate’s door facing out.
Tucked along the inside wall of the Jeep, he pulled out a narrow ramp. He secured it over the bumper, positioning it so it came right to the open crate. Using his boot, he tested its strength. He wasn’t sure if the dog was able to walk on his own. From his limited view, Creed guessed he had to weigh fifty to sixty pounds. Creed had carried dogs heavier than that. But this one had a body-builder physique, and Creed was getting ready to trigger its fight or flight instinct.
He prepared himself as best as possible. The bite sleeve covered his entire left arm. It was military grade, a low-profile construction that could fit under a shirt. Compared to commercial ones that looked like the arm was in a cast, this one was sleek and thin. He adjusted the Velcro straps and could easily bend his elbow. The cuff came down to the palm of his hand but kept his fingers free.
Creed picked up the slipknot lead.
“I’ll distract him. Be sure and keep a wide loop,” he said as he showed her, making a lasso of the slipknot. “Slide it over his head from behind his head. If he looks at you, he’ll need to tip his head up. Slip it over without getting your hand close to his mouth. Then tug it tight. Don’t pull on him too hard. We don’t want to hurt him any more than he’s already hurting.”
“You did see that he has a massive head and jaws, right?”
“Yes, I did notice that.”
He handed her the lead, watching her eyes.
“And if he bites you?” she asked.
“He probably will. I’ll be offering this arm to distract him,” he said, flexing the bite sleeve and holding his forearm out. “Don’t worry about it. He can’t bite through this. Eventually, he’ll let go. If you miss slipping it on, just wait a few seconds, and we’ll start all over. Just keep calm. Don’t fight him. If nothing else, we’ll wear him out.”
She hesitated while she looked over the corded lead, letting her fingers get a feeling for how it worked.
Finally she looked up. Her eyes met his, and she said, “You’ve never done this before.”
“Not even once.”
And he had no idea if it would work. He had only used a bite sleeve once while in Afghanistan. Since then, he’d wrestled with plenty of injured dogs, but not one with jaws strong enough to break bones. Most of the dogs he’d helped or saved were too hurt to fight him.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Can we do this?”
She took the lead, played with the slipknot again then said, “Piece of cake.”
Chapter 29
One of Maggie’s own dogs was a huge, black shepherd mix. Her friend Lucy Coy, who had rescued the dog in the Sandhills of Nebraska, insisted that if Jake wasn’t part wolf, he certainly had the spirit of one. Maggie had seen the dog jump out of nowhere and viciously attack a man.
Of course, it was a bit different. The man was trying to kill Maggie. Jake had saved her life.
Still, she knew and respected the damage a powerful dog could inflict. If this injured dog knocked Ryder off his feet and started to attack him, there was little Maggie could do to stop it. At the risk of disappointing Ryder, Maggie wouldn’t hesitate to shoot the animal. Ryder’s life or the dog’s life? As far as she was concerned, it was an easy choice.
But as she watched Ryder, looking for his instructions and letting him guide her with subtle head gestures—a tip of his chin, a flick of his eyes—she found herself becoming mesmerized by his movements.
And so was the dog.
Ryder possessed a rare, quiet confidence that didn’t intimidate or bring about any sense of confrontation. Even when he was telling her to put away her weapon, there was nothing demeaning or threatening in his tone. Training dogs had made him very good at draining the emotion from his voice.
How many times had she heard him say it?
Emotion runs down the leash.
Despite his skill, she had detected the hint of underlying hurt in his voice. It wasn’t necessarily hurt. That was the wrong word. And no, he wasn’t offended. She’d never once seen Ryder Creed get offended.
She still felt the kick to her gut. It was worse than him being hurt or offended. Slight as it was, she felt like she had disappointed him.
Was it a character flaw that she cared about him? Didn’t want him hurt? Mauled by a dog?
She shook the entire notion out of her mind. She needed to concentrate. If she gave herself too many options, she’d fail at the task at hand. Be steady, calm. She’d take her lead from this man she cared about and respected. And yes, trusted.
The dog hadn’t taken his eyes off of Ryder except to shake the flies off of him. He was vaguely aware of Maggie. He gave her quick glances, sometimes emitting a low growl. But the closer they got, even the growls were ending in guttural notes that sounded more like a whine or a cry than a warning.
The whole time, Ryder talked to him with that soothing reassurance that Maggie found could be hypnotizing.
He called him “a good boy,” guessing he was male by the blue collar. Every word rang sincere and genuine. He told him everything would be okay.
He promised him.
And Maggie knew he meant it. Would he be crushed when the dog lunged at him again? Would he defend himself if the massive jaws came down on that thin, black sleeve? What if the dog didn’t let go? What if he gave the arm a shake until bone snapped?
