“It’s that one, right there.”
Jude points, but it’s rather obvious with the animal control truck in the driveway and two police cruisers at the curb. There’s a rough looking guy sitting in the back of one of the cruisers, and two officers are standing beside it, talking animatedly. I put the car into park, and Jude gathers up his supplies.
As soon as he steps out of the truck, one of the police officers is by his side. “Glad you could make it,” he says with obvious relief.
“Of course, anytime, Don. Thank you for getting in touch. What’s the status?”
The officer gestures toward the animal control truck, speaking with a kind voice. “AC showed back up a few minutes ago, and we’ve held them off so far, but they’re not going to spend much more time on this one. She’s weak; they already tranqed her, but she wouldn’t go down, and they couldn’t get the collar on her. She’s disoriented... and very pissed.”
“You’ll stay?” Jude asks.
The officer nods. “As long as you need. Darius has to take the perp down to the station. We have about a dozen charges to file on the guy, but I’ll send animal control away and wait here.”
Jude extends his hand to the officer. “Thank you, Don.”
Don shakes Jude’s hand firmly. “No, thank you for coming. Breaks my heart what these fuckers do to animals.”
Jude shakes his head with his jaw set tightly as his eyes flash toward the police cruiser. “I wish the judge could sentence them to the same torture and suffering they’ve caused.”
“Tell me about it,” the officer says.
Jude puts a hand on the man’s shoulder for a moment. “Anyway, I’ll see what I can do.”
The officer heads back to his cruiser, and Jude turns to me, a towel in one hand and a roll of duct tape from a toolbox in the back of the truck in the other. “You’re going to need to tape this around my arms.”
“I thought they said she was weak.”
“And disoriented. And pissed, rightfully so. She might latch onto anything in that state. Just need to be careful.”
Jude extends an arm, and I place the folded towel over his forearm then wind tape around it, wrapping it tightly. “What about your hands?”
“Loosen up the tape job a little bit and bring the towel up to my knuckles. I’ll be able to draw my fingers in if I need to. Then add another layer.”
Within minutes, I have a couple of thick towels taped around Jude’s forearms, and he’s opened the rickety, sun-bleached wooden gate to the backyard. The pit bull is chained to a poorly constructed lean-to in the far corner of the yard. Even from here, I can see how scared and skinny the poor thing is.
I make to follow him, but Jude shuts the gate behind him.
“No you don’t,” he says sternly. “No offense, but you don’t know what you’re doing. You need to stay on the other side of the fence.”
“She’s on a chain.”
“A chain that I’m going to try to get off her. I don’t need you in here with me if she spooks when I do that. Understand?”
I nod, stepping back from the gate, because as much as I want to help, he’s right. I have no idea how to handle a wounded animal. But I can’t just stand here, either. I keep pace with Jude on the other side of the fence, matching him step for step as he moves further into the space, approaching the dog. She’s already near the end of her chain, and Jude slows to a stop a good ten yards from her. He crouches down, his heels on his butt and his forearms resting on his knees.
I’m close enough now that I can see the pitiful state of the dog, and it pulls at my heart. I feel a lump come up in my throat, and I swallow hard. Who does this? I’m the person who changes the channel when the commercials about abused animals come on, because I can’t stand looking at the pictures. But there she is, right in front of me. Ribs and spine showing, sores around her neck from the chain, a heavy limp in her step, and a haunted look in her eye. I swallow down another lump that’s trying to make its way out and grip the fence, blinking back the sting of tears welling in my eyes.
“Hey there, girl.” Jude’s voice is hushed and soft, gentler than I thought the man was capable of. “You hungry?”
He opens the container of juicy hamburgers, and the aroma catches the dog’s interest, her ears perking. He tears off a small piece, holding it out in his fingers. The dog’s snout works in the air, tracking the scent, but she doesn’t take so much as a cautious step forward. Jude moves his hand slowly in a tossing motion, and the dog retreats. He repeats the motion a little faster and then does it a third time, releasing the hamburger chunk, and it lands near her paws. Startled, the disoriented dog backs away from the object being thrown at her and remains at a distance.
