Keep Her Safe(45)

“Smart little bastard.”

“Excuse me?” The shock in Silas’s voice has me chuckling.

“Not you. This stray dog.”

“Stray dog?”

“With one eye. Damn ugly thing.”

“Remember that one that bit you?”

I roll my eyes. “Vaguely.” The shift in conversation seems to have defused the tension.

Silas sighs. “So, no idea when you’ll be back?”

“We’re likely putting Dina in rehab tomorrow. I don’t want to leave Gracie alone to do it.” And I got the feeling earlier, when I told her I’d stay, that she was relieved. Though, she’s impossible to read.

“And Gracie? Where will she stay?”

“I got her a room in a motel.”

“I hope it’s nicer than that trailer park.”

“Yeah, it’s decent enough.” Anything’s better than this place. “It’s called Cactus Inn or something like that. Everything around here is named after a cactus or a desert. Anyway, she has enough money to get herself an apartment.”

“Good. How’d she turn out? I remember thinking she’d grow up to be a real looker.”

“You weren’t wrong.” Even scowling, Gracie turns heads.

“Hmm . . .” The sound is laced with insinuation.

“It’s not like that.” Frankly, I’m not sure if she even likes me as a human being.

He chuckles. “Okay. Call me when you’re back in town. I’ll be tied up in court and interviewing for a secretary all week but Judy will be home, ready to welcome you with open arms.”

“God, you’re still interviewing? You need to just pick someone already!” Silas fired his last secretary months ago, and has been struggling to survive on his own since.

“I’m too damn picky,” he admits reluctantly.

“Yes, sir. You are.”

“And Noah? You’re doing the right thing, by helping them move on. It’s what your mother wanted.”

“See you soon.”

The Animal Control van rolls along the sandy lane, keeping pace with the man who walks alongside it. He’s carrying a long pole with a noose-like rope hanging from the end in one hand.

“We got a call about a rabid dog wandering through here?” he hollers to Vilma.

She shrugs.

“Perro?”

She retorts with something in Spanish that I have no hope in hell of understanding, but by her sharp tone, it isn’t pleasant.

Shaking his head, the guy dismisses her and keeps walking toward me. “Seen a rabid dog? It’s beige and scruffy, fifteen pounds. One eye.” Somehow he keeps the toothpick that hangs from the corner of his mouth in place as he talks.

“Rabid dog?”

He smirks. “You know . . . a dog with rabies.”

Dickhead. “I saw him. He’s not rabid, though.” Diseased, likely.

His gaze roves over the various trailers, his disgust plain as day. “Yeah well, I’m tired of coming to this dump every time that woman calls us. We’re catching this asshole today, and my report is gonna say he tried to bite me, and neither him or me are ever comin’ back here again.” He pats the dart gun that hangs from his hip for impact. “Which way did he go?”

I don’t know who keeps calling Animal Control, but I’m suddenly rooting for Gracie’s one-eyed dog. I point down the laneway, in the opposite direction. “He was bookin’ it, so y’all probably won’t catch up to him.”

“Oh, we’ll get him.” He nods toward the trailer. “What happened here?”

“It burned down.”

“How?”

I smile wide. “You know . . . a fire.”

Spearing me with a glare, he and the white van set off down the road, his eyes scanning the shadows, grumbling under his breath.

“Se metió en una pelea con el gato de la se?ora Hubbard de Nuevo,” Vilma calls out.

All I caught from that is “cat” and a woman named “Hubbard.”

She nods toward the upturned wheelbarrow, where I can make out Cyclops’s front paws peeking out beneath it. “You take,” Vilma hisses, pointing to my SUV. “You take.”

“What?” A bark of laughter escapes me.

She waves toward the wheelbarrow urgently. “You take!”

“I can’t. No puedo. We’re staying in a motel.” I saw a guest leaving her room with a Maltese on a leash, so it must be a pet-friendly place, but Cyclops doesn’t exactly fit in the “pet” category. And what the hell am I going to do with a rat-carrying one-eyed dog? In the backseat of my nice, new SUV no less?

“Gracie’s perro!”

“He’s no one’s perro.”

She snorts. “Idiota. iSi note llevas el perro ahorra ella nunca te perdonará!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what you’re saying.” Except for the idiota part. I’m clear on that.

She struggles to climb out of her chair and down the steps, looking ready to topple over as she hobbles to her fence. “Ellos lo matarán!” She makes a throat-cutting gesture and then hisses, “Ese perro es todo lo que tiene.” Her wrinkled old hands press against her chest. “Gracie love.”