Body Double (27 page)

And he realized how ridiculous an argument that was.

Chapter 10

When Andrea stepped into The Lighthouse’s front office Monday morning, Tracy was barely visible behind her computer monitor. The tapping of her fingers on the keyboard was incessant and loud enough that Tracy didn’t look up until Hank raised his head and looked over the top of the desk to see who was there.

“Dr. Gentry! I thought you weren’t coming back until—” Tracy slapped a hand over her mouth. “Andrea? Oh, my God. I did it again. How was Dr. Gentry’s honeymoon?”

Andrea laughed. “It was fabulous. We had a lovely time. The end came way too soon.”

“I’ll bet. You’re looking tan. Charlotte said Dr. Gentry won’t be back for a few more days.”

Andrea nodded. “I just popped by to see if she needs me to show my Sarah face somewhere.”

Tracy cackled and clapped her hands together. “Your Sarah face. Hah! Let me call Charlotte real quick.” She picked up the phone and punched a couple of buttons. “Andrea’s here to see you. Will do.” As she put the receiver back on the cradle, she told Andrea, “You can go on back.”

In Charlotte’s office, Andrea and Charlotte chatted briefly about the missed reception, her honeymoon with Blake, and what fun they had, but Andrea sensed that Charlotte was too busy for idle conversation, and she didn’t want to take up too much of the VP’s time. “Sarah asked me to swing by to see if you needed her face in a meeting or something. Do you want me to pop my head in at the shelters?”

“Oh, no,” Charlotte said with a dismissive wave. “We’ve got everything under control. Everyone who’s asked to see her understands that she’s on her honeymoon, and there’s nothing so urgent that we can’t handle, or at least manage until Sarah gets back. Enjoy your last week off before you start your real job.”

Andrea laughed. “I’m looking forward to it, but yeah—I could use a few more days to adjust to regular life again.” She stood and put her purse strap on her shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”

“Oh, one more thing before you go,” Charlotte said. “I wanted to tell you I’ve started seeing Joe Williamson. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Blake’s cousin Joe?” Andrea grinned. “Well, look at you! Of course I’m fine with it. More than fine. Good for you. He’s a nice guy, and pretty darned gorgeous to boot.”

Charlotte smiled. “Yeah, he is. I’m glad you’re okay with it. Maybe we could all go out together someday.”

“I’d enjoy that. Lunch was fun.”

“Thanks again for stopping by, Andrea.”

“Call if you need me.” Andrea waved and headed back down the hall.

When she opened the door to the lobby, Tracy said, “Hang on, Hank. Just a few more minutes, I promise.”

The big Rottweiler was standing by the door, looking at Tracy expectantly.

“Does he need to go out?” Andrea asked.

Tracy looked up at her. “Yeah. I’m swamped with all these intake records. With Sarah out and being down a social worker, the rest of us have been spreading out the workload and scrambling to keep up. I haven’t had lunch yet, and I can’t stand up or else I’ll pee my pants.”

Andrea chuckled, remembering days like that. “Would he let me walk him? If it’ll help you out, I’d be glad to.”

“Oh, gosh. Sure.” Tracy pulled a leash out of a desk drawer and handed it to Andrea. “He’s super well trained, never pulls on the leash or anything. He’s used to walking on the left. There are plastic poop bags in that little pouch there, in case he goes number two. I usually take him to the empty lot down the street. Just go out the door to the right. You’ll see it at the end of the block.”

“Hank, do you want to go for a walk?” Andrea snapped the leash on Hank’s collar, and he wagged his tail stump while he danced impatiently. “We’ll be back in a bit.” With a firm grasp on the leash, she opened the door, expecting Hank to dart out and yank her along with him, but he waited for her to exit first.
Impressive. “
Here we go, Hankie pankie. Don’t be shy.” She headed across the parking lot with the dog on her left, and then continued down the sidewalk to the right, where he had a long patch of grass to potty in. The dog walked so calmly by her side, he might not even have needed a leash. “What a good boy you are.”