“She has to be hungry,” I whisper to Jude through the fencing.
“Quite literally starving, from the looks of it,” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving the dog. “I’m also sure she’s not used to having things thrown at her that don’t hurt. Give her a minute.”
We give her much more than a minute. It takes some time, but the poor girl is finally tempted by the scent to inch forward. Jude waits patiently as she eyes him cautiously, pacing back and forth before finally grabbing the chunk of hamburger and swallowing it, then retreating. He tosses another piece, and the process repeats, but this time he inches forward on his haunches as she wolfs down the meat.
Piece after piece, minute after minute, Jude makes his way forward, speaking softly to the dog over and over in a kind voice, and each time, she retreats. But eventually, she comes forward a little quicker than she did before and doesn’t retreat as far.
I check my watch, not annoyed at how much time we’ve spent, but rather marveling at Jude’s deep well of patience as he holds his crouched position with no complaints. It’s been nearly ninety minutes that he’s been in that cramped position, and he’s finally inched his way forward to within the barren-dirt circle that represents the distance her chain reaches. His forearms still on his knees, he rotates his hands so they are palms up and displays them for the pit bull, the last two pieces of burger in each hand.
She weaves back and forth like a drunken sailor, or perhaps like a boxer dodging punches. I draw in a shaky breath and hold it as the girl’s nose approaches Jude’s fingers, and he stays stone still as she eats from his hand. After a moment, he slowly moves his palms together, touching one of her jowls as she eats the second helping. By the time she swallows the last bite, Jude is rubbing her ear, and she hasn’t pulled back.
“Will you let me take this off, hmm? It might hurt.” He speaks to her like a beloved child, soothing her, running one thumb up her nose and over her eyes as he reaches for the chain around her neck.
The nervousness in the dog’s body language puts me on edge, knowing that Jude is close enough now for the dog to go after more than those towels on his forearms. I cringe, scared I’m going to see her lunge for his face.
“Be careful,” I plead, needing to say something because of the knot tightening in my stomach, but trying to keep my voice as calm and even as his.
“It’s all about moving slow,” he says confidently, his eyes darting to me for the briefest second. “Something I’m admittedly not always very good at.” He takes the chain between just three fingers and begins to move it up the dog’s neck. “Any sudden movements or harshness in the voice, and you’re likely to startle a wounded animal into a fight response.”
I place my hand over my lips, my entire body trembling, as the dog’s lips curl with a hint of a snarl. “Have you done this before?” I whisper.
Jude keeps stroking that thumb up between her eyes, his other hand moving at a glacial pace up her neck. “Yes. You just need to be gentle and understanding. She’s been beaten, and she’s not going to trust just anybody. You have to put in a little time and show her you’re not going to hurt her.”
He coos to her, calling her sweetheart, and the dog’s lips release from the beginning of that snarl. As he rounds to the top of her head wit
h the chain, she dips, allowing him to remove it. Her eyes are rolling back in her head as well now, and she begins to sway.
“Is she okay?” I ask.
Jude is still moving carefully, ever so slowly as he sets the chain down on the ground as quietly as possible. “She’s going to be fine. She’s finally relaxing, and the tranquilizers are taking effect.”
“What now? The officer said the pound would put her down. Why?”
The poor girl sinks onto the ground in a heap, and Jude pets her side. “They don’t mess around with the dogs that appear to be aggressive. This neighborhood is known for dog fighting — they’ve been raised in cruel conditions, trained to bring out the killer instinct. And a pound is not a good atmosphere to rehabilitate wounded animals.”
“So, what happens now?” I ask again, my insides twisting at the idea of this emaciated dog being put down just because she’s been abused.
