Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
The raccoons in my shirt protested the move, and I backed off and reached into my shirt to pull them both out.
He looked down at the little burdens in my hands and smiled.
That smile dropped off my face as he looked at the building behind me.
“I don’t see any fire.”
“That’s because it’s in the walls,” someone said.
Not the man who had been here earlier.
A new one.
“And the fire suppression system was disabled.”
I blinked and turned to find an attractive older man that looked vaguely familiar.
Black?
He was a firefighter, too?
“Volunteer,” he answered.
Had I said that aloud?
“Yes.” He laughed. “Every able-bodied man in Bear Pass, Jawbone, and Sawtooth is a volunteer firefighter.”
I guess that made perfect sense since we didn’t have a permanent one.
I’d never had the need to give it much thought before now.
“How was it started?” a man asked.
I looked over to see a badass with a great beard and a bald head standing there, looking at the building.
“Called Boone to review his cameras,” Denver said. “I don’t know yet.”
Sirens wailed in the distance, and I breathed out a sigh of relief when I saw a fire engine pull up and a couple of men spill out.
All with familiar faces.
That’s when I was reminded…
“Denver!”
Denver’s head snapped back to meet my gaze. “What?”
“He was here!” I looked around, coughing at the force of which I’d said that. “The man from the dog fighting ring.”
He frowned and looked around. “None of my guys are here…”
I was looking around myself, but didn’t see the man.
I described him instead, and Denver’s frown grew fiercer. “He had a tattoo right here…”
I described the tattoo on the man’s neck to Denver and his scary looking friend who seemed to hang on my every word.
“I don’t have any brothers under me that have a tattoo on their neck like that. Hux has a lot of tattoos, but…”
“It wasn’t Hux,” I declared. “I’ve never seen this man before in my life. And today he wasn’t wearing his cut. He was the man that was holding me when you got here.”
“I thought that was a good Samaritan.” He frowned.
“Give me a second.” The older man stepped away from us.
Denver pulled me back into his arms, baby raccoons and all, and said, “I’m sorry, baby.”
The firefighters rushed us out of the area, but I ignored them and went back inside the front way to the vet’s office.
The next thirty minutes was spent moving animals around and hooking them back up to their support.
By the time Boone arrived looking flustered I mostly had it covered.
He helped with the last patient and then looked at the damage to the kennels and recovery wing through the large plate-glass window that was installed just a few days ago.
“Guess we’re going to have to redo that one next,” he muttered. “I wonder if it was faulty wiring? That place is over a hundred years old. I bought it from the old vet, and he’d bought it from the old vet before him.”
“Not faulty wiring.” Denver came in with the older man again. A man whom I realized was Sawyer’s husband, the national club president for the Dixie Wardens. “There was a gas trail that led to the woods. It was deliberately set.”
“My god,” Young breathed. “He could’ve killed all the animals if Holly wasn’t there!”
Denver’s eyes came to me. “I know.”
Boone sighed and scrubbed his hand through his already messy hair. “Were y’all able to find anything in the cameras?”
“Yep,” he said. “Look at this.”
Boone and I leaned in.
“That’s him,” I agreed. “Y’all don’t know him?”
“Never seen him before,” Denver and Boone parroted.
“That’s because he’s not from around here.” The older man, Silas, came in.
Sawyer was with him, face grave.
“That man is an ex-Dixie Warden member from the Tuscaloosa Chapter. He took off before the president down there could take his cut. Got excommunicated because of dog fighting.”
“Whoa,” I breathed. “And he just came up here?”
“Looks like he was going anywhere that had a club presence, that was as far away from his old club as he could get. He wasn’t trying to join the club here, it turns out. Just assimilate a bit. Use the Dixie Warden connection to get a dog fighting ring up and running.”
“Why expose himself today?” I wondered. “He could’ve just left, and no one would’ve known.”
“Gambling addiction,” Silas answered. “His old club president said that he was addicted to gambling. Also, spoke with the dude still in jail because no one will touch his bond. Turns out, the man, Errol Fuller, wanted his dogs back so they could start a new ring. Intended to get them out himself, but didn’t realize that the dogs weren’t in that unit.”
“So where is he now?”
“In the wind.” Gentry came into the conversation. I hadn’t even realized he was here. “Black and I went for a visit at the local hotels. Found him in a long-term rental in Jawbone. But he’s gone. Stuff is gone, too.”