Under Fire by Catherine Mann Page B

humans—scum of the earth, actually. Charges were pressed and sometimes evidence of further crimes was found in the homes.”
    “Ahhh…” Sylvia nodded. “And those people could have a grudge.”
    “Do you want me to make a list? Sadly, it could well be a long one.”
    “Eventually, yes, but right now, keep talking. Follow where your mind was headed. You’d be surprised what comes up when we don’t overanalyze.” No question, the interrogator had a knack for putting people at ease, which made them spill more.
    Rachel leaned forward, her fingers gliding down Disco’s spine as the dog stayed immovable by her side. “Some of the dogs are what you would call pit bulls.”
    “What I would call ?”
    “ Pit bull is a catchall phrase for a number of different breeds—bull terriers, Staffordshire terriers, American bulldogs. People use the phrase pit bull pejoratively. But bulldogs make great therapy dogs because they bond so strongly with people. There are owners out there who will abuse that bond and turn them into fighters.”
    “These people wouldn’t be happy about your taking their livelihood. Dog fighting is often tied to gang activity. Could one of them be out for revenge or trying to get an animal back?”
    “That’s certainly possible… but I’m not able to give you anything helpful there. I know the history of the dogs I take in, but I don’t know names of their original owners.”
    Sylvia shifted her attention from her iPad to her briefcase, beside the chair. “Relay what you can of the adoptions and I’ll track the rest. I have… resources.” She passed over a notepad. “Now you can make that list of the names and details you do know.” She smiled dryly. “Unless you have an issue with my hassling any of them with uncomfortable questions?”
    “Hassle away.” Rachel scooped up the pen and paper, not in the least ruffled. Damn, she was amazing. “I’m not going to object to any heat you want to bring to an animal abuser.”
    “But you don’t think it’s one of them.”
    “I wouldn’t presume to do your job.”
    “My job is to gather impressions.”
    Rachel pressed the notepad to her knees. “Then my impression would be that this doesn’t fit the kind of retaliation I would expect. They would retrieve their dogs and put them back to work, not poison them. And the anonymous calls—”
    “What exactly was said during the threatening phone calls?”
    “Things like ‘back off’ and ‘you don’t know who you’re taking on’…” Her voice trailed away. “All threats that could have been said by anyone. The timing just seemed too coincidental.”
    “I’m not discounting your fears. But we’ll still need to speak to the airman—once we can locate him.”
    “He’s actually a first lieutenant.”
    “Right, of course,” Sylvia conceded with a professional smile. “I can promise you the interview will be handled compassionately.”
    “Thank you.” Her face didn’t broadcast confidence.
    “Meanwhile, you need protection because someone, somewhere, for whatever reason, truly is gunning for you.” Sylvia pushed to her feet and stepped closer to the one-way mirror, staring straight through. She tapped her ear where her tiny earbud radio was hidden in case someone needed to feed her information during the process. Nothing had been left to chance.
    “If you’ll excuse me, Rachel, I need to step out and have a word with General Sullivan.”
    ***
     
    “Cat, are you ready to go back home?” Brandon asked, leaning against his truck.
    The acrid stench of smoke still blanketed the air, even though the fire department had long ago doused the blaze on Rachel’s block. He’d read an article once that said smells evoked the strongest memories. Damn straight. With each smoldering inhale, images of bomb sites mushroomed inside his skull.
    The burned-out hulls of town houses stared back at him with vacant black eyes for windows. Hollow. Charred insides weakened and vulnerable from