Page 17 of One Last Stand

The surveillance app popped up, already open, and she studied the four screens—two outside cameras, two inside cameras. No movement inside—it looked like Shep had left for the day. But on the deck, the dog lay outside the sliding glass door.

Whining.

Right—the siren. She opened the window. The dog seemed distressed, its face matted, its eyes watery. It kept wiping a paw over its snout.

She flicked to the inside of the house. Strange for Shep to leave the dog outside, especially in pain.

The house was quiet.

He could be on a callout . . .

Aw.Something buzzed inside her. But if she circled back, she might miss her flight.

As if that mattered.

She turned her Bronco around, got on Highway 1 and took it south, the phone propped on the dash.

The dog sat up once, barked, as if upping his game, but Shep didn’t let it in.

She turned onto his road and gave the townhome a drive-by. The garage door was closed, the place quiet save for the suffering dog on the deck.

The buzzing inside her deepened.Fine.She’d just pull in.

Getting out in the driveway, she grabbed her bag of beef jerky, then rounded the house to the side deck. The dog sat up, whined, and she held out the jerky.

“Hey there, buddy. What’s the deal?”

His tail thumped, and she came closer, holding out the treat. The dog sniffed, then gently took it from her fingers. She crouched and examined his eyes as he gnawed at the jerky.

Reddened, the area around his snout matted. And a capsaicin smell—not unlike pepper spray—emanated from him.

He’d been maced. Or maybe bear-sprayed. She ran a hand over his head. “Poor guy.”

No way Shep had done this. Which meant . . . “Stay put, big guy.” She left him another piece of jerky, then returned to the garage, found the entry box, and keyed in the code.

The garage door opened.

Shep’s car sat in the middle of the two-stall space. She walked inside and noted that the light hadn’t flickered on.

A bag of dog food sat by the inside door beside bags of pet supplies.Huh.

She tried the inside door—unlocked—and, okay, here went nothing—she let herself in.

If he was here—in the shower or something—she was about to blow apart his world. But she’d considered it yesterday, and . . .

Oh boy.

But she refrained from calling out his name, just in case hewashome and might suffer some sort of heart attack at seeing her. As she climbed the stairs to the main floor, however, the place seemed eerily vacant. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the quiet rumble of the furnace.

The sink was dry, so he hadn’t made coffee.

She unlocked the sliding door and let the dog inside. “Let’s get those eyes cleaned.” Finding a cloth, she wet it, then sat on the floor and washed the dog’s eyes. “What happened here, bud?”

The dog’s tail thumped on the floor.

Shep had evidently decided to keep him, which meant that he wouldn’t have left him alone outside, even during a callout.

And his car was here. But if the Air One team had spun up, Oaken Fox might have joined them, picking up Shep on his way into Anchorage.