found the Dachshund’s assigned “parking” space.
A middle-aged couple stood in front of the crate. The woman spotted Tim and leaned into the man, his arm instinctively coming around her and gently landing on her shoulder. Probably one of those couples who’d been married twenty years. Their bodies seemed to move in sync after years of practice.
Tim stopped about two feet from them, giving enough space that he wouldn’t be crowding, but close enough to be heard without hollering.
He flipped his badge up—a whole lot of that going on today—and gave the couple a second to study it. “I’m Detective Tim O’Brien. The event manager called you about Marlowe helping out.”
“Yes,” the man said. “I’m Hal Pickney. This is my wife, Joy.” He waved to the wiener dog sitting in the crate behind him. “And this is Marlowe.”
The dog looked up at Tim and his floppy ears twitched. Crazy looking dog with that long snout and even longer body, but hell on earth, he was damned cute.
“Hi, Marlowe,” Tim said. “You wanna help us find Otis?”
“He sure does.” Mrs. Pickney flipped her hand out. “Let me see what you’ve got?”
Tim handed over the baggie with Otis’s half-chewed bone. “Will this work?”
“Normally we use a piece of fabric, but we can try. You never know.”
“The family would appreciate it. This thing just got a little more complicated because the perpetrator was seen taking Otis out of the building.”
Mrs. Pickney’s eyes bulged. “Oh, no. Let’s get moving then.”
Squatting to open the crate, Mr. Pickney hooked on Marlowe’s leash. “Okay, boy. Time to work.”
The dog stepped out of the crate, stuck his snout in the air and damned if it didn’t look like some kind of salute.
“This is just awful,” Mrs. Pickney said. “I’d be insane if someone took my Marlowe.”
She slid Otis’s half-chewed and fairly nasty bone from the baggie and held it up. “Go to work, boy.”
Marlowe’s ears twitched again.
It’d be a miracle if the dog didn’t snatch that bone. If it were Tim, he’d grab it and haul ass.
But, would you look at that? No snatching. Just intense sniffing as Marlowe ran his nose down one side of the bone and then the other.
“Go to work, Marlowe,” Mrs. Pickney repeated.
“That’s his command phrase,” Mr. Pickney said. “We only say it when we want him to search.”
“I’ve only seen our tracking dogs at the PD do this. It’s cool to see a civilian do it.”
“It’s a ton of work for Joy. She trained him so we always have her do the commands.”
And then Marlowe stuck his snout to the ground and took off. Talk about hauling ass. That wiener dog dragged—as much as a wiener dog could drag—Mrs. Pickney behind him as he bounced from side to side in the row, checking crates, dodging fascinated people on his way to the door.
Holy hell, this might work.
Unfreakingbelievable.
* * *
Kurt was nowhere to be found.
Gah!
After a trip to the security office—the very empty and locked security office—Lucie ran through the hallways accosting any male with dark hair wearing a beige shirt. Every man thought her psychotic, but they hadn’t seen the worst of this mental breakdown yet.
That would come if they didn’t find Otis.
After whipping through the main gym, she sprinted back to the makeshift security office. Still locked.
Nobody home.
She pounded on the door, waited three seconds, pounded again.
No. Flipping. Answer.
She turned, kicked the hard cement of the wall and pain shot through her big toe, straight up her shin.
“Ooh, ow.” She hobbled in circles. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”
Tears bubbled up and she blinked, shoved both palms against her eyes. Crying. Please. Who had time for that?
But she needed to find Otis. To get that sweet lug of a dog back. And nothing, nothing was going her way right now. The longer it took to find Kurt, the farther away that evil witch got with Otis.
And all Lucie could do was
A middle-aged couple stood in front of the crate. The woman spotted Tim and leaned into the man, his arm instinctively coming around her and gently landing on her shoulder. Probably one of those couples who’d been married twenty years. Their bodies seemed to move in sync after years of practice.
Tim stopped about two feet from them, giving enough space that he wouldn’t be crowding, but close enough to be heard without hollering.
He flipped his badge up—a whole lot of that going on today—and gave the couple a second to study it. “I’m Detective Tim O’Brien. The event manager called you about Marlowe helping out.”
“Yes,” the man said. “I’m Hal Pickney. This is my wife, Joy.” He waved to the wiener dog sitting in the crate behind him. “And this is Marlowe.”
The dog looked up at Tim and his floppy ears twitched. Crazy looking dog with that long snout and even longer body, but hell on earth, he was damned cute.
“Hi, Marlowe,” Tim said. “You wanna help us find Otis?”
“He sure does.” Mrs. Pickney flipped her hand out. “Let me see what you’ve got?”
Tim handed over the baggie with Otis’s half-chewed bone. “Will this work?”
“Normally we use a piece of fabric, but we can try. You never know.”
“The family would appreciate it. This thing just got a little more complicated because the perpetrator was seen taking Otis out of the building.”
Mrs. Pickney’s eyes bulged. “Oh, no. Let’s get moving then.”
Squatting to open the crate, Mr. Pickney hooked on Marlowe’s leash. “Okay, boy. Time to work.”
The dog stepped out of the crate, stuck his snout in the air and damned if it didn’t look like some kind of salute.
“This is just awful,” Mrs. Pickney said. “I’d be insane if someone took my Marlowe.”
She slid Otis’s half-chewed and fairly nasty bone from the baggie and held it up. “Go to work, boy.”
Marlowe’s ears twitched again.
It’d be a miracle if the dog didn’t snatch that bone. If it were Tim, he’d grab it and haul ass.
But, would you look at that? No snatching. Just intense sniffing as Marlowe ran his nose down one side of the bone and then the other.
“Go to work, Marlowe,” Mrs. Pickney repeated.
“That’s his command phrase,” Mr. Pickney said. “We only say it when we want him to search.”
“I’ve only seen our tracking dogs at the PD do this. It’s cool to see a civilian do it.”
“It’s a ton of work for Joy. She trained him so we always have her do the commands.”
And then Marlowe stuck his snout to the ground and took off. Talk about hauling ass. That wiener dog dragged—as much as a wiener dog could drag—Mrs. Pickney behind him as he bounced from side to side in the row, checking crates, dodging fascinated people on his way to the door.
Holy hell, this might work.
Unfreakingbelievable.
* * *
Kurt was nowhere to be found.
Gah!
After a trip to the security office—the very empty and locked security office—Lucie ran through the hallways accosting any male with dark hair wearing a beige shirt. Every man thought her psychotic, but they hadn’t seen the worst of this mental breakdown yet.
That would come if they didn’t find Otis.
After whipping through the main gym, she sprinted back to the makeshift security office. Still locked.
Nobody home.
She pounded on the door, waited three seconds, pounded again.
No. Flipping. Answer.
She turned, kicked the hard cement of the wall and pain shot through her big toe, straight up her shin.
“Ooh, ow.” She hobbled in circles. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”
Tears bubbled up and she blinked, shoved both palms against her eyes. Crying. Please. Who had time for that?
But she needed to find Otis. To get that sweet lug of a dog back. And nothing, nothing was going her way right now. The longer it took to find Kurt, the farther away that evil witch got with Otis.
And all Lucie could do was
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