Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 27182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Nothing looks out of the ordinary at home, but I’m still worried as I pull into the driveway and shut off my car.
“Cutter!” I shout as I run to the front door. I yank it open and take a breath of relief as he comes running up to me, tail wagging like it’s any other fun night.
“What’s the matter?” Sandra asks as she opens her front door which is right next to mine. “I heard you peeling down the street like you were on a NASCAR track. What is happening?”
“I’ll explain in a minute,” I say as I grab Cutter’s collar and look down the street. “Can we hang out with you tonight?”
“Of course,” Sandra says as Rocky comes bounding out, excited for a sleepover.
“I just have to get some things.”
Sandra brings the dogs into her house as I run upstairs and grab some clothes, pajamas, and my toothbrush—throwing it all into a bag.
I make sure all of the windows and doors are locked, and then I head into the safety of Sandra’s house.
She makes me a drink (a strong one) as I text Jenny asking her to let me know when Angelo leaves the restaurant.
“Now,” Sandra says as she sits at her tiny kitchen table across from me with her drink. “Tell me from the beginning.”
She holds my hand as I tell her the whole story about Cutter being a guard dog, to stealing him, to Angelo following me here and showing up at the restaurant. I’m really thankful to have her. She’s been a steady presence in my life these past five months, like a wise friendly aunt that I always wanted, but never had.
“What are you doing?” I ask when she stands up and grabs the phone.
“We have to call the police.”
“We can’t!” I nearly snap. “I’m the criminal here. I’m the one who stole a dog. They’re not going to take my side.”
She lowers the phone, thinking about it. “We can’t have you living in fear. What if they come to your place tonight?”
“I can lay low for a few nights,” I say, hoping my boss Jacob will be understanding that I’ll need to take some time off, but I know he won’t. “Maybe Angelo will get bored and leave.”
“It’s been five months and he hasn’t let it go,” she says. “We need to involve the police.”
My phone lights up on the table. It’s Jenny. They’re leaving.
“Please, Sandra,” I say, begging her. “They’ll make me give Cutter back to him.”
My heart breaks as I glance over at Cutter and Rocky all cuddled up in the corner. I can’t bring him back. I won’t bring him back.
“I’ll think of something,” I tell her. “I promise. Just let me sleep on it.”
She grinds her teeth as she watches me wearily. “Fine, but it better be good or I’m calling the cops.”
We wait for three hours, but Angelo never comes, so I end up sleeping on Sandra’s couch with Cutter.
When I’m sound asleep around three AM, headlights light up the room. Cutter perks up, ready to bark, but I grab his snout and shush him.
“Be quiet,” I whisper as a truck parks in our driveway. Doors open and close.
I hold my breath as footsteps make their way up to my place. They kick the door open and head into my house while Cutter whimpers and tries to wiggle his snout out of my iron grip.
It’s probably less than ten minutes, but it feels like a lifetime of them rummaging around my place before they leave.
Maybe they’ll think they have the wrong house?
But then I realize that’s not true. I have pictures of me and Cutter all over the place. He has a big dog bed in the living room and dog toys everywhere. They’ll know the place is mine.
And they’ll be back.
I really don’t want to leave. Not this town. Not when it’s finally starting to feel like home.
There’s only one thing I can do…
Tomorrow morning, I’ll go to the Greene Mountain Police Station and get the cops involved.
And hope for the best.
CHAPTER THREE
Emmanuel
“Need a spot over there?” Cara asks as I lay down on the bench press.
Henry snickers. He’s sitting on the leg press, looking at his phone as usual. “Emmanuel never needs a spotter.”
“This is my warm-up weight,” I say as I grip the cool iron bar.
Cara lets out a low whistle as she watches me lift the bar up and down easily. I have two plates on each side for a grand total of two hundred and twenty-five pounds. I was able to lift this much weight when I was sixteen years old. I’m twenty-seven now and can go well past three hundred pounds.
She watches as I do my reps and then drop the bar back onto the frame with a clatter.
It’s a tradition in our precinct to all weight train together on Monday mornings. We have a pretty decent weight room in the back of the station considering what a small town we have. The previous Sheriff came from a rich family and he bought all of this stuff himself. We were all thrilled that he left it here when he retired.