As they walked, Hank paused briefly to water the lampposts, signposts, a fire hydrant, and choice tufts of grass. He was a pleasure to walk, and it was a lovely day under a cloudless sky. When she reached the end of the block, she started to cross the street to take him to the empty lot but wondered whether Tracy would mind if they walked all the way around the block. She’d worn another of Sarah’s sundresses, but she chosen flat sandals instead of heels and didn’t mind the walk. Hank might appreciate the chance for a little more exercise. Instead of crossing, she turned and continued down her new route.

They walked in companionable silence, turning the corner when they reached the next street, and another to return. Andrea contemplated her evening plans, wondering what to wear to dinner with Blake’s mom. It promised to be a pleasant evening. Hopefully, Gloria wasn’t the kind of person who found sport in humiliating her son by telling embarrassing stories about him as a child.

A white van was parked at the curb ahead. As she passed, she happened to glance into the window and saw a man holding a pair of stadium glasses to his eyes. She faced forward again, wondering in passing what he was looking at. All she could see from there was The Lighthouse’s parking lot, the dentist’s office across the street, and an occasional car going by. A moment later, the van pulled up alongside her, and the passenger window opened. Andrea stopped, thinking the driver needed directions.

“Excuse me,” said the driver, a man with dark hair and light eyes. “Do you have the time?”

She checked her watch and started to reply when someone inside the van said, “
Es ella. Es
Sarah Gentry.”

“
Agarren la
,” the man inside the van shouted. The side panel door slid open to the left. Two men jumped out, each reaching for her. She was too slow to react, and the men got hold of her arms and started dragging her to the van.

Hank growled and snarled. One man grunted and began to scream, and he released her to fight Hank off. The other shouted something in Spanish and wrapped one arm around her torso while he put a cloth-wrapped hand over her mouth. Andrea struggled to get free, to scream, but he was too strong. He wrestled her into the back of the van, and it started forward, even though one of their men was being ripped apart by Hank. Andrea had to get away now or she might not live to see another day.

Two cracks pierced the air, followed by a heart-wrenching yelp. Her ears rang through a cottony silence. The taste of metal and dirty charcoal burned the back of her throat. The arm around her waist loosened, and she slammed her elbow up and back, connected with the man’s face, and broke free. She dove through the open door.

She barely felt the pavement as she hit and tumbled, just focused on scrambling to her feet and running back the way she’d come. Hank was lying on his side in the gutter, covered in blood.

The third man limped toward the van, his pant leg and forearm torn and bloody. His friend beckoned him to hurry, yelling, “
Apúrate!
” The one in the van grasped his arm and pulled him in, and the van sped off. She tried to get the license plate number, but all she caught was
X0EJ.

Andrea fell to her knees beside Hank, muttering, “X0EJ” under her breath. “Stay with me, Hank. X0EJ, X0EJ.” On the sidewalk nearby was her purse. She ran over and grabbed it and tore through its contents for her cell phone. With trembling fingers, she dialed nine-one-one as she returned to Hank’s side.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” the dispatcher asked. Andrea could barely hear her over the ringing in her ears.

“Three men in a van tried to abduct me. I got away, but they shot Hank.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m in Fremont on Wilder Street.” Andrea looked up at the boarded up building in front of her for a number. “Five fifty Wilder Street.”

“Okay, what’s your name?”

“Andrea Lindholm.”

“Were you injured, Andrea?”

Andrea couldn’t feel any pain, but she checked herself over in case adrenaline was dulling her senses. “No, I don’t think so. Just scraped up from jumping out of the van.”

“You said someone’s been shot?”

She started to tell the dispatcher that the men had shot her canine companion but decided against it. They might not send an ambulance if they knew Hank was a dog. “Yes, his name’s Hank. Please hurry.”

“Where is Hank now?”

“He’s lying in the gutter, bleeding.”

“Is he conscious?”

