Keeping her quarry in sight, Macayla let out the neck loop of her slip lead until it was nice and big. She crouched down on the side of the highway just on the other side of the guardrail, making herself as small as possible, and swiveled her body sideways so that she didn’t present an aggressive stance. A trainer once told her that, to a frightened dog, a human stranger with arms extended or held wide looked like a grizzly bear on his hind legs. She needed to look small and nonthreatening so that the poor animal would come close enough to sniff and realize she was sending out only friendly pheromones.
The Boxer was a beauty, with a golden coat and white stockings, spattered now with mud from his time on the loose. He’d been sighted by a jogger wandering along U.S. Highway 19 in Pinellas Park, near Gateway Center Boulevard. When she arrived he’d been in the median of a six-lane traffic area, probably trying to scent his way home. His owner said he’d been missing for two days.
Luckily the worst of the evening rush hour was over. The early-evening sky was still bright enough for her to see clearly. With two truckers who stopped to help, she had been able to herd the dog across the road into a park-like area. She’d thanked them and said she had it from here. Too many captors might spook the Boxer, who had the look of a runner.
At the moment, the dog was standing in the grass by the concrete culvert that ran under the highway. With its neck stretched, head held high, and hind legs braced, it projected what Macayla thought of as a racehorse pose. Just from watching his graceful power, she would have guessed without being told by the owners that the Boxer was a prizewinning show dog.
She tossed a treat to land in the middle of the distance separating them.
“Okay. Big fella. It’s okay.” She kept her voice low and pitched deeper than normal in order not to fuel his agitation. Her tosses were slow and light. No sudden movements to frighten the dog.
He came forward to sniff the treat when a raccoon suddenly waddled out of the opening of the culvert. The Boxer stopped short and barked in surprise.
The raccoon, intent on reaching the treat, hissed and arched its back. The Boxer barked wildly as the raccoon approached, running back and forth. But the other animal kept coming until it made a sudden leap and slapped the dog on the nose using its razor-sharp claws. As the Boxer yelped and danced away, seeking shelter in the opening tunnel of the culvert, Macayla jumped up and threw a handful of shoulder gravel at the raccoon.
“Go! Shoo! Bad raccoon!”
The raccoon made a quick waddling turn to face her and rose up on its hind legs. With its signature face mask and razor-blade claws, it looked like a miniature bandito ready to rumble. Mac readied her loop in one hand as she reached for the pepper spray hanging from her utility belt with the other.
The Boxer, sensing an ally, came roaring out of the culvert barking loudly. The raccoon half turned, fur in full bristle, and hissed. The dog skidded to a stop, probably remembering the sting of the last attack. Macayla, with knees flexed, held her ground, not sure what to do next.
Great. What they had was a Mexican standoff, a confrontation between her, the Boxer, and the raccoon in which no party could attack or retreat without being exposed to danger from one of the others. Only one thing to do.
Macayla slowly moved her hand from the pepper spray to her phone and hit speed dial. She needed assistance. Animal control.
During the wait, they attracted a crowd of onlookers, parents out for an evening stroll with their kids, kids on bikes, others on skateboards, preteen girls in clutches so tight they seem to move in unison, like birds in flight. She warned them away, citing the danger of the raccoon, which drew more agitated with every additional witness. To her surprise and relief, the animal control truck arrived within five minutes.
To her lesser delight the man emerging from the truck was Gerald Boyd of the climbing-wall date. It would be Gerald.
Dressed in overalls that draped his rangy physique, he came toward her with a loose-limbed walk that betrayed his climbing interest. On any given weekend he could be found in Georgia or the Carolinas rock climbing. He paused on the roadside by the guardrail, a grin on his face.
“What’s your problem, detective?”
“Wildlife interrupt-us.”
“Come again?”
“I’m trying to rescue that Boxer.” She pointed to the dog peering out from the culvert. “But he’s being detained by a member of the Florida wildlife family. I tried to get a loop over it, but the beast bared its teeth and hissed at me.”
“You got a damn strange job, Mac. Chasing pets.”
“You chase bats, raccoons, and armadillos and you think my job is weird?”
“Let’s see what we’ve got.” He climbed over the rail to stand beside her and checked the scene with a big old grin on his face. “You want me to extract your varmint or your dog?”
“Extract the raccoon. I’ll take it from there.”
“Anything for the lady.” Gerald went back to his truck, lifted off a canister with a short hose attached, and climbed back over the railing.
“Watch this.” He flipped on the square light hanging from his belt, turned on the canister, and began yelling at the top of his lungs as he ran toward the raccoon.
The animal, taken by surprise, flipped around and waddle-ran as fast as its short legs could take it toward the trees fifteen yards away.
Macayla was impressed, thinking she should get a canister. “What did you spray on it?”
