by Tricia Lynne
“Sure do.”
“Hi, Officer Johnson. I’m Lily’s friend Brody. Thanks for getting back to us so quickly.”
“No problem. I have a soft spot for dogs as Ms. Costello knows. My Malinois was the best partner I’ve ever had. Okay. Bad news first. I dug into Andrew Brower and I’m fairly sure it’s an alias, but I was able to pull some footage from a CCTV camera and a neighbor’s doorbell camera. The perpetrator was dressed in a black hoodie and gloves. We never got a clear face shot from the camera. Fingerprints from the house also didn’t turn up anyone in the system. It doesn’t mean they’re not in the system, just that they were careful. I’ve got nothing on the letter yet, but chances are they won’t find anything there either. This guy was careful.”
With every sentence, Lily’s shoulders sagged a little more.
“However. We did get a make and model on the truck. 2019 Ford F-150 Raptor.”
Lily bit the inside of her cheek. “That makes sense. It would fit with the body style of the truck we saw at the rental place.”
“Unfortunately, that’s all we’ve got so far,” the officer continued. “I called a few local contacts and put feelers out about your daddy’s ring, Ms. Costello. You might also check pawn shops over the next few months and keep tabs online.”
She nodded. “Okay, I can do that.”
“I hate to see Billy’s championship ring go missing like this. He’s a legend. I even saw him play a few times. But I digress...
“Now, about the mill. The phone number you gave me for Andrew Brower is a prepaid that’s gone quiet. They’ve likely dumped it. We were able to pinpoint a location near the Bulldogs practice facility where the phone was getting a lot of use, but it’s out of Frisco PD’s jurisdiction. I put in a call to a county deputy I know, and she said what I already suspected—not enough probable cause to get a search warrant. But the Davis Ranch outside Prosper is already on her radar for other complaints. Whoops, I guess I shouldn’t have told you where that was.” Johnson went quiet, letting the info sink in.
After a heartbeat, Lil asked what I was about to. “Let’s say, hypothetically, the sheriff’s department received photos, anonymously, of dogs coming and going or the conditions inside the mill. Would that give the sheriff probable cause?”
“Indeed, I believe it would,” the cop said. “In which case, the sheriff’s department could get a warrant and confiscate the dogs if the conditions are inhumane. As well as pursue prosecution if they can locate the responsible party. I don’t think it’s Mrs. Davis, given her advanced Alzheimer’s.”
Lily’s smile was sunshine through the clouds as she read between the lines and grabbed my biceps. “Okay, then.”
“Ms. Costello, I’d be remiss if I didn’t advise you, Mr. Shaw, and whoever else might’ve been helping you to let the authorities handle this. My cousin—Deputy Angela Lee—is certainly qualified.”
And there was who to contact. “Of course, officer. We understand completely and thank you for the update.”
“My pleasure. Be careful, you two.”
It took only one glance at Lily to realize we weren’t going to get much sleep tonight. As much as I wanted to wait until it was Hayes sneaking around on private property with me—particularly in a state where people would shoot you for trespassing without blinking an eye—I wasn’t going to convince Lily to wait.
The way she’d set her shoulders, she was already gearing up for an argument. “Shaw, don’t you even—”
“Okay.”
She lit from within. Plopped down on one of her kitchen chairs and pulled food out of the bag. “Fucking finally.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Fighters
Lily
Finding the dirt road off the main road was the hardest part. It was well hidden. But a good way in, the overgrowth gave way to fenced pasture down each side and the dirt turned into pavement.
We were lucky to have a nearly full moon. Brody killed his headlights.
Trees cropped up sporadically, then got thicker the further we went. The structure, if you could call it that, was an older metal building hemmed in on three sides by brush and trees, with a pasture on the fourth. It resembled something you’d see in a bad horror movie and yell at the dumbasses on the screen not to go inside. And guess what we were about to do.
Twenty-five yards from the front, a padlocked gate blocked the road and Brody pulled to a stop.
We moved quickly and quietly, climbing the gate.
But something was wrong. My heart dropped before we ever made it inside.
“There’s no barking, Brody. No noise.”
He took my hand. “Yeah, I noticed.”
The two garage-style doors on the front had rusted handles. He gave one a try, then the other, but neither would budge.
“There may be another door,” I said, and we traipsed through the pasture hoping to find another way in. The uniform windows we found, one of which was partially broken, were covered in dirt. They bracketed a back door. “There. Look.”
His eyes followed my finger to the jagged shards.
“In for a penny,” he said, and walked to the edge of the trees, came back with a branch, and broke a good part of the window out.
We were in the middle of the property and at two a.m. there was nobody around to hear, but I shushed him anyway. Pulling off his shirt, he threw it over the broken glass and made the precarious climb through the window.
I stood there trying to watch every which way for any indication we’d drawn attention, but all I heard was a couple of cattle mooing in the distance.
A light inside came on and I wanted to scream at the man. I settled for a whisper-yell. “Brody, turn the light off!” Then the door popped open and there he stood, pulling his T-shirt on, which now had a few holes. His face was a mask of anger. “The dogs are gone, but they were here.”
