The rest of the morning is chaotic enough that I almost manage to shove the entire interaction outside to the back of my mind. Volunteers continue organizing supplies while Ivy proudly introduces every dog in the building to potential adopters. Irina trails behind her with patient exhaustion written all over her face, and somewhere in the middle of all of it, I finally begin breathing normally again.
Then the delivery truck arrives at the back loading area of the shelter. At first glance, nothing feels wrong. The paperwork matches a local feed supplier that donates regularly before larger events, and one of the volunteers even recognizes the company logo painted along the side.
Yet the second the driver climbs down from the truck, every nerve in my body reacts. He’s tall with broad shoulders and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He’s smiling before I even speak.
“Miss Hayes,” he says.
The hair stands up on the back of my neck.
Behind me, Jules pauses halfway through dragging a bag of food toward storage.
“You really ought to hire better security around here,” the driver says casually.
The air leaves my lungs slowly. “What did you say?”
“Just saying anybody can walk into this place.”
His attention moves past me toward the kennel corridor. Toward Ivy.
Rage burns hot through my chest so fast it surprises me. “You need to leave. Now.”
He laughs like I’m overreacting. “I’m delivering donations.”
“No. You’re done here,” I insist.
Jules steps beside me immediately, tension visible in every line of his body now. “Buddy, the creepy truck driver energy alone is enough for me to vote no. Wrap it up and move along.”
The driver’s eyes focus on Jules before returning to me again. “You always this suspicious, Maggie?”
“Only when strangers start talkin’ like they know more than they should.”
His smile disappears completely. Fear crawls beneath my skin.
The security guard near the back door notices the tension and immediately starts toward us. The driver notices too. Without another word, he climbs back into the truck. Then he pauses before shutting the door.
“You really should be more careful.”
The truck pulls away hard enough to spit gravel across the parking lot behind it.
Jules exhales sharply while staring after it. “What in the fresh Savannah hell is goin’ on around here today?”
I wrap my arms across my stomach, trying unsuccessfully to calm the adrenaline rushing through me. “He looked at Ivy.”
Jules nods once. “I saw.”
Seconds later, barking erupts from the kennel corridor, loud enough to snap every head in the shelter toward the back. Panic rips through the sound, wild and wrong in a way that sends alarm crashing through me.
My head jerks toward the kennel corridor just before a volunteer screams, “Oh my God, the gates!”
Everything explodes into mayhem at once. Dogs pour from the outdoor kennel runs in every direction, while volunteers shout, and families stumble backward, trying not to trip over leashes and frightened animals. A shepherd tears through the lobby while two beagles race toward the parking lot fast enough to send three volunteers sprinting after them.
“Elvis!” I yell automatically when I spot the dachshund barreling toward the front entrance. “Don’t you dare!”
Elvis absolutely dares.
Jules curses beside me before taking off after him while I sprint toward the kennel area, my heart slamming against my ribs. Three outdoor gates hang wide open, not damaged or forced apart, but unlatched cleanly and left swinging. Someone opened them on purpose.
“Maggie!” one volunteer cries while struggling to hold onto two terrified terriers. “They were all open when we got here!”
