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But the dog turns his head, his dark eyes meeting mine.

Smart little bastard.

“Don’t be scared,” Callie says. “I’ve got you.”

The dog looks away. Then licks her cheek.

She giggles.

I release a breath, liking the sound too much.

Ten minutes later, I watch from across the street as Callie gently lowers the dog onto the back seat of the silver sedan.

A minute later, she pulls away.

I stand there longer than I should.

Finally, I head back toward my truck.

It's after seven when I open Instagram.

A new ring appears around Callie’s profile picture. I tap it.

The dog is curled on a blanket. He’s clean now. Still skinny. One ear sticks straight up. The other hangs sideways.

Went looking for one thing today. Found something better.

I read it twice. Something tightens beneath my ribs.

She was looking for me and found him.

Good. That's good.

The dog needed her.

I don't.

My jaw tightens.

I tap again.

Callie's hand rests on the dog's head.

Meet Alibi.

I stare at the name, then laugh. An actual fucking laugh.

She named the dog Alibi.

I shake my head.

Then I remember she can see me watching.

I should close the app.

I don’t.

She was following me. I’m sure I know why. She was trying to find out where I live.