“Water. Most animals hate getting wet.” Gerald held the hose up as if he were going to give her a squirt. “Shall we get your fleeing canine?”
“I got this. Watch and learn.” Mac slipped down the shallow rise to the mouth of the culvert. “Come on, sweetie. Mac’s got kibble and treats.”
To her surprise the Boxer appeared at the opening, shaken but alert. He sniffed the air in her direction. Soon the dog came forward, clearly tired of the adventure. A bit of kibble eaten and Mac switched hands and slipped the loop carefully over the dog’s head.
The moment the loop tightened a bit to feel like a leash, the Boxer heeled and trotted back to the guardrail at her side, as if it were the most ordinary thing.
Gerald nodded. “You got skills.”
Mac grinned. “You know it.”
“Wanna get a burger? I haven’t had dinner yet.”
Mac shook her head. “Thanks but I’ve got to deliver my catch to his rightful owner.”
“How about later? Movie?”
“I’m kinda seeing someone.”
He shrugged. “Your loss.”
Mac swung away, rolling her eyes.
I’m seeing someone.
That thought made her amazingly happy, considering that he was thousands of miles and several time zones away. And not really hers at all. Even if he had shocked her by calling nearly every day.
“Hey.”
Macayla groaned under her breath as she turned around. She’d almost gotten away.
Gerald was coming toward her. “You should know there’s a wild rumor circulating about you.”
“What kind of rumor?” Please don’t let it be the one about how she got busy in the ocean with Poseidon in front of a beachfront full of hotels.
“It’s says your pet detection business is shady.”
She reached for her canister. “What do you mean shady?”
He backed up a step. “Don’t kill the messenger. All’s they said was some of them dogs you find are actually stolen. After the dogs are taken, you show up and offer to find them for a fee. See where I’m going?”
She did and she didn’t like it. “Who told you that?”
“One of our other technicians. He heard it on the street.”
“I hope you defended me.”
He looked like a deer who’d spotted an oncoming car. “Sure. Sure I did.”
“Thanks, Gerald.” She walked away shaking her head.
She loaded the nervous Boxer into the dog crate wedged into the back of the car she’d borrowed from Jefferina’s cousin. Car was a generous term. Two doors were wired shut. The shattered rear window looked like something a spider had spun from glass. The tires could have passed inspection in a billiard ball factory for smoothness.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Mac said to the person on the other end of her phone conversation as she drove toward the home of the boxer’s owners. “I’m mobile. That means I’m working. There’s only so many Poodles you can groom before you start to question your value in the universe.”
“You should have let me advance you the money.” Oliver’s voice caressed her ear even if the connection sounded remote. Chile was a long way away.
“Let’s see. I screw a guy I’ve only known five minutes and then take money from him? I don’t think so.”
Oliver laughed. “When you put it like that.”
They talked a few minutes more. She hadn’t allowed herself to believe him when he’d said he’d be in touch after he left St. Pete. That would have been asking for heartbreak. But he had. It had been three days and he’d called every day. The first call surprised her. Most people stayed in touch by texting. But that wouldn’t be easy for Oliver. As a result, she got the bonus of actually hearing his voice when they communicated. She could tell from his tone if he was tired, or worried, or feeling pretty good about how his job was going. All the intimate and immediate emotions missing in texts were there, in her ear, in real time. It was a rush.
She was careful to be cheerful and talk about nothing. She didn’t ask if he was okay or how things were going, after the first call. He didn’t want to talk about his work. She was his distraction from work. She got that. For now. When the job was over her usefulness as a distraction wouldn’t be needed. So she made the most of now.
There was no reason for him to come back to Florida. She didn’t even have money for a new used car, and her old one wasn’t worth the cost of repairs. A trip to Hawaii, the place where his business was based, was out of the question. But it was fun to have him calling while it lasted.
She leaned forward, scanning the row of stucco houses with red tile roofs, looking for the address. “That’s it. Arrived at my destination.”
“Then I should let you go.” Oliver’s voice sounded oddly wistful. “If you had a better phone we could video chat. I miss looking at you.”
“You’d only want to sext.”
“Would you do that?”
“Dream on.” She waited for the words she knew she would never say first. I’m not looking for a relationship.
He let out a little sigh. It shouldn’t have affected her, but it did. A lot.
She exhaled. “I know it’s hard to get through from where you are.”
She could hear him thinking on the line before he spoke. “I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Awesome.”
She put her phone away quickly, not letting herself think silly things like how she missed him. Or how much it meant that he was staying in touch. And especially how lonely she felt since he’d gone. It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to need someone. Still, forty-eight hours wasn’t enough to leave an indelible impression. That’s what she’d have told a girlfriend. If she had girlfriends.