The smell hit me. A mixture of piss and shit, vomit and illness. It took everything I had not to retch when I stepped inside. “No. No, no, no. Please, no. Goddamn it.”
They’d been busy.
Empty shelves big enough to hold medium-sized and smaller kennels lined the perimeter of the building. The space underneath the shelving was big enough for large and extra-large. Walking to one shelf, I found where a puddle had soaked into the wood, recently. Dabbing my finger in it, I held it to my nose and the tears fell. “It’s urine.”
“Yeah.” I turned to find Brody squatted on the ground underneath the shelving. “There’s poop on the wall over here. Look around to see if you can find fur or food or anything.”
I studied the shelves. At the back, in the crack, black muck stuck to the wall. I pulled over a milk crate and flipped it over, stepping on top. The muck was a mixture of fur and poop and God knew what else.
That’s when I lost it. I stepped off the crate as a quiet sob racked my chest. They’d been here until very recently, probably earlier today.
And we’d missed them. We’d waited too long and missed them. I could have done this. Came out here while Brody was at camp and gotten everything I needed. Last night, while I was safe in his bed, they were here. Waiting. My legs started to wobble, and tears streamed down my face.
“All this...” I turned in a circle, letting my eyes follow the shelving. “So many dogs, Brody. So many...and they’re gone. What if they’ve been dumped like Mack?” I tried to swallow the knot in my throat. “Or worse?” I couldn’t even allow myself to give voice to the meaning that implied.
If I’d just gotten here sooner. If I hadn’t promised to wait.
I’d never felt so beaten, so absolutely desolate in my life. Despair was a monster in my abdomen clawing up my chest cavity, creating wound after wound.
I’d failed them. Again.
I ran to the door and vomited my despair. My rage for the monsters who did this to these poor dogs. My self-lo
athing for my failure.
There was no air-conditioning or heating in the building. I could just imagine dogs crammed into a metal building in the Texas heat, one on top of the other, and lucky if they were only one to a kennel. Most kennels would have several.
Females bred every time they came into heat for the entirety of their lives, only to have their babies ripped from them way too young.
Dogs that had never touched grass, never smelled freedom, had never known a kind touch. I wasn’t so sure death was the worst fate. At least it would’ve brought them peace.
But the cycle would start again with new dogs, in a new location.
Brody pulled me into his arms. “Shhh. We’re gonna find them, Lily, I promise. They won’t destroy their investment that easily. They likely moved them elsewhere.”
That was probably true, but... “Is that really the better fate, Brody? Look at this place.”
“It is. Because we’re going to find them.” With both hands, he framed my jaw. “And they will know love and safety and care in their lives because we won’t quit on them. We can’t. They need us. They’ll just have to wait a little longer, is all.”
I let myself drift back to watching CC interact with Brody the first time. The first time Mack had asked me to play. The expression on a dog’s face when it found its very own person.
I hated this feeling. It was heartbreaking, and for every ten times I felt this heartbreak, the one time we won, and a dog went to a good home or made a breakthrough or learned to trust again... That feeling would always outweigh this heartbreak.
Always. No, I’d never give up on them.
There was another problem. A big one. This wasn’t some small operation that only supplied local pet shops. The bay doors. The heavy truck tires that rutted the sides of the road. “This is... It’s big. More than a hundred dogs, maybe. They’re not only supplying to local shops and selling online. This mill could have a pipeline with brokers selling all over the place.”
Even if we managed to find the dogs again, there were way more involved than I was prepared to handle with my connections. Even if local shelters and rescues could take on that many dogs—which wasn’t likely—these were bully breeds. They were going to be very under-socialized dogs that didn’t trust humans. Rescues wouldn’t adopt out a dog that might bite. How many of them would have to be destroyed because they weren’t trustworthy around humans through no fault of their own? Even at a no-kill shelter, they’d be cared for, healthy, but just trading one cage for another.
I wiped at my tears.
I had no idea how to handle a mill this size.
“We need to get out of here. Let me get some pictures.”
I was in over my head.
“Lil.”
“Huh?”
Brody kicked dust and grass over my puke pile. “We have to go, darlin’.”
That’s when I heard the saddest whine. So small and hoarse. Both of our eyes widened. “Did you hear it?”
“Yep.” Within a fraction of a second, Brody moved inside to a pile of milk crates and wooden pallets. Bending down, he slipped his arm behind the pile.
“Brody, it could be rats.”
“Nope.” The most desperate little squeal prickled the air as he pulled his arm back and cradled something to his chest.
A tiny brown bulldog puppy, maybe four or five weeks old. “Ohmygod.”
It wasn’t much bigger than the hand holding it. “Shhh, buddy. It’s okay. Shhh,” Brody whispered, trying to soothe a baby calling for its mama.
Fresh tears tracked down my cheeks as I stroked the puppy’s head. Its own little eyes were crusted over with god knew what. With extra care, I pulled the skin on its back away—it didn’t snap back. The pup was badly dehydrated. As gently as possible, I lifted its lip to check the color of its gums and found them pink with tiny milk teeth, but not as hearty as they should have been. “We need to get it to a vet.”
