Think Twice

“It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him. He’s really aged.”

“Poor old guy.” Grady gave Alice a hug, and she let her arms encircle his waist, looking forward to a rematch.

“I hate to see him suffering like that.”

“I know.” Grady released her and looked into her eyes. “So what do you want to do? He’s your dog, it’s your decision.”

“I know what to do. The right thing.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Alice managed a shaky smile.

It could be a whole new thing. Grief sex.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Mary sat cross-legged on her bed, working in her Donovan McNabb jersey, gym shorts, and glasses. The air conditioner rattled, a hot coffee cooled on the night table, and her brief glowed on her laptop. All systems were go except her brain. She kept thinking of Anthony and whether she should call him. She wished she could take back some of those awful words.

She didn’t know if she was right or wrong. She didn’t know if a house mattered more than a man, or if it was a house that she was standing up for. It was confusing. She hadn’t known the words would come out of her mouth until they did, but when she heard them, they sounded true. She was standing up for herself, right?

She put it out of her mind and read the last paragraph of her brief for the umpteenth time. The facts section was empty because Alice hadn’t done anything bad yet, but the case law in the legal section needed editing. She had to email the brief to Bennie tonight, then get to work on her own clients. She’d brought in five new ones last week and she had tons to do.

Then buy it, partner.

She forced herself to refocus and deleted a word, trying to smooth out the writing, then her mind wandered and she picked up her BlackBerry. There were new emails from clients, but none from Anthony. No texts or calls from him that she’d missed by accident. She thought about calling him but she didn’t know what to say, and texting him would be so middle-school. Instead, she called Judy, who sounded out of breath, with salsa music blaring in the background.

“What’s that?” Mary asked. “You at a club?”

“No, home. Frank is teaching me how to samba.”

“Frank can samba?”

“Oh, there’s nothing that man doesn’t know.”

Mary smiled. “Catch you later. I just wanted to see how were feeling.”

“No more evil eye.”

“Congratulations, see you tomorrow.” Mary pressed END and set the phone back down.

She stared at the computer, feeling night falling like a closing curtain. She was betwixt and between, lost between apartment and house, associate and partner, boyfriend and late husband. She thought about calling her parents, but they’d ask about Anthony and she was the worst liar in the bar association. She would bet her father was hurt about what she’d said to him, but she couldn’t take that back, either. She wished she could talk to her sister, who was on yet another mission, a twin trying to prove she was unique.

Her gaze fell on the brief, and she wondered what it was like to be Bennie and have a twin who disliked you. It would be like warring with your very self. Bennie didn’t deserve that kind of pain, not after all she’d done for Alice.

DiNunzio, I appreciate you.

She read the paragraph again, reenergized. She didn’t have time for a pity party. She was a professional and she had a job to do. Bennie was her client, and anybody who wanted to hurt her would have to get through Mary.

She took a slug of warm coffee and got busy.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Bennie counted one, two, three, and the wood splintered with a cracking sound. The hole had gone from a quarter to a fist, and it had blackened like a solar eclipse, so she knew it was dark outside. The animal would be back soon. She pounded harder than before, smashing the heel of her palm against where the wood splintered. It cracked again. She grabbed the wood with her bandaged hand and pressed up. The piece broke, but was still hinged to the wood.

“HELPPPPP!” she screamed. She didn’t know how far underground she was, but it couldn’t be that far, judging from the light through the hole. Maybe somebody could hear her shouting. She wrenched the wood back and forth until she could tear the piece off. She thrust her arm through the hole, threw the chunk of wood out, and started all over again.

She pounded on the hole, ignoring the pain. She had to get free, she felt it like a wild desire, a natural force that fueled her, propelling her upward. She didn’t smell the filth anymore, only the earth that kept falling inside the box, shaken loose. She heard the splintering again, busted off another piece and pressed it backwards, grunting with exertion. It gave way and broke off, widening the hole to the size of her shoulder. She let the wood piece fall and started pounding next to it, bashing as hard as she could. The animal could come back any minute.

Sweat poured over her face but she kept breaking the hole until it was almost big enough for her head. Dirt fell onto her eyes, and she heard a shuffling above. A shadow chased across the hole, maybe three feet from her face. The animal was back, growling. Terror struck. Her throat and face lay exposed. She shrieked.

Suddenly the animal jammed his snout through the hole, frenzied and growling. Jaws snapped inches from her nose. Saliva dripped on her cheek. She squeezed herself against the side of the box. She screamed again and again.

The animal rammed his snout farther down, frenzied. His breath reeked of carrion. She kicked the lid to scare him, but he kept coming, driving her against the side of the box. She fumbled for the piece of wood she had dropped. She prayed it had a jagged edge.

She heard somebody roaring, like a war cry, and it was her. Her fingers found the wood piece. She stabbed the animal, slicing his lip. He writhed in pain. His head got caught in the hole. He couldn’t back out. It was do or die for the both of them.

The animal bit down. Sharp teeth raked her fingers and ripped her bandage. She stabbed again. She cut his nose, and he roared in protest, throwing his head this way and that, the movement trapping his head inside.

She stabbed again and again, finally jamming the knife into his mouth, where it stuck. His terrified yelp gave her an opening. She punched his snout again and again. The animal backed out of the hole yelping in distress.

She reached up, grabbed the edge of the hole, and wrenched the wood back and forth frantically until it cracked off. Still the hole wasn’t large enough for her. She attacked the hole again, desperate. Another piece splintered off, a skinny shard shaped like a spike.

Yes.

Dirt fell in the box. The animal yelped and cried on the surface, about a foot over head. A circle of black sky glimmered above her. She waited for the right moment. The animal ran back and forth over the hole. The cries and scuffling came closer.

Go.

She launched herself upward, leading with the spike. Her head exploded through the hole to the surface. The animal screamed. It was a skinny wolf, brown and gray in the moonlight. But she felt like a wolf now, too. Lethal, primal. She embedded the wood in the fur of his underbelly, his skin hot against her knuckles.

The wolf whipped his head around, his canines bared. The whites of his eyes showed terror and fury. She let