Body Double

by Alane Hudson

  “Oh, gosh. Sure.” Tracy pulled a leash out of a desk drawer and handed it to Andrea. “He’s super well trained, never pulls on the leash or anything. He’s used to walking on the left. There are plastic poop bags in that little pouch there, in case he goes number two. I usually take him to the empty lot down the street. Just go out the door to the right. You’ll see it at the end of the block.”

  “Hank, do you want to go for a walk?” Andrea snapped the leash on Hank’s collar, and he wagged his tail stump while he danced impatiently. “We’ll be back in a bit.” With a firm grasp on the leash, she opened the door, expecting Hank to dart out and yank her along with him, but he waited for her to exit first. Impressive. “Here we go, Hankie pankie. Don’t be shy.” She headed across the parking lot with the dog on her left, and then continued down the sidewalk to the right, where he had a long patch of grass to potty in. The dog walked so calmly by her side, he might not even have needed a leash. “What a good boy you are.”

  As they walked, Hank paused briefly to water the lampposts, signposts, a fire hydrant, and choice tufts of grass. He was a pleasure to walk, and it was a lovely day under a cloudless sky. When she reached the end of the block, she started to cross the street to take him to the empty lot but wondered whether Tracy would mind if they walked all the way around the block. She’d worn another of Sarah’s sundresses, but she chosen flat sandals instead of heels and didn’t mind the walk. Hank might appreciate the chance for a little more exercise. Instead of crossing, she turned and continued down her new route.

  They walked in companionable silence, turning the corner when they reached the next street, and another to return. Andrea contemplated her evening plans, wondering what to wear to dinner with Blake’s mom. It promised to be a pleasant evening. Hopefully, Gloria wasn’t the kind of person who found sport in humiliating her son by telling embarrassing stories about him as a child.

  A white van was parked at the curb ahead. As she passed, she happened to glance into the window and saw a man holding a pair of stadium glasses to his eyes. She faced forward again, wondering in passing what he was looking at. All she could see from there was The Lighthouse’s parking lot, the dentist’s office across the street, and an occasional car going by. A moment later, the van pulled up alongside her, and the passenger window opened. Andrea stopped, thinking the driver needed directions.

  “Excuse me,” said the driver, a man with dark hair and light eyes. “Do you have the time?”

  She checked her watch and started to reply when someone inside the van said, “Es ella. Es Sarah Gentry.”

  “Agarren la,” the man inside the van shouted. The side panel door slid open to the left. Two men jumped out, each reaching for her. She was too slow to react, and the men got hold of her arms and started dragging her to the van.

  Hank growled and snarled. One man grunted and began to scream, and he released her to fight Hank off. The other shouted something in Spanish and wrapped one arm around her torso while he put a cloth-wrapped hand over her mouth. Andrea struggled to get free, to scream, but he was too strong. He wrestled her into the back of the van, and it started forward, even though one of their men was being ripped apart by Hank. Andrea had to get away now or she might not live to see another day.

  Two cracks pierced the air, followed by a heart-wrenching yelp. Her ears rang through a cottony silence. The taste of metal and dirty charcoal burned the back of her throat. The arm around her waist loosened, and she slammed her elbow up and back, connected with the man’s face, and broke free. She dove through the open door.

  She barely felt the pavement as she hit and tumbled, just focused on scrambling to her feet and running back the way she’d come. Hank was lying on his side in the gutter, covered in blood.

  The third man limped toward the van, his pant leg and forearm torn and bloody. His friend beckoned him to hurry, yelling, “Apúrate!” The one in the van grasped his arm and pulled him in, and the van sped off. She tried to get the license plate number, but all she caught was X0EJ.

  Andrea fell to her knees beside Hank, muttering, “X0EJ” under her breath. “Stay with me, Hank. X0EJ, X0EJ.” On the sidewalk nearby was her purse. She ran over and grabbed it and tore through its contents for her cell phone. With trembling fingers, she dialed nine-one-one as she returned to Hank’s side.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” the dispatcher asked. Andrea could barely hear her over the ringing in her ears.