Brody passed me the pup. “You head back to the truck. I’ll close this up.”
After carefully crawling over the gate, I wrapped the pup in a shirt from Brody’s back seat and settled him on my lap. No, they wouldn’t kill their cash cow.
Watching the little pup wiggle, I knew I couldn’t give up. If I had to start all over again, that’s what I’d do. These dogs deserved justice.
Not every aggressive dog could be rehabilitated, but I was damn good at what I did, and confident that I could train quite a few dogs that other agencies might put down for being aggressive.
What I needed was my own place. A rescue to house the dogs that would be deemed unadoptable elsewhere. Dogs like CC and Mack that took more than a regular rescue could handle. If I had to work with them one at a time, that’s what I’d do. I knew if I told Rob, he’d volunteer to help me. So would the other animal behaviorists I knew.
The problem would be feeding, housing, supplies and medical costs. Money.
Little dude wiggled in my lap. “Shh. It’s okay, baby. We’re going to get you patched up.”
The door opened, and Brody slid in, but I kept comforting the pup. “And when you’re old enough, we’ll find you the bestest home ever. Then we’re going to find your mama and get her patched up, too.”
“How is he?”
“Weak, but she’s a fighter.”
“Let’s get her to the vet, then.” Exhausted, the little pup settled into the blanket and fell asleep as Brody turned and left the way we came.
* * *
We got the baby into Dr. Avalos’s care and made it back to my house physically and emotionally exhausted.
As overcrowded as my queen-sized bed was with dogs and a hulking man, when Brody slipped in and slid his arms around me, there was no place I would have rather been.
Tomorrow, I needed to start making calls, do some research into other organizations, but for tonight I’d sleep in this amazing man’s arms. The one who wanted to make sure I knew I could depend on him. Who’d told Dr. Avalos he was paying for all of the bulldog’s vet bills.
I was completely in love with him. Unequivocally.
Tonight, there was just Brody, and sleep.
I’d save the tough stuff for tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I thought the full moon was last night.
Brody
“Okay, thanks for the update, Dr. Avalos. Anything she needs, just send me the bill,” I said as I stepped out of my truck. Lily came through the backyard gate as I hung up the call. Relief washed over me. The bulldog pup was getting stronger. I’d even given her a name—Laila, after Laila Ali. Because she was a fighter through and through.
Lily launched into my arms, kissing the shit out of me. Eventually, the whine of a passing car’s power steering in the alley at the back of Lily’s yard brought my head up. She lived in an old part of Frisco with a big yard, but cars were forever traveling up and down the streets and back alleys. Especially with the park across the street from her house.
“Why don’t we take this inside,” I said.
She nodded, hit the keypad to close the garage door before she led me through the backyard and into the kitchen. We barely cleared the door before I slipped an arm around her waist and slid my lips over the back of her bare neck. “Damn, I can’t imagine ever seeing you and not wanting to do that.” She arched her back, pushing her ass against me.
“Mmmm, ditto.” We were at it like rabbits. Every night except the first. We should have been exhausted, but whenever she was near, my cock sprang to life.
“In fact...” I kept walking her forward, whirled her around and sat her butt on the counter with me between her thighs.
“You’re lucky I have a strong sex drive, Shaw. Otherwise, I’d have to kick your ass out just to get some rest.”
I sucked at the skin below her ear, making her hum. There wasn’t a single inch of her I didn’t
know. “Why, Ms. Costello. I’m surprised at you.” I feigned offense, but her hands were under my T-shirt exploring my skin and my hands were pulling at her shorts trying to work them off her legs without taking her off the counter. “What’s it gonna be? Make love to me or fuck me till neither of us can walk?”
She winked an eye shut. “Hmm, how bout ‘grr, hrr, thank you, sir.’”
A laugh bubbled out of my throat. “A quickie it is. Lift your butt so I can get your shorts down.” I wanted to tell her I loved her so many times, but every time I got close, I swallowed the words.
She did the same.
Yet, the only reason I cared about keeping our secret was so I could play in Dallas to be near her, and with the civil suit against me looking more and more like it would fold, things were promising again. I’d have to go back to my apartment soon. The last preseason game was this weekend, then camp would break.
She was still breathing heavy from her orgasm when I lifted her off the counter to find her shorts and swatted her butt.
“Was that Regina? How’s Laila?”
She was already gone for the puppy, too. “It’s going to take time for her to heal but she’s doing better. Gina said she had a female that lost her entire litter yesterday. She won’t eat or sleep, but if Laila does well the next couple of days, the Golden Retriever might take her on as her own. I didn’t know dogs would do that.”
Lily buttoned her shorts, poured iced tea from a pitcher. “Sometimes. It’s good news. There are things a mother can teach her that people can’t. She needs that socialization, but we shouldn’t have any problem finding her a forever home.”
Finding her a forever home? I thought she already had one. Right here with us. Then, again, this wasn’t my home.
If Lil wasn’t thinking about Laila in terms of forever, maybe she wasn’t thinking about me that way either.
I shook the thought off. We’d talk about it later. Between classes, the animal welfare agencies she’d contacted the last few days, and me keeping her up at night, she was probably exhausted.
