Lying on the bare, freezing concrete floor, curled into a tight, shivering ball, was Barnaby.
He was a Golden Retriever, but his coat was matted, filthy, and completely dull. He was terrifyingly thin, his ribs showing clearly through his dirty blonde fur.
Next to him was a plastic bowl. It was completely frozen solid. There was no food anywhere in sight.
When the bright light hit him, Barnaby didn’t bark. He didn’t try to stand up.
He just slowly lifted his heavy, graying head, squinting against the bright beam, and let out another pathetic, broken whine.
“Hey, buddy,” Marcus said softly, instantly dropping to his knees on the freezing concrete.
Marcus ignored the horrific smell and the filth. He crawled directly over to the shivering dog, moving incredibly slowly so he wouldn’t startle him.
“It’s okay, old man,” Marcus whispered, gently reaching out and letting Barnaby sniff the back of his hand. “You’re safe now. We are getting you out of here.”
Barnaby let out a long, heavy sigh. He closed his eyes and weakly rested his large, graying muzzle directly into the palm of Marcus’s hand.
“He’s entirely frozen, Doc,” Marcus said, looking back at me, his eyes burning with absolute fury. “His joints are completely locked up from the cold. He can’t walk.”
“I’ll help you carry him,” I said, rushing into the garage.
I knelt down on the other side of the heavy dog. Up close, he looked even worse. He was covered in fleas, and his paws were raw and bleeding from pacing on the rough concrete.
“Careful with his hips,” Marcus instructed, sliding his strong arms completely under Barnaby’s front shoulders. “On three. One. Two. Three.”
We lifted together. Barnaby let out a sharp yelp of pain as his stiff, arthritic joints were moved, but he didn’t try to bite or struggle. He just let his head fall heavily against my chest, completely exhausted.
We carried him out of the freezing, dark garage and into the cold gray daylight.
We were moving as fast as we safely could across the frozen yard toward the hidden truck.
We were halfway across the lawn when my blood ran entirely cold.
From down the long, dirt driveway, I heard the distinct, unmistakable sound of tires aggressively crunching on gravel.
I snapped my head up.
Pulling off the main highway and speeding directly toward the house was a pristine silver SUV.
It was Brenda.
She had figured it out. She had realized Eleanor wasn’t having a heart attack, and she had raced back to the house to secure her leverage.
“Marcus!” I hissed, sheer panic gripping my entire body. “She’s here!”
Chapter 4
The silver SUV didn’t just pull into the driveway—it roared. Brenda hit the brakes so hard the tires kicked up a massive cloud of frozen gravel and dust.
She was out of the car before the engine had even stopped vibrating.
“What are you doing on my property?” she shrieked, her voice cracking with a mixture of pure rage and mounting hysteria. She was sprinting toward us, her expensive leather boots slipping on the icy grass.
Marcus didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look hurried.
He was still cradling the back half of Barnaby, while I held the dog’s front. We were only ten feet from the safety of Marcus’s truck.
“Keep moving,” Marcus whispered to me, his voice as steady as a heartbeat. “Do not stop. Do not look at her. Just get him to the crate.”
“I am calling the police!” Brenda screamed, fumbling with her phone as she reached the edge of the garage. “This is trespassing! This is theft! I’ll have you both in handcuffs by sunset!”
She stopped dead when she saw the broken padlock lying in the dirt. Her eyes darted to the open garage door, then to the filthy, shivering Golden Retriever in our arms.
“Put him down!” she wailed, her face twisting into something truly demonic. “That is my dog! You have no right to touch him!”
We reached the back of the truck. Marcus balanced Barnaby’s weight with one arm, reached out with his free hand, and flipped open the heavy-duty crate door.
We slid the dog inside. Barnaby let out a soft, appreciative moan as he landed on the thick, heated blankets Marcus kept for his rescues.
Marcus slammed the crate door shut and locked it. Only then did he turn around to face Brenda.
He didn’t reach for a badge. He didn’t reach for a weapon. He just stood there, all six-foot-three of him, looking down at her with a cold, terrifying silence.
“You’re a deputy,” Brenda gasped, her voice suddenly losing its volume as she recognized Marcus’s face from town. “Marcus Vance. I know you. You can’t do this! This is illegal! You don’t have a warrant!”
Marcus took a slow step toward her. Brenda instinctively took two steps back.
“You’re right, Brenda,” Marcus said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl. “I don’t have a warrant. I’m off-duty. This isn’t a police raid. This is just a concerned citizen helping a friend pick up his dog.”
“His dog?” Brenda spat, pointing a trembling finger at me. “He’s a doctor! He’s never even seen that animal before today!”
“Actually,” I said, stepping up beside Marcus, “Barnaby belongs to Eleanor Higgins. And since Eleanor is currently in my medical care and unable to return home, she has designated me as the temporary guardian of her property. Including her dog.”
It was a legal stretch, and we all knew it. But in that moment, under the gray Ohio sky, it was the only shield we had.
“You’re lying!” Brenda screamed. “You tricked me! There was no heart emergency! I got to the hospital and the nurses said she was stable! They wouldn’t even let me into the room! They had a security guard standing at the door!”
“That’s because I called ahead,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “I told them that the patient was a victim of severe domestic violence and that her abuser was likely on her way to interfere with her treatment.”
Brenda’s face went from red to a sickly, mottled white.
“Abuser?” she whispered, her eyes darting around the empty yard as if searching for witnesses. “I have never… I have done nothing but care for that ungrateful old woman! She’s crazy! She bruises herself because she’s clumsy! You saw those forms I signed!”
“I saw the handprints, Brenda,” I said, stepping closer. “I saw the finger marks on her wrists. I saw the bruises on her ribs where you kicked her while she was down. And most importantly, I took photos of all of it.”
I pulled my phone out and held it up.
“Every single inch of trauma is documented,” I told her. “The police are already at the hospital. They’re taking Eleanor’s statement right now. And since you were kind enough to leave Barnaby in a freezing garage without food or liquid water, the county animal warden is also filing a separate set of felony animal cruelty charges.”
Brenda looked like she was about to faint. The bravado, the expensive clothes, the styled hair—it all seemed to wilt under the weight of the truth.
“My husband…” she stammered, her voice small and pathetic. “If David finds out… he’ll leave me. He’ll take everything.”