  “Three men in a van tried to abduct me. I got away, but they shot Hank.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m in Fremont on Wilder Street.” Andrea looked up at the boarded up building in front of her for a number. “Five fifty Wilder Street.”

  “Okay, what’s your name?”

  “Andrea Lindholm.”

  “Were you injured, Andrea?”

  Andrea couldn’t feel any pain, but she checked herself over in case adrenaline was dulling her senses. “No, I don’t think so. Just scraped up from jumping out of the van.”

  “You said someone’s been shot?”

  She started to tell the dispatcher that the men had shot her canine companion but decided against it. They might not send an ambulance if they knew Hank was a dog. “Yes, his name’s Hank. Please hurry.”

  “Where is Hank now?”

  “He’s lying in the gutter, bleeding.”

  “Is he conscious?”

  “Yes, but he’s struggling to breathe.” Beside her, Hank was panting heavily, his bloody mouth open and tongue lolling onto the curb. Two bullet holes, one in his thigh, the other in his shoulder, leaked dark blood into his black fur. Oh, Hank. Her eyes welled with tears. “Stay with me, baby. Don’t you dare die.”

  “Where was he shot?” the operator asked.

  “In the leg and shoulder. He’s not doing so well.”

  “Do you think you could apply pressure to his wounds to help control the bleeding?”

  She didn’t want to hurt Hank any more than he was already hurting, but she didn’t want him to bleed to death, either. “I think so.” She put the phone on speaker and set it down by her knee. She put one hand over the bullet hole in Hank’s thigh and the other over the hole in his shoulder and pressed down. Hank groaned, and his dark eyes rolled to look up at her. “I’m sorry, buddy. I know it hurts. Help’s coming.”

  “How old is Hank?”

  “I don’t know.” She guessed he was about four, which would make him twenty-eight in dog years. “Around thirty, maybe. Can you just hurry?”

  “Yes, ma’am, help is already on the way. I want to get a little more information from you while it’s fresh in your mind.” She questioned Andrea about the van and the direction of travel, the number of occupants, and their descriptions.

  Andrea did her best to give the woman the requested information. “I got part of the license plate: X0EJ.”

  “Was it a California plate?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Do you know the three subjects in the van?”

  “No, I’ve never seen them before,” she said. She heard the sirens in the distance and saw the flashing lights as the ambulance raced up the street toward her. Thank goodness. She kept pressure on Hank’s wounds until the vehicle stopped and two EMTs jumped out. “They’re here,” she told the dispatcher.

  “All right. I’m disconnecting now,” the dispatcher said. “Best of luck, ma’am.”

  The two men, dressed in blue uniforms, stopped short. “Where’s the gunshot victim?” one asked.

  “Right here. Hank’s the victim. Help him, please.”

  “Ma’am, you’ll have to take him to an emergency veterinary hospital. We don’t transport animals.”

  The other asked, “Were you injured, ma’am?”

  “No, I’m okay. Please help Hank. Don’t leave him here to die. I’ll pay for the transport. Please! He saved my life.”

  The two EMTs conferred for a moment, one more animated than the other, then retrieved the gurney from
the back of the ambulance. Thank goodness.

  A siren announced the approach of another vehicle. Moments later, a police car screeched to a stop a few yards behind the ambulance. Two cops got out and surveyed the scene. One asked her what happened while the EMTs gently lifted Hank onto the stretcher. To his credit, Hank seemed to recognize that these men were there to help, and he let them lift him without making a peep.

  Andrea did her best to describe the van and the men who had tried to abduct her.

  The EMTs had Hank in the ambulance and were ready to leave before Andrea finished telling the police everything, but she couldn’t let them take Hank without her. She dropped her cell phone back into her purse and went to the rear of the ambulance to get in. “Hank bit one of the guys pretty badly when they attacked me,” she told the cops. “Can you come with us to the emergency vet? You can maybe swab his teeth for DNA while he’s under anesthesia.”

  One of the police officers nodded and put his pad of paper and pen away. “Which animal hospital?”

  “Whichever is closest.”