She needed to stop. To clear those images out of her mind.
It didn’t help that Ryder’s hands stayed at his sides. She understood that he didn’t want the dog to feel threatened. No sudden moves. Nothing swinging his way.
The thought made her glance around for branches big enoug
h to act as a club if she needed to get the dog off of Ryder.
And yet, Ryder didn’t seem to think of any of this. Instead, he continued toward the dog, one foot in front of the other, steady and calm like a tightrope walker. His pace was shorter and slower than his normal gait. If there was such a thing as a dog whisperer, Maggie imagined this was exactly what he looked and sounded like.
Now they were within four feet then three. This is where they were before when the dog lunged at him. But instead of Ryder bracing his sleeved forearm in front of him to prepare, he did something that automatically made Maggie’s stomach sink to her knees. He reached his hand out to the dog, palm down. His right hand! The arm that wasn’t protected.
“You’re okay, buddy. We’re not gonna hurt you. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”
And then the dog did something that shocked Maggie.
He let out a long, low whine, more sadness than pain. He readjusted himself, stiff and awkward. Maggie felt her entire body tense up. It took concentrated effort to keep her hand from going to her holster.
“You’re okay, buddy,” Ryder encouraged him. “Can you walk? We just want to help you.”
The dog pulled himself up. It was difficult for him to step over the tangle of brush that he had made his hiding place. He was completely tan except for his black muzzle and the bloodstain that covered his chest and shoulder. He was weak and wobbly, but he limped his way forward. Even hurt and injured, his stocky, muscular body made him look dangerous. His dark eyes, short ears, broad head and square muzzle contributed to the perception. Enough so, that Maggie couldn’t believe it when he lowered his head and limped his way to Ryder.
“Good boy! What a good boy you are, Hank!”
The name was the clincher, now visible, embroidered on the back of his collar.
That’s when the dog’s tail lifted slightly from between his legs. Hank wagged. Ryder squatted down and opened his hand, keeping it low so as not to intimidate the dog. Maggie found herself holding her breath. The dog could jump at him and knock him over.
Hank slinked his way closer, big eyes settled on Ryder’s face. He stopped just inches from Ryder’s fingers, and he dropped his head. Ryder petted him gently and scratched behind his ear, and the big dog wagged ever so slightly, again.
Chapter 30
Creed left a voice message for Dr. Avelyn Parker. It was long past office hours at her Milton Veterinary Clinic, but she returned his call in less than ten minutes.
Years ago Creed and Hannah had convinced the young veterinarian to be the exclusive caregiver for their kennel. Creed designed a facility to her specifications on their property, and in some cases, he provided more advanced equipment than Dr. Avelyn and her two partners had in their own clinic. So instead of constantly driving dogs to the vet, Dr. Avelyn spent a portion of her weekly schedule at their facility.
He tried not to take advantage of their agreement, but at times like this, he was grateful that her knee-jerk reaction was to start giving him instructions on what to do.
“It’ll probably take me thirty to forty minutes to get there,” she told him before she hung up.
They were closer to Creed’s property than they were to Maggie’s rental car. He was relieved when she insisted they go back. And even more relieved when he offered to have Jason drive her to Pensacola, she didn’t argue with him.
The ride back was quiet. Creed figured the stress and exhaustion of the day had caught up with both of them. The adrenaline drain left him too tired to talk about what had just happened. He still couldn’t believe the big dog had made it so easy on him.
The back of Creed’s shirt stuck to the leather seat. He glanced in the rearview mirror to check on Hank. He was breathing hard, but his head was down. Then he got a glimpse of his own face. His bristled jaw and forehead glistened with sweat.
“It was amazing watching you,” Maggie said after a long silence. “You got him to trust you.”
He didn’t mention that it was easier to get Hank to trust him than it was to get her. Instead he said, “I think he was just glad to have someone help him.”
“How long do you think he’s been out there?”
“I don’t know. Looks like the bullet is still in him, which might have kept him from bleeding to death.”
Maggie’s cell phone chimed. She pulled it out and tapped it a couple of times.
“When you were talking to Dr. Avelyn I texted Vickie,” Maggie said. “Sheriff Norwich is in critical but stable condition.”
Creed couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about her. It felt like days ago, not hours.
“Was it a heart attack?”
Maggie tapped in a message. Within seconds came a response.
“Yes,” she said.
She and the medical examiner exchanged several more texts.
He realized he still didn’t know how Maggie had gotten involved in this case. From what he understood, she made the trip because of an auctioned off storage unit and some grisly finds.
