Even on this property, the adjacent parking lot, she looked suspicious because she hadn’t gotten out of her vehicle. She drove forward and around town, knowing that anybody watching her would keep track of these movements too. Also not a good deal. By the time the two hours were up, she was parked outside the cantina again. She wondered if she should go in but did not want to. A single white woman wasn’t happily welcomed here. And, if they were, it was for all the wrong reasons.
That thought had her remembering what else this bad guy might have been into. Women. And that was scary too. She also remembered how Caleb found his tipster dead in the Dumpster in the back alley of this property, and that was nothing she wanted to get close to either. She worried about his instructions. She knew she was here to pick him up, but what if he didn’t show? What if he didn’t call to reschedule the time for pickup? Was she supposed to leave—without him—at the end of the two hours?
“What the hell?” she muttered out loud. “What have you got me into?” she murmured.
Caleb snuck along the backside of the hill, coming down behind the ridge, until he could walk all the way around there. He stopped in the cover of a copse and studied the dogs. He was close to one of the big dog shelters, and all the dogs were chained up. Most of them looked to be pissed or angry, some of them quite likely well past rehabilitation. But he didn’t know that for sure. He studied the one separated off to the side, who was lying down, looking forlorn, possibly even injured. He called out softly, “Beowulf?”
The dog’s ears twitched, and slowly he lifted his head and looked behind him. And Caleb gave a very light whistle that he would have used in the military. The dog immediately struggled to his feet, and he realized the dog had one injured back leg. From what, Caleb didn’t know. But that’s why Beowulf was separated from the pack like that. The other dogs would have attacked him and taken him out.
Only the strongest would survive, particularly if they had been trained that way.
The dog limped as close as he could and then stopped because he was chained up. Swearing at the chain, Caleb considered what it would take to break it. He studied the way it was attached to the metal post and wondered if he could pull the metal post out quietly. Asshole and his crew weren’t taking any chances in what they considered their property, and somehow that dog, as far as this asshole was concerned, was his.
Caleb looked around the area, still in hiding, figuring out the layout here, when a guard approached the dogs.
He threw in chunks of meat, and the four dogs ripped it to shreds. Caleb didn’t know what kind of meat it was, but, in his heart, he was afraid it was a leg bone, as in, a human leg bone. He swore at that thought. Then the guard came over to look at the injured dog and laughed. He had a rifle over his shoulder. He sneered. “You’ll be fed to the dogs next,” he said. “Piece of shit, you are. And he had such high hopes for you.”
The guard shook his head and went to pick up a stick to beat the dog with it. The dog snarled and tried to fight back, but he was badly enough injured that the guard landed the first blow on Beowulf, but, before the second blow made contact, Caleb ran an arm lock around the guard’s neck, shutting off his voice, as he dragged him into the brush at the far corner of the dog pen out of sight. He knocked him out, at least he thought, but the guy jumped to his feet.
But when Caleb hit him the second time, he went down, hitting several small rocks. This time he stayed down. Caleb bent and placed a finger on his neck and realized that the guy’s neck had snapped with the fall. Caleb tried to feel sympathy for him, but it was a struggle. Caleb took up the dead guy’s rifle, put it over his shoulder, and grabbed the guy’s shirt, putting it over his, disguising himself as the guard. Caleb grabbed the guy’s hat too. Caleb checked the guard’s pockets for keys and found some, hopefully for these pens. Luckily one of them opened Beowulf’s pen where he’d been placed.
Caleb casually walked to the injured dog, whistling to him ever-so-softly, hopefully to stop him from panicking over the guard’s outfit, and slowly bent and undid the collar around the dog’s neck. The dog snarled and hissed at him, but Caleb kept talking to him in a long low calm voice. As soon as he had him free, Caleb called Beowulf to him.
The dog visibly hesitated, arguing with himself, but, considering this was his one chance at freedom, when Caleb walked out of the pen through the back gate, the dog came with him. After that, it was a matter of trying to get the dog to run. He watched Beowulf’s progress, knowing he and the dog were in danger of being caught, and Caleb wouldn’t likely be questioned but would take a bullet. Finally he reached down, not giving the dog any choice, picked him up in his arms, and raced toward the hillside.
But, as he bounced over the hilltop into the silence, behind him he heard a voice down below, yelling and raising the
