Revenge (12 page)

Mark stops at my
car
door. I look up at him. The sun is high in the sky now, and he moves just enough to block it.

Those eyes. O
h
, those ferocious eyes. He’s loving and protecting and defending and warning and needing me with those eyes.

“I’ll be careful,” I concede. “I still think what you did to Eric is horrible,
though
.”

“If he’s in as deep as I think he is with
L
andau, then what I did to him is a cakewalk compared to what he’s doing to help kidnap and enslave thousands of women in
L
andau’s network.”

I shudder. How can you shudder in ninety-degree heat?

I do anyhow.

Mark’s walkie-talkie makes feedback noises again and Murph
y
waves impatiently.

“You need to go,” I tell him.

“We’re following you to the animal shelter,” he says grimly.

“
B
ut I—”

“No arguing.”

I close my mouth. It’s useless to even try. Without another word, I climb into my car, start it, and begin the drive to the shelter.

He taps on the hood of my car. I brake and roll down the window.

“Tonight. My place?” His voice is filled with a contrite tone.

I’m angry, but not so angry that I’m going to punish either of us by refusing to see him. We obviously have a lot to talk about. Plus, he’s Mark. I can’t stay away from him no matter how furious I am. He’s...well, like I said.

He’s Mark.

I’m never, ever letting him go again.

“Yes,” I say with a
sour
grin as I pull away and begin the drive,
their car following me
.

Mark and Murph
y
peel away ten minutes later as I pull into the parking lot. The place is packed, with two mini school buses and loads of family minivans here. Adoption Day is a big deal. Minnie’s absence is hard. I make a mental note to go see her right after I help here.

Every hour that Amy remains missing takes a piece of my heart away. I can only imagine how much worse it is for Minnie.

The sound of barking dogs fills the air as I grab the last parking spot in the entire lot and hustle into the building. I enter through the back and surprise Cindy. She’s carrying two kittens.

“Carrying” might be the wrong word. More like two kittens are clawed into her shoulders, hanging on
for dear life
.

“Carrie!
O
h, my goodness, I have never been so ha
p
py to see someone.” She stops and pulls back. Her eyes rake over me. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve been playing in the mud.”

My hands fly to my hair. “Oh. Yeah. I, um, tripped and fell in a pud
d
le.”

She laughs. Cindy is in her mid-fifties, round and friendly, and always smells like dogs and baby powder. She’s wearin
g
a red, long-sleeved sh
i
rt with the shelter’s logo on it, and her
thick
, greying hair is pulled back in a pony tail. She has goggle
s
on.

“Holding some of the feral cats?” I ask her.

She shows me her thick gloves. “About to try.”

“What do you need help with?” I ask.

“Can you work in the office and answer the phones? We have people calling like crazy to ask about puppies and kittens.”

I nod and walk down the hall. Mar
ny
, one of the other volunteers, gives me a quick nod and continues talking into the phone. She points to another headset. I slip it on and press buttons until I get someone on hold.

For the next hour, all I do is answer the same ten or so questions about Adoption Day.
O
n this day, all fees are waived. If you want a cat or dog, you just have to pay for spaying or neutering.

Adoptio
n
Day is big around here.

“How’s Minnie?” Mar
ny
whispers between calls, handing me a b
o
ttled water.

I shake my head and try to drink at the same time. Water dribbles down the front of my shirt.
I snort, then inhale some, which makes me cough.
 

The coughs set off a round of barking from some of the older dogs in the back cages.

It’s that kind of day.

Who am I kidding? It’s been
that
kind of day since I woke up in Mark’s bed.

And then in walks a new customer.

The last two people on earth I want to see.

“
Carrie, my dear! How are you?” Dean Landau says from behind the plexiglass. I’m on the other side, at the desk, my headset on, water covering the front of my shirt. Even behind the glass, I feel a massive jerk of terror. My blood rushes to my hands and feet like it’s trying to escape.
 

I
force myself to smile at him.

Claudia gives me a look of such disdainful condescension I want to shatter the glass and punch her with a chew toy.

“I’m fine,” I gasp, still struggling to breath
e
through my coughing.

“I didn’t know you worked here. Side job?” he asks, gracing Mar
ny
with a dazzling, charming smile.

I feel her melt a little. No, really.
T
here’s a puddle of Mar
ny
next to me, all gooey and sweet
e
ned by the dean’s attentions.
If I didn’t know the truth about him, I’d be gazing adoringly at him, too.
 

“No. I volunteer.”

His face morphs into something deeply solemn. “Oh, my goodness. What a wonderful example you are to young women everywhere.” The dean gives Claudia a sharp look. “Some people could learn from you.”

Claudia pretends not to hear him.

“How can I help you?” Mar
ny
asks, jumping up and smoothing her t-shirt.

“We’re here to see the pit bulls,” he answers with a disarming smile.

Even Mar
ny
freezes at
that
. Pit bulls are the hard dogs to have at a no-kill shelter.
Everyone thinks they’re killing machines. Most of them are sweet dogs. The ones who end up here, though, are often dumped on us by owners who train them to attack and then are surprised when they
do
attack, and hurt someone.
 

Then the owners are told by their landlords they have to get rid of the dogs.

Marny’s smile widens. “Oh, how wonderful! What a sweet man you are.”

I hold back a choking cough. “Sweet man” and “sex slave trafficker” don’t exactly go together in my book.

The dean gives her an impatient smile.
He
turns to me. “Carrie, will you show me your pit bulls? I’d like to pick one out to take home and adopt.”

Now, if the dean really is a drug lord or a sex slave trafficker or just generally an evil, evil man, the last place I’d expect him is at Adoption Day at the no-kill shelter.

