“Did you find out who opened the gates?” I ask.
“Not yet.”
“That’s comforting.”
His expression doesn’t change. “We’re reviewing the surveillance footage now.”
Jules folds his arms across his chest. “You mean the surveillance that apparently missed someone opening half the shelter?”
The man’s eyes slide toward him calmly. “The cameras covering the side yard lost power briefly.”
My pulse jumps. “Lost power?”
“For approximately forty-seven seconds,” he confirms.
I stare at him wide-eyed. “You’re tellin’ me the cameras conveniently stopped workin’ right before the kennel gates opened?”
“We’re investigating.”
“Well, ain’t that a nightmare.”
The guard glances toward the parking lot before touching the earpiece hidden beneath his collar. “Excuse me.”
Then he walks away without another word.
Jules watches him go before muttering under his breath, “I hate when scary people get quiet. It always means the situation is worse.”
I rub both hands over my face. The adrenaline in my system leaves my muscles trembling faintly now that the immediate catastrophe has passed. My shirt sticks uncomfortably against my back from the heat and stress, while barking continues to echo through the shelter in restless bursts.
“You should sit down,” Jules says gently.
“I don’t have time.”
“Maggie.”
“We have two days until this event starts and half the volunteers already look traumatized.”
“You look traumatized,” he says with one hand on his hip.
“I look sweaty.”
“You look like you’re about to fight God in a parking lot.”
Maybe I would at this point.
I exhale hard before finally lowering myself onto the edge of the loading dock. Jules sits next to me. Heat radiates from the concrete as the late-afternoon sun burns gold across the parking lot. Neither of us speaks.
Then Jules says, “You know this isn’t really about the shelter anymore.”
I stare ahead toward the street. “I know.”
“That man this mornin’ knew your name.”
“And the delivery driver knew exactly where Ivy was standing,” I add.
Jules nods once, his expression darkening.
Fear makes my skin prickle now that the muss has slowed enough for me to think. It’s not really fear for myself. It’s the fear of what happens when dangerous men stop being careful.
