Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(42)

Hannah turned around. Even in the dark, he could read the distress on her features. “I hope so.”

How she knew her way around in the dark boggled his mind, but twenty minutes later, they emerged from the forest to stare at Grant’s backyard. They crossed the bridge, Hannah’s pace increasing to a jog across the lawn.

She drew up at the deck steps. “She’s not here.”

Brody wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. He didn’t realize she’d been crying until he saw the tears glistening on her face. Hannah rested her forehead against his chest for a solid minute. Then she pulled away and wiped her cheeks with her fingertips.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I don’t know what to do. I have to find that dog.” She sniffed. “I know what you’re going to say. I’m more important than any dog, but it’s not a contest. Carson shouldn’t have to lose either of us.”

He sure as hell shouldn’t, Brody thought. “You’re right. I’ll ask whoever’s on patrol tonight to keep an eye out for her. If she doesn’t come back by morning, we’ll call animal shelters and veterinarians.”

A faint bark drifted through the trees. Brody lifted a hand. “Wait. Did you hear that?”

Her head tilted. She shook her head.

Brody strained to listen. The barking grew stronger. “There’s a dog coming this way.”

“I hear it now.” Hannah’s voice brightened. “Which direction?”

He pointed toward the woods. They hurried back onto the trail. They picked up the pace, excitement fueling their legs. A squeal and a high-pitched whine echoed. Hannah broke into a run. Brody kept pace. Mud splashed under his boots. A hundred yards down the trail, they entered a clearing. AnnaBelle stood in the center, head down and whimpering. The dog swiped a paw at her face.

“Here, girl.” Hannah approached the retriever. “Oh, you poor dog.”

“What is it?” Brody directed the beam of his light on the dog’s face. Dozens of quills poked out from her muzzle. “Ugh. Looks like she tangled with a porcupine.”

Hannah fastened her collar around her neck. “Let’s get her back to the house.”

Luckily, the dog had been nearly home when she’d been quilled. They tracked mud and water through the back door into the laundry room. In the bright light of the kitchen, Brody and Hannah examined the dog’s face.

“That’s a lot of quills, and some are in her mouth.” Hannah stroked the dog’s head. “She needs a vet.”

Brody whipped his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “I’ll call mine.”

“I doubt they’ll be open.” Hannah glanced at the clock. “It’s two in the morning. Is there a twenty-four-hour veterinary clinic nearby?”

“Dr. Albert will pick up,” Brody said. The vet’s groggy voice answered the call on the third ring. Brody explained the situation and disconnected in less than a minute. “He’ll open his office for us. Let’s get her in the car.”

They wrapped the dog in a beach towel and put her in the backseat of Brody’s vehicle. Hannah sat with the dog to keep her from pawing at the quills. “I know it hurts. It’ll be OK.”

Brody drove into town. Rain glittered on the blacktop. He kept one eye on the rearview mirror and listened to Hannah croon to the dog. The tough hotshot lawyer turned into a marshmallow when kids and animals were in need.

Ten minutes later, Brody turned into the parking area. The vet’s office was in a small building next to his house. Light glowed in the clinic windows.

Dr. Albert opened the door. He’d pulled his lab coat on over flannel pajamas and boots. His white hair tufted out from the sides of his head. “Bring her in here.” He gestured toward a lighted exam room. A tray of instruments, including a set of pliers, was laid out on the counter.

Brody introduced Hannah to the old vet as he picked up the big dog and hefted her onto the stainless steel table.

The vet set a pair of black-rimmed glasses on his nose and frowned. “I’m going to give her some anesthesia.” He patted the dog on the side, shaved a patch of fur on one foreleg, and set up a butterfly catheter. With a syringe, he pushed some medication into the line. The dog’s breathing eased, and her body went quiet on the table. For the next thirty minutes, the vet pulled quills out of the dog’s muzzle with pliers.

“Does anyone see any more?” He moved the overhead light and lifted AnnaBelle’s lips to inspect her mouth.

“I don’t,” Brody said.

Hannah shook her head.

“Then I’m going to give her a shot of antibiotics.” He filled a syringe and injected the retriever’s flank.

The dog stirred. Minutes later, her eyes opened, and she gave them a feeble wag.

“You can take her home. She’ll probably be tired tomorrow, and you might need to give her soft food for a day or two, but she should be fine. Don’t worry. She’s not my first patient who thought chasing a porcupine looked like fun.”

“Thank you.” Hannah reached into the slim purse that hung from her shoulder.

The vet waved her off. “I’ll send you a bill.”

Brody carried the dog back outside. The rain had picked up, falling from the sky in a curtain.