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“Arrangements?” Dale asked.
“To move the animals,” Heather answered absently.
“The closest shelters are full,” Morris said.
Heather nodded. “Of course they are. Come on, Sal.” She reached for the latch on his cage. “Come tell me all about it.”
The cage door swung open with a squeak and the big dog lurched to his feet as Heather murmured encouragement. “Such a handsome boy.”
The mutt pushed his head into Heather’s hands and Dale caught the faint sound of tears in her voice before she hid her face in the thick fur behind the dog’s ears.
The dog rumbled, in pleasure or warning, Dale wasn’t sure.
“Hang on.” Deputy Morris stepped forward, pointing at the ring on Heather’s hand. “What the hell is that?” The big dog reacted with a snarl and deep, threatening growl.
“Get back, Heather,” Dale said with the calm detachment he used with volatile suspects. He reached for his gun and the growling increased.
“Stand down,” Heather said, her voice low, her hands rubbing the dog’s ears. “Both of you back off. Hush, Sal,” Heather said, addressing the dog. “They’re the good guys.”
The growling stopped, but the reaction left Dale wondering. “What do you know about this dog’s history, Heather?”
“Not much more than we know about any of them.” She touched her forehead to Sal’s and nudged him back into his kennel. “It’ll be okay, baby. I promise.”
“Heather,” her brother reached for her. “That dog is dangerous.”
She evaded his touch. “Sal’s been traumatized. They have feelings too, J.C., you know that,” she said, moving down the line of cages. She paused to greet each dog by name and she hesitated at the kennels that were empty. “We’ll have to scrub up and reprogram the security system.”
“The place has to be cleared in order to process the evidence.”
Heather spun around and faced her brother. She was not going to stand by quietly while officials compounded the tragic break-in with more death. “Process around these animals. I won’t let you transport them to an overloaded shelter and have them wind up on a euthanasia list just because you don’t like the smell or the noise.”
“You know I’m not that shallow.”
“Prove it.” Her shoulders hitched. “There isn’t a place to put them, so deal with it. Don’t try and cross me.”
“We should go,” Dale said, drawing her attention. “Your brother has work to do.”
“I don’t think we’re done here,” she said, her eyes on J.C.
“Heather,” Dale persisted.
She ignored him. “Where are the animals that were removed?”
“We found two dogs and a cat dead in here.” J.C.’s gesture encompassed the long hallway. “Based on the open kennels and bloody tracks, I sent a team into the woods to look around.”
“Bloody boot print here.” Dale pointed to a print that seemed to aim toward the office.
“We’ll get it processed,” J.C. said. “It’s probably Terry’s.”
Heather picked her way closer to the spot Dale had noticed. “No, this isn’t Terry. He always wears tennis shoes,” she said, continuing her trek through the kennels, knowing exactly which dogs should have been in each space. Her heart seemed to break a little with each beat. “This is wrong.”
“On many levels,” J.C. muttered behind her. “Here’s a question with an easy answer. What is up with that rock on your hand?”
The question pulled her out of her study of the kennel door. The door was closed now, but they always kept it open. There was fabric caught behind the latch, in the same bright blue as the shelter uniform shirts. She crouched low for a closer look. Yesterday afternoon when she’d left, this kennel had been empty, per protocol. It was the closest to the office door and most of the time it was used to hold new dogs while they processed them into the shelter system.
“Is anyone searching for Terry?”
“Answer my question first,” J.C. insisted.