Leaving her life in Tallahassee behind a year ago had left her alone in the world. What she wanted, at the time. But it did have a downside.
A few minutes later she was standing in the courtyard of a beautiful house in Pinellas Park. From the street the house seemed narrow and cloistered. Nothing special. But inside the heavy glass doors reinforced with lovely wrought-iron designs, the gardens of the courtyard were lush and filled with flowering tropicals. A maid—maid!—had let her in and asked her to wait for the owner here. The long front wall of the house was glass, looking out onto the courtyard with a small swimming pool with a waterfall at each end. Lanterns topped the surrounding high stucco walls. The bricked patio, plus the wrought-iron chairs, lounges, and tables, gave the space an Old World air. But the furnishings inside the house, seen through the glass walls, were sleek and modern, with lots of white and light woods and gleaming surfaces.
Finally, as the Boxer began to whimper with impatience, a woman appeared wearing skinny jeans, a lemon tank top, and stiletto sandals. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail, but Macayla knew how much effort went into that casual look. Every inch of her face was made up. She was wildly attractive and she knew it. At the moment, the skin around her eyes and mouth was drawn tight with suppressed emotion.
The Boxer went wild at the sight of her, barking and leaping explosively at the end of the leash.
“Arielle!” The women fell to her knees and threw her arms around the dog. The Boxer barked and licked her face, jumping even as she held on. She seemed not to mind that her pet nearly destroyed her careful, polished look. One point in her favor.
Finally she rose, but she didn’t offer Macayla a smile, or even the usual thanks most pet owners offered. “I’m Ann Siler. You’re the Pet Detective?”
Mac nodded. “I’m pleased to return your Boxer, Ms. Siler. He—she seems to be in good shape, except for a swipe on her nose from her run-in with a raccoon.”
The woman’s gaze widened, then she bent to check her dog’s nose. “Was the raccoon rabid? Did you corner it for testing?”
“I called wildlife management. He didn’t mention a problem.” Rats. She hadn’t thought about rabid animals. But the raccoon wasn’t drooling or foaming at the mouth. “I would get her checked by your vet. She’s been loose two days.”
The woman straightened up. “She’s been missing three days, and you know it.”
“Okay.” No need to argue with a client. “So then, I’m pleased to deliver a happy outcome for you. Good night.”
“No. Wait.” The woman kept glancing beyond Macayla so that it was all she could do not turn around and check to see what the woman was looking for.
“You want to be paid.” She pulled several hundred-dollar bills from her pocket. “Is that enough? I don’t want to have any more trouble.”
Macayla didn’t take the money. “You settle with my boss, not me.”
“That isn’t what I was told. The caller said to have the second payment ready on delivery. Obviously I don’t want to prolong the association.” She pressed the cash into Macayla’s hands and quickly stepped back. A spasm crossed her face. “I’m sure you think of Arielle simply as a moneymaker, which she is since we show her. But she’s family, too. She’s my world. I don’t know how you can live with yourself, taking money for causing so much pain.”
Macayla blinked in surprise. This was the first time someone blamed her for taking money for her services. Guess there was a first time for everything. “I’m sure you won’t have any more trouble. Just make certain she doesn’t have time to dig out from under your fence again.”
“You know that’s not how she got away.”
“Uh-huh.” Mac back stepped, wanting nothing more than to get away from the distraught woman, fast.
“She was snatched from me. In broad daylight. In the park. He ripped her leash out of my hand.” She opened her hand to reveal the red welt across her palm.
Suddenly the woman’s anguish made sense. “You were attacked, too, not just your dog taken. Why didn’t you call the police?”
The woman’s face contorted in pain. “We were told not to.”
“You were told? By the dognapper?”
She took a step toward Macayla, face flushing with anger. “Don’t you toy with me. I’ve done as I was told. Now I hope that’s the end of it. Because I know who you are now and I will call the police next time.”
She remembered then what Gerald had said about the rumors about her. Shit.
Macayla tried to de-escalate the moment. “I don’t know what you’ve heard but I’m not responsible for your dog being taken. My job is finding missing pets. You called us, remember?”
“That’s right, deny it. As long as we are straight and I never see you again.”
Whatever. She’d tried.
“Good night.” Macayla turned away, getting more ticked by the second. But more than anything she wanted to be out of this house. She needed to talk to Gerald, pin down the source of the rumor, and scotch it before it did any more damage to her reputation.
It was only as she reached the sidewalk that she noticed the first police car approaching. And then the second. They parked on an angle, ready to give chase if it was needed. There were no sirens but three officers exited their vehicles looking like they had business to conduct.
The oldest of the three, fiftyish, faded blond hair, approached slowly, hands resting on either side of his belt buckle. “Macayla Burkett?”
“Yes.”
“We’d like you to come with us, please. We want to ask you some questions about dognapping.”