When she finally slid her cell phone back into her pocket, Creed said, “You certainly got more than you bargained for this time.”
She hugged him before she climbed into Jason’s SUV, and told him she’d see him tomorrow. He watched the taillights weave between the trees.
When he opened the Jeep’s back door to get Grace, the big dog looked up at him. Hopefully the air conditioner made him more comfortable. At least he didn’t have to worry about the flies anymore. Creed didn’t like to think how much time the dog had spent at the edge of the woods, scared and in pain and hungry. He wouldn’t be able to feed him or give him water just yet. He’d wait for Dr. Avelyn’s instructions.
“You’re a good boy, Hank. Just a little bit longer.”
He took Grace in to stay with Hannah. Jason had already filled her in, and she met him at the back door with a mug of freshly brewed coffee. Hannah had already checked on Sheriff Norwich, too.
“They won’t know more for twenty-four hours,” she told him. “Lord have mercy, this has been some kind of day.”
“How’s Brodie?”
“She and Kitten went up to bed after dinner. She mentioned something about helping collect evidence?”
“Yeah. She’s full of surprises,” Creed said, wiping a hand over his face and hoping to remove the exhaustion.
With all that had happened he hadn’t had time to worry about Brodie. He took a sip of coffee while his eyes watched out the window for Dr. Avelyn’s headlights.
Suddenly, Hannah laughed, and he cocked an eyebrow at her.
She shook her head and said, “Abandoned and wounded dogs just keep on finding you, don’t they? It’s like you have some kind of radar.”
“It’s like I have a steak in my pocket.” He smiled. “Wait until you see this guy. He actually scared the hell out of me.”
Headlights turned in at the end of the driveway. Creed gulped down the rest of the coffee and was out the door. He drove over to their clinic, unlocked the back door and started switching on lights, all the way to the surgery suite.
He turned around just as Dr. Avelyn came in. He almost didn’t recognize the woman in the sleek, black dress and high heels.
“Wow! I’m really sorry. It looks like I dragged you away from something important.” What was wrong with him? In all these years why hadn’t he considered the veterinarian actually had a life?
“No big deal,” she said, kicking off the heels. She opened a locker and pulled out shoes and scrubs. When she noticed him still staring at her she stopped. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said quickly and a little embarrassed. It wasn’t like he could tell her she had nice legs. Really nice legs.
“I’ll go get Hank,” he told her instead.
Chapter 31
It had been a while since Creed had scrubbed in on a surgery. He would have felt better if he had taken a shower. He ended up washing down his entire torso, the back of his neck and face before he started scrubbing his hands and fore
arms.
Dr. Avelyn could do the surgery on her own, but he was glad she let him stay. And grateful she allowed him to help.
The big dog was sedated by the time Creed returned. Dr. Avelyn waved a handheld device over the back of his neck.
“He’s been chipped,” she said. “Should be able to find the owner.”
“If the owner did this, I’m not giving him back.”
She continued prepping but stopped and pointed to one of Hank’s paws. “He recently had his nails trimmed and filed down.” She waved her hand over the rest of the dog. “He doesn’t look like he’s been abused. Other than the gunshot wound, he looks like he’s in good shape. I suspect the owner didn’t do this.”
“I don’t have any experience with pit bulls. I really thought he might bite me.”
“All the bully breeds get a bad rap. Most of them are actually good-natured and affectionate. But this guy isn’t a pit bull.”
“No?”
“American Staffordshire Bull terrier. And he really is a beautiful one. They get a bad rap, too. They’re friendly, intelligent. Love to please their people. But lots of energy. I tell my clients, expect to walk and run them. They like to keep busy.”
“Sounds like the perfect scent dog.”
She glanced up at him. “In your mind you’re already keeping him, aren’t you?”
“He came to me. He was scared. I was scared, and he came to me anyway. He trusted me.” Creed shrugged like he hadn’t given it much thought beyond that, but yes, in his mind he wasn’t going to let anyone hurt this dog ever again.
“The breed is very loyal. There’s a good chance he was protecting his owner.”
Creed hadn’t thought of that.
She was cleaning Hank’s chest and shoulder. Creed handed her fresh sterile pads, one after another. They could finally see the wound much better without all the dried blood and caked mud.
“He was definitely facing the shooter. Looks like the bullet is lodged in his chest muscle just above his right shoulder.”
She started working. Creed watched, hyper-alert for anything she asked him to hand to her or to hold. He stayed focused on her fingers, but looked up every once in a while, to check her eyes, searching for any indication of how bad it was. Only now did he notice she was wearing makeup. He really had pulled her away from something special.
