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Tears filled her eyes, and her muscles unlocked only to start trembling. “I have to go find her. I have to…she doesn’t always come when called, and I’ve always kept her away from strangers. I don’t know if she would trust someone she didn’t know. And she doesn’t look before she crosses the street. That’s my job. It’s my…”
A sob choked off the words and propelled her into motion, weaving around the furniture, heading for the door. Gramma tried to stop her, but she pulled free. At the door, Sam caught her around the waist, and she tried to pull away from him, too, but he was too strong. She pushed him; he didn’t budge. She kicked him; he lifted her off her feet, spun her around and set her back down inside the apartment, pushing the door shut with his elbow.
“You can’t go out there, Mila.”
“He hurt me, and now he has Poppy! I have to go!”
“He wants you dead!”
“I don’t care! She’s just a puppy. She doesn’t even know to be afraid. She’s just a baby, Sam, and I need—I need—”
“Is there anything I can do?” Gramma asked, gripping her hands tightly together. “Can I help look for her? She’ll come to me. Though, to be fair, sweetie, she’ll come to anyone who looks cross-eyed at her.”
Sam rubbed the knot between Mila’s shoulder blades. She was aware of the action. She just couldn’t find the strength to react to it. Everything inside her was numb with fear far greater than she’d felt in the creek that morning. Something happening to her, she could deal with that. Something happening to sweet Poppy…that might be more than she could bear.
“I just need to know you two are safe here,” Sam said. “We have a lot of people searching. I’m going out to help. Officer Simpson—” He tilted Mila’s face back to meet her gaze. “You remember him?”
She nodded.
“He’s coming to stay with you, and Officer Bartlett is still downstairs. Don’t leave the apartment, and don’t open the door to anyone besides Officer Simpson, understand?”
When she couldn’t respond, Gramma did. “We understand.” She pulled Mila from Sam and held her tightly as he opened the door. “Call us if you can, Sam. Let us know…”
He gave them a grim nod before leaving.
They stood there in a hug a long time before Mila’s back twinged, reminding her she was standing so rigidly. Her eyes were dry, her nose sniffly, her heart breaking. She patted Gramma awkwardly, then pulled away and went to one of the windows.
When Gramma had come to look at this apartment before renting, both she and Mila had fallen in love with the tall, deep-set windows. Most of the broad sills held collections of colored glass that glimmered in the sun, but the center one was empty because that very first time, Mila had curled up on it to gaze out. She climbed on it now, her right side pressed against the window, her back and feet against the wood jambs, her head tilted against the glass so she could see the intersection of Main and First.
When Officer Simpson arrived, she didn’t stir, not even when he assured her that Poppy would be found. Gramma said, “From your mouth to God’s ear.
“Your police chief is a good man,” Gramma said, “to put this much effort into finding Poppy.”
“He is. But man, it makes you wonder what kind of person steals a woman’s dog.” Simpson shook his head, his dismay tinged with true bewilderment.
Mila knew what kind of person did things like that. She’d lived half her life hoping to survive them and the other half praying to forget them. Evil.
Someone evil had taken the sweetest, most innocent creature in her life. Dear God, how could she stand this?
* * *
They were three hours into the search when Sam got a phone call from the mayor. He parked in front of Jessica’s building—since he needed to check in and have a face-to-face with his detectives, downtown was a good place—and lifted the phone to his ear. “Mayor.”
“Sam. I heard a joke on the ninth tee just now—that you’ve got the entire police department mobilized to find a missing dog. Please tell me it is a joke. Tell me you’re not spending our limited resources looking for somebody’s pet.”
