Page 6 of Vetted for Vengeance
A gloved hand comes out of the darkness to my left, clamping across my mouth before I can even think about screaming.
The smell of rubber and antiseptic hits me first. I take an automatic step back into a solid wall. My back collides with something solid behind me. A chest. A shoulder.
Someone taller than me. Stronger.
My brain scrambles for explanations. Protester? Thief? Frank playing some sick joke? None of them fit fast enough.
I know I should drop Honey and fight for my life, but my arms tighten instead. I twist helplessly, too focused on the dog than the man holding me.
For a moment, I think he’s just restraining me. Then his grip shifts and something sharp presses against the right side of my neck.
A sting spreads through my neck, sharp and immediate, and a numbing warmth spreads outwards. I squeak, a useless attempt to express my concern for Honey to the man behind me. As the warmth consumes my strength from my neck down, a powerful arm wraps around me, pinning my arms in place. As I grow weaker, my hold on Honey remains thanks to his grip.
The dreaded warmth reaches my knees, and they give out. I fold in on myself, but rather than falling, my descent is slow and controlled. As the warmth reaches my eyes, I'm slumped in the arms of the man trying to kill me, and Honey is free and standing on her own four legs.
So much for protesters closing down the puppy farm. I just opened the door for my own killer.
Chapter five
Rhys
The hardest part of my evening is over, and the fun part looms ahead of me. Except tonight hasn't gone exactly as I planned. I don’t like deviations. They introduce variables. Variables introduce mistakes.
I've got Frank and Derek unconscious and ready to pack into my trunk, but there is another body lying on the floor beside me with a very pregnant dog licking his face.
My first task is to get the dog back to bed before the stress brings on her imminent labor and I end up stuck with a whelping bitch instead of playing with my favorite instruments. Animals are simple. Predictable. They respond to tone, touch, and consistency.
People are where things become… complicated.
Luckily, she's cooperative when I scoop her up, and after a short walk into the kennel block, I find an empty kennel with the door open, and she waddles in like it's familiar enough to be hers. She circles once before settling, instinct overriding everything else.
I watch just long enough to be certain.
“What a good girl,” I can't help giving the top of her head a deep scratch. “You keep those puppies in until the morning staff get in, alright?”
Her tail gives a lazy wag against the floor. She's not showing any signs of distress or early labor, so I close her door and withdraw from the depressing row of pregnant dogs. With the dog settled, I return to my actual problem.
The unexpected man.
What am I going to do with an extra body?
I could leave him behind, let him wake up confused on the floor, but he is technically evidence. Not in the fingerprint style, my thick gloves eliminate that, but in exposing my methods. Rather than opening a missing person case for the brothers, they'd open an investigation. The cops will know my choice of agriculture-grade needles from the size of the puncture wound in his neck, my use of animal-specific sedatives not licensed for humans from his blood toxicity report. All of it would point them to the veterinary world, and I'm currently the shining face of that world. Not enough for an arrest. But enough for interest.
And interest is dangerous.
I have to bring him with me.
Damn it. Too sloppy.
I know I'm stalling when I leave him lying there, but I'm hoping another brilliant alternative pops up while I'm dragging Frank to join his brother in the trunk of my car. He's a dead weight to lift, but once his shoulders are in, the rest sort of follows. His shoes scrape against the ground, catching on the threshold before I adjust my grip. It's a mess of limbs, but a little shoving and a couple of bends in the wrong places and the boot lid closes. Not neatly. But securely.
The other guy is small, but there isn't a hope in hell of fitting him in with them. Which means driving back with his body visible in the car. A complication I hadn’t planned for.
I don’t enjoy improvisation.
Well, I'm all done except for leaving, and I've had no epiphany solution, so my dog-napping friend is coming with us.
He hasn't moved a muscle since I laid him down, except for the soft rise and fall of his chest. Despite making that clear observation about his breathing, I lean forward and touch his throat. I can’t feel a pulse through my thick gloves, but I feel strangely better for having checked. Irrational. I know exactly how much I administered. And yet…
