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There was no response, and the room was empty. His heart started to pound, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth.
“Trotter?” he called.
The last syllable came out in a hoarse squeak. Prince Edward looked up from his bowl, scowling in concern at his alpha. The man offered a weakly reassuring smile that didn’t come close to calming the big dog. It left its meal and trotted to his alpha’s side.
“Have you seen Trotter, Prince Edward?” the man asked, his voice thready and weak, “I can’t seem to…”
His voice trailed off when he saw it. Through the back door, there was a small hole underneath the backyard fence. It was small, just large enough for a King Charles Spaniel to slip through.
The world spun around him. He stumbled and just managed to catch himself on the wall before he fell.
Prince Edward barked in alarm and positioned himself in between the wall and Alpha, steadying Alpha so he didn’t fall to the floor. The other dogs heard the bark and abandoned their meals, rushing to Alpha’s side.
“Oh God,” he whispered numbly. “Oh God. Oh God, Trotter.”
He had just rescued Trotter. For God’s sake, he’d had the dog for four days. How could he have lost him? He’d never lost a dog. How did he even manage to dig through the fence?
He rushed outside and found that the chicken wire that was supposed to extend three feet into the ground had been pulled up.
“Dammit, the raccoon!” he shouted, loudly enough that it prompted another panicked response from his dogs.
Last week, a raccoon had gotten into the backyard. Greco and Brutus—the two English Mastiffs that slept outside and acted as guards for the property—had torn it literally limb from limb.
He assumed the raccoon simply scaled the fence, but apparently, it had dug underneath the fence and used its damned dexterous little fingers to lift the chicken wire out of the hole. Well, it had paid for its idiocy with its life, but now Trotter, poor sweet Trotter, was out alone in the world without his pack to protect him.
Prince Edward nudged him. Brutus whined. Greco growled and looked wildly around for the threat. The other dogs watched him silently, waiting for him to reassure them that everything was okay.
He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll find Trotter. You boys just stay here and be safe. I’ll be back in no time.”
He grabbed his keys and stuck his feet into his flip-flops rather than take the time to put socks on and lace up his boots. He headed to his truck and exercised every ounce of his will to drive calmly and within the speed limit as he looked for his missing dog.
CHAPTER TEN
“We’re looking for people who would know how to train dogs to be vicious,” Michael said, “Animal trainers, gangsters, junkyard owners, former K9 handlers.”
Turk was as excited as the two human agents were and paced the floor of the station while the two human agents huddled over Tom’s desk.
Tom snapped his head up at Michael. “No offense,” Michael said, lifting his hands placatingly, “but it’s somewhere to look.”
Tom sighed and nodded. “The only two K9 handlers who aren’t active duty live out in Florida now. I can provide alibis for everyone who isn’t retired, so that’s a nonstarter. No offense taken, though.”
“What about the other angles?” Faith asked. “We could be onto something here.”
“I’ll look,” Tom said, “but I have to look manually. We don’t have the database software that the big departments have.”
Faith nodded and tried to calm her impatience. Impatience like that had allowed the last killer she investigated to nearly get away with burying a nurse alive. This killer was escalating quickly, but that was precisely in Faith’s wheelhouse. She needed to be calm and trust the process. No wild goose chases.
A gnawing voice in the back of her head reminded her that she had trusted the process with the Copycat Killer and now Gordon was dead.
She pushed that voice away. This killer, whoever he was, was not the copycat killer. And in any case, the two situations were vastly different.
Why was she thinking about him right now? She had gotten Michael, David and Ellie to safety. There was nothing else she could do until the Boss stopped monitoring her so closely. She had already been through this thought process, so why couldn't she set it aside for later?
Because Gordon was dead. It was that simple. A man she had come to consider friend, a man who alone among her peers and superiors had faith in her at a time when she needed to be trusted more than anything, was now dead, and it was the fault of this asshole who considered himself the reincarnation of Jethro Trammell.
“Got something,” Tom said.
Faith's heart leaped for a moment. Her ruminations had made her forget where she was. For an instant, she thought that he had information on the Copycat Killer.
