Page 10 of Vetted for Vengeance
Either he is the loneliest man I’ve ever abducted… or the most responsible. I can’t decide which is more unusual.
His diary is filled with heat cycles, dates with stud dogs, scans, and puppy milestones. He's recorded the date each puppy was sold, presumably using a name code only he understands. This guy is obsessed with the puppy farm. Not casually, or a passive interest. He knows the workings intimately. Thoroughly. He's either telling the truth about wanting to take the place down or the best damn employee they could hope for. I’m almost envious this young man doesn’t work for me,
But then a darker thought creeps into my mind. He admitted to letting me in. He knows who I am. And he doesn't seem nearly scared enough about the fact that he might die.
Could this man have been playing a role so deep that he was waiting for me? Watching me. Learning. Has he been manipulating my discovery of the puppy farm, or my decision to target the brothers? It seems a long shot, but this guy should be terrified, begging for his life. Not planning who will cover his breakfast shift.
The only way to tell for sure is to show my face and let him watch. The truth reveals itself under pressure.
Witnessing my work firsthand will reveal if he has the stomach for my kind of work, my kind of secret double life.
Showing my face breaks one of my most important rules. Rules exist for a reason. I don’t break them lightly.
An unseen voice is a weapon. Mystery keeps people compliant. Fear fills the gaps. But Noah already suspects who I am, and I want to see his reaction.
I walk into my secret surgery, confident, unstoppable, and definitely not shaking.
“Hello Noah,” I greet. He looks smaller now that he's awake. The bravado from earlier has drained away, leaving a pale, exhausted young man curled against the wall. He’s contained and defensive, but clearly not broken.
His eyes are alert and watching everything. Tracking my movements. Trying to figure me out.
“Hello,” he replies, no surprise in his expression. He knows me.
“How do you know me?”
“I guess you're trying to narrow down two possibilities. That I'm some mastermind who knows more than you, or I'm just a stupid kennel maid who listens to the Follow the Vet podcast so much he recognizes your voice over the radio.”
“My mind was suspecting the mastermind part. I didn't consider the podcast.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” he mutters. “Are you going to kill us? Someone needs to feed the dogs their…”
“Stop talking about the dogs.” This fixation is exhausting.
Good lord, this boy really is a devoted employee who listens to Follow the Vet so much he can recognize my voice. “I will not kill you. Probably. But I do need to think about how we resolve this.”
“You could go to the puppy farm; as vet-you, not as…” He looks me up and the word killer remains unspoken. “…and adopt everyone. The animals I mean. Well, you can adopt me too if you need someone hands-on with the dogs…” he pauses. “Sorry, you wanted me to stop talking.”
I pause. Not because the idea is absurd, but because it isn’t. I need someone to take over the running of my hospital so my head nurse can focus more on the clinics she likes.
“I can't just go to the farm. How would…” I stop, studying him before using his terms. “…vet-me know the dogs are there?”
“Oh, right. True.” His head drops onto his knees.
I pace beside the cot, running my fingers along the metal holding Frank's limp body. He and his brother have had a top-up on the sedatives, but I'm running out of time before they wake up and have to die.
“I could come into the practice where you work. I could say the brothers have disappeared and I don't know where else to go. I've listened to all your podcasts and watched all your shows. There would be plenty of evidence to show I respect you as a vet, and probably the only person I actually know.”
That isn’t a bad idea.
Not bad at all.
That would give me the perfect excuse to take him and the dogs in. I can guarantee his silence, or at least encourage it if I let him keep that one dog he's obsessed with, and honestly, how bad would it be to have someone who knows my secret. Someone who understands it.
“Okay.” The word leaves my mouth before I’ve fully decided why. That’s unusual. I don’t act without certainty.
“Okay, as in you think that's a good idea?”
“Yes.”
