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SEPTEMBER FROZE AT the sound of Shadow’s alarm barks. Macy’s stiff-legged pose and bottle-brush tail confirmed the dog’s long-distance warning. Someone waited outside the storage building.
The makeshift garage had no places large enough for her to hide. Even Sherlock had been hard-pressed to find a cubbyhole. She glanced inside Sissie Turpin’s SUV parked in the middle of the space, hoping for car keys, and for the first time noticed snowy ice still coating the hood. September looked closer, and drew in a hard breath. The front grill carried scars from recent hit and run accidents. Not Turpin’s car after all.
Mr. Bleak! He must have come looking for Turpin’s thumb drive, although she wasn’t sure how he knew about it.
Sherlock struggled a bit, before settling in her arms with a purr. September pulled the lanyard from around his neck and looped it over her own head, dropping the thumb drive down her front for safe keeping. She’d parked nearby, but with only one way out, Mr. Bleak could simply wait for her to leave.
Shadow’s barks abruptly stopped and she imagined him silently tracking the man’s movement. September guessed Mr. Bleak had moved away from her car, fearful Shadow would give him away. She hoped he didn’t know he’d already been unmasked.
She couldn’t make a run for it. She’d be tackled, or shot. Saddled with the two cats—no way would she leave either behind—she had few options. Even if she reached her car, he’d run her off the road. This time, he wouldn’t leave her death to chance, like he did with Charlie. He’d end her.
Think, think! He couldn’t see through the walls inside the building. Mr. Bleak hadn’t found Sherlock, and maybe—probably!—waited for her to collect the cat for him. And he didn’t know she’d already recovered the thumb drive. He’d wait until he knew September had it. She could use that.
She cleared her throat, and spoke with brisk authority, loud enough to be heard outside the building. “Good boy, Macy-cat, keep looking.” As she spoke, she quickly fashioned a makeshift harness out of the end of Macy’s extra-long tracking leash. She fitted it on Sherlock, then reattached the clip end to Macy’s walking jacket. With the two cats connected and easy-going toward each other—God bless show cats—she’d have an easier time keeping them safely together. “That’s right, Macy, go look up behind the boxes.”
Macy stared at her, questioning her inane chatter. He crouched beside Sherlock. The pair exchanged polite sniffs, the white cat offered his head, and Macy agreeably began to groom his neck. September pulled out her treat bag and spilled the contents to keep them engaged. She knew Shadow also listened. Her conversation had no meaning to the killer, but when the time came, Shadow would know what to do.
“Good boy, Macy-cat, you checked the top of those boxes. Good kitty.” She let the words pour out, buying time as she searched for something, anything to use as a weapon. Surely there’d be a knife somewhere, or scissors to open the cat litter bags. She needed something to puncture the tires.
“Yes, good kitty, you’re getting warmer. I don’t think our cat friend has left the building, keep looking.” She kept one eye on Macy and his new friend, while scouring the small building for something sharp. Hanging on the wall, she found what she needed.
“Yes, that’s the way. Just a bit longer, check the spot under the barrel.” The cats ignored her, thank goodness, perhaps soothed by her calm voice. She prayed the nonsense also lulled the outside listener. She needed to work fast.
September lifted down the box hook that hung by a long strand of baling twine from a rusty nail. The dull hook wouldn’t puncture the tough tires, but she could still slow the killer down. A chain would work better, but twine would have to do. She’d worked with bailing twine before, and knew all about its deceptive strength.
She cut free sections of the strands from several of the hay bales, using the twine itself to saw shorter lengths, then knotted them all together in a stout multi-strand rope. “Macy-cat, what a brilliant kitty, just one more place to look,” she called, keeping her voice cheery. She looped the twine rope under the straps holding the last bale together, with the other end tied to the box hook. The square bale sat directly in front of Mr. Bleak’s SUV. “Yes, that’s right, under the car, good Macy, you’re nearly done.” She crawled beneath the SUV and hung the box hook over the front axle, connecting the bale to the car. The twine wouldn’t hold for long, if at all, but the hundred-pound bale anchor should at least slow the car. She struggled back to her feet, grabbing armfuls of loose straw, and stuffing it behind the front tires of the car. The entire operation took less than three minutes.
Ready or not, here we go... September pulled out her car key fob, scooped a cat under each arm, and pressed the child lock release button. “Shadow, window!”
She heard the dog’s thump when his paws hit the ground. A startled intake of breath came from the near side of the garage doorway, pinpointing Mr. Bleak’s position. September ran, aiming for the other side of the opening, juggling the two cats in an awkward embrace. “Hold him, Shadow!” She didn’t look. He’d either keep the killer at bay or they’d all die.
September thrust first one cat and then the other through the car window Shadow had opened, climbed behind the steering wheel, and shoved the running car into reverse. She ducked when a bullet starred the windshield, and floored the accelerator in reaction. Her car slalomed, but tires finally caught in the dirt driveway. She saw Mr. Bleak briefly in her car lights, crouched in a shooter’s pose with some weird headgear, and swerved with a scream before bumping onto the highway.
“Shadow!” She screamed his name again and again, frantically searching in the gloom. Another starburst scored her windshield. And then she saw her dog, racing toward her. She quickly rolled down both the front and rear passenger windows to give him a best choice, paused to change into drive, and breathed with relief as Shadow vaulted into the vehicle.
She hazarded a glance back at the house. Lights blazed in the garage when he started his car. She didn’t wait to see what happened, just pressed the gas and raced away.
MR. BLEAK TORE THE headgear off, half-blinded by the headlights, and rammed his car into reverse, cursing dogs, damning cats, and promising destruction to all difficult women. He hated everything about this assignment. How the hell had the dog got out of the car? His shot aimed at September went wild when the beast hit him behind the knees.
His car moved in an unexpected herky-jerky motion, and he cursed again, gunning the gas. It finally broke free, but something dragged underneath. He’d never catch them now. He stopped to clear the obstruction.
No worries, though. He always planned contingencies. He’d find the whole menagerie soon enough. He’d planted a tracking device on September’s car.