  The ambulance driver checked his GPS and announced, “Wilson Veterinary Hospital,” along with its cross streets.

  Andrea climbed into the back of the ambulance and took a seat next to Hank on the gurney. “I’m here, Hank. Just hang on, baby. We’ll get you patched up in no time.”

  Hank panted, his bloody tongue lolling onto the white sheet and his gaze distant.

  The EMT riding back there with her apologized for not having the supplies on hand to give him pain relief or oxygen. “I don’t want to give him the wrong thing,” he said. “The hospital isn’t far away. Can I take a look at your arms? You got scraped up a bit.” His name tag read Adam.

  It wasn’t until he said so that she realized her elbows and undersides of her forearms burned. She extended her arms and twisted them around to have a look and found them raw, the skin completely scraped off. “Yikes.”

  “Yeah,” Adam said. “A little Betadine and gauze wouldn’t be a bad thing. What do you say?”

  Andrea looked at Hank. Compared to his wounds, her little scrapes were insignificant.

  Adam put a comforting hand on Andrea’s forearm. “We’ll get him there in time. Don’t worry. Meanwhile, let’s get you fixed up.” He ripped open a package of wipes to clean her scrapes, and she nodded, presenting her arms for him to work on.

  “Mark’s going to hit the roof when he finds out,” the driver said over his shoulder. “Probably put us both on suspension.”

  Andrea felt terrible. “Oh, no. Would it help if I called him? I talked you into it. I begged you to do it. You could tell him I was a bit hysterical too.”

  Adam shook his head. He had a gentle touch as he tended her wound, digging small bits of asphalt and pebbles out with tweezers and cleaning and bandaging it. “It’ll be okay. Our boss is a dog lover, and Hank here is a hero. We’ll break it to him that way, once we clean up the truck. The dog hair is probably the biggest concern. And hopefully, Hank doesn’t have fleas.”

  “This ride is going to cost about three grand, you know,” the driver said.

  She took Hank’s huge paw in her hand. “No problem.” Two weeks ago, she’d have sweated and fretted over that kind of bill, but after spending the last two weeks living as a wealthy heiress and bride, a few thousand dollars seemed insignificant. She would pay the bill out of her six million, or she would ask Blake to loan it to her. Either way, Hank was getting whatever he needed. Paying the medical bills of the hero who’d saved her life was the least she could do.

  The emergency vet hospital worked quickly and efficiently to transfer Hank from the ambulance’s gurney to their own and wheeled him through the front double doors, through the lobby, and down a hallway. The receptionist assured Andrea they would do the best they could to help the injured dog.

  “He might have one of my attacker’s DNA in his teeth,” she said. “The police are on their way to collect it. Please don’t wash his mouth out until they get the evidence.”

  Andrea gave the EMTs her address and telephone number and assured them she would pay for the ambulance and then thanked them both with a brief hug. “If your boss gives you a hard time, please call me. I’ll go and speak to him myself.”

  Adam tapped his notepad where he’d written her phone number. “Will do. Hey, would you mind if I called to check on Hank? I’d like to know how he’s doing. And you, of course. You’ve had quite a scare.”

  Andrea wasn’t sure he was flirting with her or just being thoughtful. “That’s kind of you. Yes, feel free.” She used her left hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear so he could see the wedding ring on her finger. Though it wasn’t hers, she wanted to discourage any male attention.

  He glanced at her hand, but his kindly smile didn’t fall. “Take care, Andrea.”

  The receptionist asked for information about Andrea and Hank, but since she wasn’t Hank’s owner, she took out her cell to call The Lighthouse. When Tracy answered the phone, she said, “Hi, Tracy, it’s Andrea.”

  “Thank goodness. Is everything okay? You’ve been gone a while.”

  “Not yet, but it will be.” She told Tracy a condensed version of the events that led up to the current moment, trying to both calm Tracy’s hysterical response and assure her that the veterinarians were working to save Hank. “Right now, though, I need your contact info to give to the hospital.” She put the phone on speaker and let Tracy give the receptionist the necessary information.