“I take her home, that’s what happens. She’s groggy now. She’ll fall into a deep sleep soon and should be out for at least a few hours. Towels?”
I toss the last two towels over the fence, and Jude uses them to wrap around the thin form of the poor girl. The dog is completely limp as Jude scoops her up and holds her to his chest.
I move for the gate to open it for him. “Is that safe? You bringing her to your apartment?”
“I have a room set up for rescues.” He glances down at her limp body and the wounds on her neck. “Although, I’ve never had one in this bad of shape. But she’ll be very grateful for a warm bed and a healthy meal.”
“But she needs a vet, doesn’t she?”
He nods. “I have one on retainer that makes house calls.” Jude pauses as we reach the edge of the yard and looks behind him. “I see this happen with pit bulls more than any other breed. They don’t deserve this fate.”
The police officer nods at Jude gratefully, touching the brim of his hat in a gesture of respect as we step off the curb and head to the truck. Jude thanks the officer once more, and I open the passenger’s side door and wait as he slides in, then I help him buckle in with the dog on his lap. He cradles her with both hands, keeping the frail girl against his chest, her head nuzzled into his neck. I sniff back tears as I round the hood and get into the driver’s side.
The guys at Pentabyte have not escaped my scrutiny — and in darker moments, my suspicion — not with all the fucked-up things happening in my life right now, especially since it all started after meeting them.
But as I start up Jude’s truck, I see him leaning down to whisper to that poor dog, his voice sweet and full of compassion. I put the truck in gear and pull away from the curb, heading back to the city, glancing sideways frequently, watching with damp eyes as Jude comforts the wounded pit bull.
In this moment, I can’t bring myself to believe it for even a second. There’s no way these guys can be involved in any of the shady shit happening in my life, is there?
17
Trigg
“Nice suntan.” Jude says from his usual seat at the head of the table, getting the meeting started as we pile into the conference room.
“Fuck you,” Gunner spouts grumpily, dropping into his seat, his face still a glowing pink from the sunburn we got on the boat.
The boss takes his attitude in stride. “Hello to you, too,” he retorts before turning to me. “I take it things went well, then?”
I scratch at my eyebrow as I take my seat at our conference table. I know he needs to ask, but the answer is always the same. “You know, same old shit — everyone comparing their dicks, telling the same tired stories, and scrambling around to get the biggest piece of the pie anytime they get a whiff of something new.”
Gunner, my partner in crime this past weekend, crosses his big arms over his chest and leans back in his chair. “I hate this networking shit. Those guys are assholes. That was my third one in a row. Next time, someone else can go.”
“That’s true. But you’ve been a good sport about it, Gunner. Thank you,” Jude says then stares, looking back and forth between us, waiting. “Well?”
There is a reason we do this, after all. One of the heads of the industry invites you out for a day of fishing, you go, even if they’re ruthless assholes. Even if they only invited you out because they’ve heard you’re housing the developer of the next biggest thing in internet security. It was a weekend deep-sea fishing charter, but the only fishing really going on during that trip was the competition trying to get me and Gunner to slip and say something confidential about the deals Pentabyte is working on. Of course, we were doing some stealthy fishing of our own, trying to get a feel for which one of the companies might be behind the havoc in Emma’s life.
I tuck my chair up to the table, loosening the knot on my tie just a hair. “The guys from STI Corp and Bossemere Enterprises were on us like white on rice, but Marcus Davidson from BHC was sticking back — a bit too laid back and smug, if you ask me. And the rest were somewhere in between. I don’t like any of them, to be honest. Just not my type of people, that Jeremy kid in particular.”
“That guy gives me asshole vibes like you wouldn’t believe, and not the good kind,” Gunner says with something between a pout and a frown on his face. “I was stuck on a boat all goddamn weekend with him. And I got this goddamn sunburn.”
“We’ve had a few run-ins over the years.” Jax, true to form, is standing over by the windows. He looks at Gunner calmly. “You’re getting an asshole vibe because he is an asshole.”