P
lus, it’s not like he needs the discount on the adoption fees. I’ve grown up with Claudia in my classes most of my life. They’re well off.

My hinky meter was already on because of Mark’s warning, but now it’s blaring.

“I want a go
l
dendoodle,” Claudia sniffs, clearly disappointed.

“You chose the last dog,” the dean says with a low chuckle. “It’s my turn.”

“Why not adopt both?” Marny chirps.

Claudia gives her such a vicious look of rage that I think I can taste Marny’s
sudden
tears. “Why don’t you do your job and quit interfe
r
ing in our conversation,”
Claudia
says with a snarl.

M
arny turns away and picks up her headset, pressing the mute button and pretending she’s answering phones. I know she’s r
e
ally struggling not to cry. People who volunteer in animal shelters are general
l
y super sensitive, sweet, warm people who have big hearts. We’re not a
c
customed to being treated like
that
.

I open my mouth to say something back to The Claw, but the dean beats me to it. He pulls on Claudia’s arm and yanks her to the side. As I walk out of the receptionist’s box I give Marny a side hug.

By the time I come around to the other side of the glass case, Claud
ia
’s gone.

“Shall we?” the dean says. “I’ll follow you.”

Every ha
i
r on my body is standing on end.
I walk down the hallway. All eyes fall on us. I know the people waiting to look at animals are really looking at Dean Landau. He cuts an impressive figure. He’s wearing a suit, jacket still buttoned. I smell his aftershave, even though he’s behind me.
 

He trailing me
that
close.

I grab some keys off the wall rack and go to the back cages.
T
he scent of pee
and bleach
hits us hard as we go out to the small enclosure where the dogs can wander outside in their half-inside, half-outside cages.

Three
pit bulls
sit on their dog beds, jaws on their paws, looking decidedly non-threatening. One is all-white with a black nose and the other two are ginger and white.

One of the ginger dogs rises as if standing at attention.

The dean smiles. “He knows his boss when he sees him,” he says, giving me a wink.

My stomach roils.

“
I’ll take him,” the dean says without another second’s hesitation. “Send him to my house.” He pulls out a stack of cash bound by an expensive-looking money clip and peels three one hundred dollar bills off.
 

“Uh,” is all I can say. I’m dumbfounded as the dean’s fingers brush against mine. The acrid scent of money fills my nose.

“Is that enough? I don’t want him clipped.”

“Clipped?” The
pit bull
doesn’t need to be groomed. What does he mean?

“I want his testicles to remain,” Dean
L
andau explains. With his light accent, the word sounds melodic, like
he’s talking about
somethi
n
g other than a pair of dog’s balls.

“Ah,” I choke out.

“He needs to be aggressive. A good guard dog.” The dean’s eyes brighten and his smile widens. No one else can see his face but me and the dogs. As he grins, his eyes turn into two black pools of nothing but mesmeri
z
ing focus.

I feel like he’s eating my soul with those eyes.

Bzzzzzzz.

My phone makes my ass vibrate and I leap into the air, scared by the sensation. When my foot lands, it falls on its side. A long line of pain shoots up from my ankle. I make a sound of surprise.

Dean Landau’s hands are on my elbows in a flash, holding me up. I cringe. Something about him freaks me right the fuck out.

And you know I’m unhinged when I start cursing.

“
Yes,” I say. “I mean, no. No. Three hundred dollars is too much.” I step back, out of his range, and he lets go of my elbows.
 

“
T
hen consider whatever is too much to be a donation to this worthy cause.” He stands there, unsmiling, his eyes still on me.

I
stop bre
a
thing.

“
You seem...upset,” he continues.
 

I just stare at him.

“Is this about your missing friend?”

The world locks. Nothing moves. I am immobile.

“Carrie, I’m so sorry about your friend,”
he says.
“I do have to say, though, that you were invited to take the job because so many professors and staff members found you to be a responsible person. The alumni interviewer strongly encouraged me to hire you. Yesterday you had some sort of problem in the office with a professor and disappeared.”

What?
How did he know that?
Why is he talking about this? It occurs to me that he came to the animal shelter today because he
knew
I’d be here.
 

He frowns. “I need to know that you are committed to the job. Your father’s past transgressions don’t have to affect you. I want to make certain you understand there is a blank slate where I am concerned.”

Whoa.

My blood begins to boil. How dare he bring up my dad. How dare he patronize me. I’ll take a thousand condescending looks from Claudia over one more second of this smug asshole looking at me like he’s forgiving me for missing the rest of yesterday at work.

As if it’s not his fault.

“Thank you,” I say in a tight voice. I know the drill. I know how this works. I have to pretend. Knowing what I know now abo
u
t Mark, it’s e
v
en more important that I pretend.
M
ark is getting closer to bringing the dean in. Closer to finding out how he’s smuggling a
l
l these women across the border.

Closer to finding Amy and getting her back whole and alive.

I can’t jeopardize that. All I want to do is to scream in the dean’s face, but I can’t.

“
You’re welcome. You’ve only been home for a week, and I’m sure once you’re back in the office, you can get on your feet and master the job.”
 

As if
we’re talking about the job.

“Did you find the right beast?” snaps a woman’s voice. I turn.

T
he Claw.
I take a good look at her.
 

She’s dressed in five-inch stilet
t
os, a long leather coat that must be sweltering in this heat, and
wears
more makeup than a clown at a cheap traveling carnival.

“I did. A fine dog named...” The dean peers at me, narrowing his eyes. “What
i
s
his name?”

I look at the card next to the cage latch.
T
he dog wandered outside. I can’t see him now. He has no ide
a
he’s about to get his forever home.

“Wizard,” I say, reading the card. “He’s seven years old, and—”

Claudia snorts. “
Papa,
you picked him on purpose, didn’t you?”