“Yes, but he’s struggling to breathe.” Beside her, Hank was panting heavily, his bloody mouth open and tongue lolling onto the curb. Two bullet holes, one in his thigh, the other in his shoulder, leaked dark blood into his black fur.
Oh, Hank
. Her eyes welled with tears. “Stay with me, baby. Don’t you dare die.”

“Where was he shot?” the operator asked.

“In the leg and shoulder. He’s not doing so well.”

“Do you think you could apply pressure to his wounds to help control the bleeding?”

She didn’t want to hurt Hank any more than he was already hurting, but she didn’t want him to bleed to death, either. “I think so.” She put the phone on speaker and set it down by her knee. She put one hand over the bullet hole in Hank’s thigh and the other over the hole in his shoulder and pressed down. Hank groaned, and his dark eyes rolled to look up at her. “I’m sorry, buddy. I know it hurts. Help’s coming.”

“How old is Hank?”

“I don’t know.” She guessed he was about four, which would make him twenty-eight in dog years. “Around thirty, maybe. Can you just hurry?”

“Yes, ma’am, help is already on the way. I want to get a little more information from you while it’s fresh in your mind.” She questioned Andrea about the van and the direction of travel, the number of occupants, and their descriptions.

Andrea did her best to give the woman the requested information. “I got part of the license plate: X0EJ.”

“Was it a California plate?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Do you know the three subjects in the van?”

“No, I’ve never seen them before,” she said. She heard the sirens in the distance and saw the flashing lights as the ambulance raced up the street toward her. Thank goodness. She kept pressure on Hank’s wounds until the vehicle stopped and two EMTs jumped out. “They’re here,” she told the dispatcher.

“All right. I’m disconnecting now,” the dispatcher said. “Best of luck, ma’am.”

The two men, dressed in blue uniforms, stopped short. “Where’s the gunshot victim?” one asked.

“Right here. Hank’s the victim. Help him, please.”

“Ma’am, you’ll have to take him to an emergency veterinary hospital. We don’t transport animals.”

The other asked, “Were you injured, ma’am?”

“No, I’m okay. Please help Hank. Don’t leave him here to die. I’ll pay for the transport. Please! He saved my life.”

The two EMTs conferred for a moment, one more animated than the other, then retrieved the gurney from the back of the ambulance. Thank goodness.

A siren announced the approach of another vehicle. Moments later, a police car screeched to a stop a few yards behind the ambulance. Two cops got out and surveyed the scene. One asked her what happened while the EMTs gently lifted Hank onto the stretcher. To his credit, Hank seemed to recognize that these men were there to help, and he let them lift him without making a peep.

Andrea did her best to describe the van and the men who had tried to abduct her.

The EMTs had Hank in the ambulance and were ready to leave before Andrea finished telling the police everything, but she couldn’t let them take Hank without her. She dropped her cell phone back into her purse and went to the rear of the ambulance to get in. “Hank bit one of the guys pretty badly when they attacked me,” she told the cops. “Can you come with us to the emergency vet? You can maybe swab his teeth for DNA while he’s under anesthesia.”

One of the police officers nodded and put his pad of paper and pen away. “Which animal hospital?”

“Whichever is closest.”

The ambulance driver checked his GPS and announced, “Wilson Veterinary Hospital,” along with its cross streets.

Andrea climbed into the back of the ambulance and took a seat next to Hank on the gurney. “I’m here, Hank. Just hang on, baby. We’ll get you patched up in no time.”

Hank panted, his bloody tongue lolling onto the white sheet and his gaze distant.

The EMT riding back there with her apologized for not having the supplies on hand to give him pain relief or oxygen. “I don’t want to give him the wrong thing,” he said. “The hospital isn’t far away. Can I take a look at your arms? You got scraped up a bit.” His name tag read
Adam.

It wasn’t until he said so that she realized her elbows and undersides of her forearms burned. She extended her arms and twisted them around to have a look and found them raw, the skin completely scraped off. “Yikes.”