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.