Rhetorical questions. He knew exactly why she'd become a vet. Her gifts cured animals in all kinds of ways others with her knowledge could not…and was the very same reason Seth had insisted she buckle down and pursue her degree.
"You can do this." He squeezed her fingers. "And if you decide it's getting too hard, I promise you that's still okay."
Yeah, right. She stood and struggled for air, striding across the office to the door. If she failed, at least where Buster was concerned, she'd be handing that poor dog a death sentence. "I'm sweating like a pig."
"Weak." Seth buzzed like an insect and waved her off. "They barely sweat, so that proves I'm right and everything is going to be fine."
Smartass.
Jones was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed as she entered, both hope and expectancy in his gaze.
"This will probably sound strange but, before we go any further, I need another moment with Buster."
To make sure Seth's confidence in her wasn't misplaced.
To confirm she was strong enough to start down this road before it was too late to back out.
Kneeling beside the carrier, Inara peered through the cage side window. Buster's gruff protests continued. He cowered on his haunches in the corner. She placed her hand on the plastic and the heat from his fever radiated into her palm.
A few heavy heartbeats, and he finally paused long enough for her to lock onto his ice-blue gaze.
The din of his barking faded. Her surroundings slowly disappeared.
Zooming through the tunnel of his irises, Inara eased back the curtain on his memories…and was nearly knocked on her ass from the pain.
A chain-link fence. Brown blood stains on a filthy concrete floor. Bleachers surrounding the enclosed ring of an arena. Hunger, thirst and a suffocating fear.
She choked at the smell. Urine and the stifling stench of body odor. The legs of two men kicked. Metal baseball bats swung, and she hissed at the yelps of breaking bones.
Buster fought to get away, but a sharp crack exploded through his left hindquarter. His howl of agony filled her ears. White-hot terror fueled his barking as another bat descended. A smarting tink and blood sprayed. The familiar taste of copper wet his nose.
A gate creaked open. The one called Rex stepped into the pit. He adjusted his black baseball cap and, beyond, lay freedom. A rectangle of light at the end of a long tunnel.
Rex pulled a gun from his hip and took aim. Bang! His arm jerked from the retort and Inara flinched. Trixie collapsed, her tongue lolling. Bang! Cobalt summersaulted over his face and fell limp.
Buster charged for the door, sprinting for the light. Bang! A sting tore through his leg, ripping it from beneath him. The ache spread and he was no longer sure-footed or strong.
Rex pointed the gun at the last Pitbull, Flint. One of the managers jumped into his way and—Bang! Red spread across the man's white t-shirt. His bat clanged to the ground. Collapsing to his knees, he clutched his belly. Bang! Another man dropped. Bang! Flint flew through the air and landed in a heap.
Sirens blared. Buster panted and thrashed. Rex's heavy boots thudded past and iron screeched as he pried open a grate in the floor.
He chucked the gun into the hole. Water splashed. Replacing the cover, he glanced over his shoulder and disappeared through an adjacent door.
Minutes later, several uniformed men filed around Buster and the edges of his vision closed in.
He lunged in the crate and Inara snatched her palm back. Get away! Stay away! No! No! Pain! Hurt!
Shaking like a leaf, she tried to stand and a lightning bolt shot down her ankle. Oof.
Mr. Jones quickly stepped in and helped her to her feet, lifting her by the elbow. "Wow, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine." She patted his hand, scars throbbing on her cheek. Though he continued to hover as she hobbled over to the sink. Gritting her teeth through the phantom pain in her leg, she splashed some cold water on her face. "Who's the asshole with the black baseball cap? Guy by the name of Rex?"
"How did you…?" His arms fell to his sides with a slap. "He's the owner of the pit. They have him in custody on a pending murder charge, but they can't seem to locate a weapon. He claims one of the managers shot the dogs and the other workers, and he somehow managed to escape."
"He's lying." She tugged a few brown sheets from the dispenser and dried off her chin and neck. "He shot up the whole place. Tell the police the gun is at the bottom of the drain in the hallway. By the entrance. He stashed it in there before he took off."
Jones clamped his mouth shut. Then frowned. "How do you know that?"
"He saw everything." Inara pointed at Buster, straining to talk as his barking rose in volume once again. "Unfortunately, that also means it could take months before he's rehabilitated. He's been through a lot, Mr. Jones. And with all his trust issues, I'm not too sure how long it'll be before I can give him back."
"Whoa." He held up his hands. "I get what you're saying but, keep in mind, I don't plan to be his permanent owner. Litters come and go, and so do the people, and a big portion of my business is word of mouth. All due respect, but I have to consider if a dog like that attached to my name is conducive to making a living."
And yep, she was right back to her original thought. Idiot. "Then maybe the best option is to reevaluate at some point in the future. I'll work with him for now, at my own expense, and once I feel he's ready to be integrated, I'll go ahead and give you a call."
"Deal." Mr. Jones stuck out his hand and they shook. "Thank you, Dr. Woodward. As an animal lover, I don't want him to be euthanized, but his current condition puts me in a tough spot."
"It's okay." She smiled and guided him toward the door. "I'll let Seth know what we discussed and be in touch soon with a report."
Stanley Jones left and Inara stared at the door before retracing her steps to the kennel.
Or maybe the joke was on her and she was the only dummy in the room.
"I know, buddy." She went down on one knee. The same as always, it was easy for her to communicate with an animal after bridging that initial gap.
Hey, relax. I'm not going to hurt you. You don't have to warn me to stay away. I promise to respect your space.
He lifted his chin with a few protracted yowls and finally settled on nervous panting.
There you go. You're such a good boy.
Between the two of them, it was going to be a long uphill battle from here.
Chapter Two
"But if you don't take him, he won't survive."
Jay Odin seemed to be laying it on a little thick. Nik glanced from the director of the Woodward Hill Animal Shelter to the Labrador-Rottweiler mix. The dog's big, brown eyes begged for attention, pink tongue hanging to the side. He wiggled with excitement and his black coat caught the light as Jay looped the orange lead around his hand.
Shit. Fighting his hangover, Nik rubbed at the jackhammer drilling into his temples. "You suck."
Rescue dogs had always been his nemesis. Since the day his mother had opened Critter Sitters in the Woodward Hill hamlet of Greektown.
"Okay, now you just sound like my ex."
Nik chuckled, and then winced and touched his fat lip.