“I concur. I worked with him on that government project,” Daniel reminds us, looking like he’s ready to spit poison.
“So BHC played it a little too cool, huh?” Jude asks, turning the topic back to the issue we’re all here to discuss. “If Marcus were smart, he would’ve been all over you like the others. Sometimes, not being curious is one hell of a tell.”
“Yeah,” Gunner agrees, “I take back what I said earlier. My money’s on BHC.”
“I put out some feelers like you asked,” Jax says to his brother. “It was a contracted job, all right.”
“Fuck.” Anger snaps into Jude’s eyes. “That’s really upping the game.”
“At least they did it when no one was there,” Daniel says.
“That’s not the point,” I snap.
Daniel gives me a no-shit look. “Clearly. I meant I’m glad no one was hurt.”
“Sorry, I know.” I rub my face, trying to wipe the scowl from my expression. I’m on edge these days with what’s been happening to Emma. I’m in full agreement with the Jude on the fuck-scale of things. “It’s one thing for someone to sit behind a computer screen and mess around with bank accounts. It’s a completely different thing to hire thugs and have them break into actual homes. This has turned into a threat to her physical safety.”
“What if her parents had been home?” Jax asks, voicing what we’re all thinking. “What if Emma had been there? What then? Would it have turned into a hostage situation? Or worse?”
A heavy, uncomfortable silence settles over the room as we consider the other outcomes that could have been — not a fucking one of them acceptable.
“I’m pretty sure we all agree on who we think’s behind this,” Jude says, his tone somber. “We need to circle wagons around Emma.”
I let out a long sigh. “I’m not sure that’s the best course of action.” All eyes turn to me.
Jude is firm, and it shows even by the rigidity that comes into his muscles. “What? She needs our protection now more than ever.”
“I agree.” I’m sure as shit with Jude on that point — Emma’s in danger. “But you’ve seen how Emma responds when we get too… close. She pushes back just as hard.”
The change in the mood is immediate, confirming my gathering suspicions about just how close we’re all getting.
Jude gives about as much insight into his grasp of emotions as I’ve ever heard from him. “She retreats when she feels pressured.”
“Yes, exactly. Combine that with all th
e stress she’s under…”
“And she doesn’t know who to trust right now,” Jax finishes. He says it like he knows how it feels.
“How can she not trust us?” Gunner’s such an open book, he genuinely doesn’t get it. “We’d never pull any of that shit. She has to know that.”
“Does she?” I counter. “We’ve known each other for years; she’s known us for, what? Less than two months? And look at what’s been going on ever since she met us.”
“Fuck,” Jude mutters, relaxing out of his stiff posture. “She said something to that effect the other day. It’s all been happening since the Gala, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say. “How does that look, you think?”
Daniel rubs his chin as he leans over the table. “I suppose we did offer that apartment at a very convenient time. That alone might cast doubt about ulterior motives.”
“What?” Gunner turns his hands up. “We came to her rescue.”
Jax tilts his head at Gunner. “You really think Emma’s the type that wants rescuing?”
Gunner looks down at the table and his open palms resting there. “No, I guess not,” he admits. “But I still say it was a good thing we did, and I’m glad she’s close by. I like knowing that at least she’s safe when she’s at home.”
“Me, too,” Jude says. He glances around at all of us. “Look, I know our intentions were pure, but Trigg might be right. It looks pretty damn convenient — the timing of everything.”
I stand, moving to join Jax by the windows. “We’ve all seen how independent she is. If we gather the wagons, as you say, we might just succeed in driving her away. She’s only accepting our help because she is — in all reality — getting into dire straits. Not because she wants us to be her shining knights.”
“She’s running on fumes,” Jude says, the stiffness returning to his backbone. “We can’t not help.”
“We’re already overstepping our bounds,” I say quietly.
Hidden Agenda Page 14