  “I’m on my way down there,” Tracy said. In the background, Andrea heard the shuffling of papers and drawers opening and shutting.

  “All right. Drive carefully. Hank’s going to be fine.”

  Andrea gave Sarah’s debit card to the receptionist to cover the payment. When the woman noticed Sarah’s name on the card, Andrea showed her Sarah’s driver’s license and the power of attorney paperwork to ease her mind. When the charge went through, she handed the card back.

  “That’s nice of you to pay for someone else’s dog’s surgery.”

  Andrea said, “Hank saved my life. It’s the least I can do.”

  The receptionist asked her to have a seat and wait while the doctors did their thing. Andrea sat anxiously with her cell phone in hand, dreading the next call she would need to make. She knew Blake well enough to know he was going to flip out.

  The next half hour passed in a blur. When Tracy arrived, she barely acknowledged Andrea’s presence in the waiting room, let alone her having survived a terrifying abduction attempt. Instead, she demanded to be taken to where Hank was, just coming out of surgery. Andrea could hardly blame her; Hank was her baby. Andrea was just some new-hire social worker who had a bizarre arrangement with her boss—and the woman responsible for Hank getting shot.

  A crime scene technician arrived with a detective who introduced herself as Detective Lowry. While the detective got the details of Andrea’s story, the technician collected DNA from Hank’s mouth.

  Lowry wanted her to go down to the police station to look at mug shots in the hopes she could identify the men who attacked her. She agreed to go with the detective, but first she sent a text to Blake: Are you busy?

  Not terribly. What’s up? came his reply a moment later.

  This wasn’t something she wanted to tell him in a text, and so she dialed his number.

  “Hi, babe. How’s everyone holding up over there?”

  “Blake, something’s happened. I was out walking Tracy’s dog, Hank, when three men in a van tried to kidnap me—”

  “What?” he asked, his voice sharp with alarm.

  “—thinking I was Sarah. Hank fought them off, and I got away.”

  “Oh, baby,” he cried, obviously anguished. “Did they hurt you?”

  “No, I’m just a little scraped and bruised is all, but they shot Hank. We’re at the emergency vet now, but I need to go to the police station to look at pictures of bad guys.”

  “Which station? I’ll meet you there.”

&nb
sp; “There’s nothing you can do, hon. I just wanted you to know so you wouldn’t worry.”

  “Not worry? Jesus, Andrea. How can I not worry when there are men out there trying to get you? Which station?”

  She asked Lowry which police station she was taking her to and relayed that information to Blake.

  “I’m on my way.”

  After assuring him again that she wasn’t badly injured, they hung up.

  Andrea dug into her purse for a scrap of paper and wrote down her cell number. “Would you call me with updates about Hank?” she asked, sliding the paper across the counter to the receptionist.

  The woman gave her a sympathetic smile. “Of course. He’s in great hands. Don’t worry about a thing, Andrea.”

  Blake hopped into his Jaguar and punched in the address of the police station in Fremont where Andrea said she was going to look at perp photos. He didn’t want the distraction of having to find it on his own. Dealing with idiots on the road when he was in a hurry was bad enough. He slammed his palms on the wheel when the car in front of him, driving at nearly ten miles under the speed limit, caused him to miss a green light. Come on, damn it. Andrea needed him. She was surely terrified, scraped up, and worried about her safety.

  This was all his fault. If he hadn’t gone through with Sarah’s crazy plan, Andrea would’ve been safe in her own apartment right now, not sitting in a damned police station looking at mug shots.

  Three men in a van, she’d said. He didn’t know any more than that—not the color, make, or model, not a vague description of the would-be kidnappers. As he drove, he kept his eyes open for vans with three men inside, hoping his instincts would tell him if he spotted them. When he passed a cop, he realized he’d been speeding and backed off on the accelerator. Sure, he could usually talk his way out of a ticket, but being pulled over would delay him getting to Andrea.

  He didn’t even know how badly she’d been injured. His stomach was in knots, and his adrenaline fueled his muscles as if preparing him to fight. Bastards. This was his wife they were fucking with, and nobody fucked with his family. Nobody.