Revenge by Meli Raine Page A

look.
    “And I do know one thing.”
    “What?”
    “They’re never getting you .”
    Mark’s walkie-talkie makes a weird sound and he picks it off his belt, murmurs into it, and then Murph y flashes his lights.
    Ey e ing me up and down, Mark gives me a look that says nine emotions all at once.
    “I’ll walk you to your car,” he finally says with a sigh, re a ching for my arm.
    I drop the rock I’d forgotten I was holding.
    “Whew,” he says with sarcasm.
    I roll my tongue in my cheek but say nothing.
    By the time we’re back at my car, I feel deflated. I’m supposed to go work at the animal shelter and rescue Cindy as she struggles to hold the place together , but I’m filthy, exhausted, dehydrated, and so emotionally tapped out all I want to do is cry under a moonlit night while eating Xanax-flavored chocolate fudge ice cream.
    Mark stops at my car door. I look up at him. The sun is high in the sky now, and he moves just enough to block it.
    Those eyes. O h , those ferocious eyes. He’s loving and protecting and defending and warning and needing me with those eyes.
    “I’ll be careful,” I concede. “I still think what you did to Eric is horrible, though .”
    “If he’s in as deep as I think he is with L andau, then what I did to him is a cakewalk compared to what he’s doing to help kidnap and enslave thousands of women in L andau’s network.”
    I shudder. How can you shudder in ninety-degree heat?
    I do anyhow.
    Mark’s walkie-talkie makes feedback noises again and Murph y waves impatiently.
    “You need to go,” I tell him.
    “We’re following you to the animal shelter,” he says grimly.
    “ B ut I—”
    “No arguing.”
    I close my mouth. It’s useless to even try. Without another word, I climb into my car, start it, and begin the drive to the shelter.
    He taps on the hood of my car. I brake and roll down the window.
    “Tonight. My place?” His voice is filled with a contrite tone.
    I’m angry, but not so angry that I’m going to punish either of us by refusing to see him. We obviously have a lot to talk about. Plus, he’s Mark. I can’t stay away from him no matter how furious I am. He’s...well, like I said.
    He’s Mark.
    I’m never, ever letting him go again.
    “Yes,” I say with a sour grin as I pull away and begin the drive, their car following me .
    Mark and Murph y peel away ten minutes later as I pull into the parking lot. The place is packed, with two mini school buses and loads of family minivans here. Adoption Day is a big deal. Minnie’s absence is hard. I make a mental note to go see her right after I help here.
    Every hour that Amy remains missing takes a piece of my heart away. I can only imagine how much worse it is for Minnie.
    The sound of barking dogs fills the air as I grab the last parking spot in the entire lot and hustle into the building. I enter through the back and surprise Cindy. She’s carrying two kittens.
    “Carrying” might be the wrong word. More like two kittens are clawed into her shoulders, hanging on for dear life .
    “Carrie! O h, my goodness, I have never been so ha p py to see someone.” She stops and pulls back. Her eyes rake over me. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve been playing in the mud.”
    My hands fly to my hair. “Oh. Yeah. I, um, tripped and fell in a pud d le.”
    She laughs. Cindy is in her mid-fifties, round and friendly, and always smells like dogs and baby powder. She’s wearin g a red, long-sleeved sh i rt with the shelter’s logo on it, and her thick , greying hair is pulled back in a pony tail. She has goggle s on.
    “Holding some of the feral cats?” I ask her.
    She shows me her thick gloves. “About to try.”
    “What do you need help with?” I ask.
    “Can you work in the office and answer the phones? We have people calling like crazy to ask about puppies and kittens.”
    I nod and walk down the hall. Mar ny , one of the other volunteers, gives me a quick nod and continues talking into the phone.