The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer #1)(20)

I ran to her without thinking. My cotton T-shirt was quickly soaked through. I dodged garbage and car parts, stepping as gingerly as I could, grateful for the rain that masked the sound of my steps. But if anyone in the house was paying attention, I’d probably be heard. And I’d definitely be seen. When I reached the dog, the sky opened vengefully as I knelt and untied her lead from the tire. I tugged on it lightly. “Come,” I whispered by her ear.

The dog didn’t move. Maybe she couldn’t. Her neck was raw and seeping where they cut away the heavy collar and I didn’t want to pull on it. But then the voices grew louder as they approached us. We had no time.

I snaked one arm under the dog’s ribs and lifted her into a standing position. She was weak, but stayed up. I whispered to her again and pushed gently on her rump to urge her forward. She took a step, but went no farther. My cells buzzed with panic.

So I lifted her into my arms. She wasn’t as heavy as she should have been, but she was still heavy. I lurched forward, taking huge strides until we were out of the yard. Sweat and rain slicked my hair to my forehead and my neck. I was panting by the time we rounded the block. My knees shook as I set her down.

I wasn’t sure I could carry her all the way back to Daniel’s car. And what would I do then? I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but now the enormity of the situation I’d stepped in hit me. The dog needed a vet. I had no money. My parents weren’t animal people. I’d stolen something from a crime scene.

A crime scene. An image of the bright watermelon insides of the man’s skull spilling over into the dirt appeared again in my mind. He was definitely dead. Only hours after I wished it. Exactly the way I wished it.

A coincidence. Had to be.

Had to be.

The dog whined, snapping me back to reality. I reached down to pet her and took a tentative step forward, careful not to let the leash rub against her neck. It looked so painful.

I urged her forward and reached into my pocket for my cell phone. I had one new voice message. From my mother, at her new office. I couldn’t call her back yet; I needed to get the dog to an animal hospital. I’d call 411 to find a vet close by. Then I’d figure out how to break the news to my parents that—surprise!—we have a dog. They had to take pity on their screwed-up daughter and her pathetic companion. I was not above milking my tragedy for a higher purpose.

The rain stopped again as suddenly as it had started, leaving only a fine mist in its wake. And as we turned the corner before the parking lot, I noticed the particular lope of a particular boy as he headed in my direction. He raked those fingers through his rain-drenched hair and fiddled with something in his shirt pocket. I tried to duck behind the nearest parked car to avoid him, but the dog barked at that exact second. Busted.

“Mara,” he said as he approached us. He inclined his head and the shadow of a smile made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Noah,” I replied, in the flattest voice I could muster. I kept walking.

“You going to introduce me to your friend?” His clear gaze settled on the dog. His jaw tightened as he took in the details—her knobby spine, her patchy fur, her scars—and for a second he looked coldly, quietly furious. But then it was replaced by a careful blankness.

I tried to appear casual, like I always went on my afternoon constitutional in the rain, accompanied by an emaciated animal. “I’m otherwise occupied, Noah.” Nothing to see here.

“Where are you going?”

There was an edge to his voice that I didn’t like. “My God, you’re like the plague.”

“A masterfully crafted, powerfully understated, and epic parable of timeless moral resonance? Why, thank you. That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me,” he said.

“The disease, Noah. Not the book.”

“I’m ignoring that qualification.”

“Can you ignore it while getting out of my way? I have to find a vet.”

I lowered my eyes to the dog. She was staring at Noah, and weakly wagged her tail as he leaned down to pet her.

“For the dog I found.” My heart pounded as my tongue formed my lie.

Noah raised an eyebrow at me, then checked his watch. “It’s your lucky day. I know a vet six minutes from here.”

I hesitated. “Really?” How random.

“Really. Come along. I’ll drive you.”

I debated the situation. The dog needed help, and badly. And she’d get looked at much, much sooner if Noah drove. With my sense of direction, I could end up driving aimlessly around South Miami until four in the morning.

I would go with Noah. “Thanks,” I said and nodded at him. He smiled, and the three of us walked over to his car. A Prius.

He opened the back door, took the leash from my hands and, despite the dog’s patchy coat and the fact that she was infested with fleas, scooped her up and placed her on the upholstery.

If she peed all over his car, I would die. I had to warn him.

“Noah,” I said, “I just found her two minutes ago. She’s … a stray, and I don’t know anything about her or if she’s housebroken or anything and I don’t want her to rui—”

Noah placed his forefinger above my upper lip and his thumb below my bottom lip, and applied the slightest pressure, cutting me off. I felt lightheaded, and my eyelids might have fluttered closed. So embarrassing. I wanted to kill myself a little.