Chasing Her Tail (8 page)

“Tonight. Where’s Sam now?” To Micah’s relief, Joey sounded as if he’d recovered from his initial shock. Micah hadn’t intended on telling his brother anything over the phone but his frustration had sent the words flying out of his mouth before he’d thought them through.

“School,” Micah told him. “I don’t think he’s in any immediate danger. Carlson’s guys seem to be focused on the woman. She’s Sam’s teacher though, so I don’t want them tracing him through her.”

After a pause, Joey asked, “D’you think it’s true then? That Carlson collects people like us for his own personal zoo?”

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“I don’t know,” Micah sighed. “His men were in her house. He wants her for something.”

“Where’s this new dog then? She at school too?”

“No,” Micah told him. “The principal told me she called in sick last night. Sam’s class has a sub. He just told me this morning about…biting her, so I was on my way over to see her. I’d just arrived when she came running out of the house and took off down the street. Once I hang up with you, I’ll track her down. She’s probably curled up in a hole somewhere, freaked out of her mind.”

“Shit.” It was Joey’s turn to sigh. “I can’t believe Sammy bit someone.”

“Yeah, me either.” Micah turned the key in the ignition. “Call when you get in and we’ll pick you up at the airport.”

“Will do,” Joey agreed. “Oh, and Micah?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck tracking down your woman.”

“She’s not my…” Micah trailed off when he realized that Joey had already hung up.

The sedan that had been parked in front of Bridget’s house was gone. Micah rolled past the now-open space and parked farther down the street. He noticed as he passed that the front door was closed and presumably locked, so Micah walked around to the backyard.

He saw the open door on the garden shed and headed toward the small building.

Ducking inside, he pulled the door almost closed behind him and yanked off his shirt.

Toeing off his shoes, Micah reached down to pull his socks free. He stripped off his pants and boxer briefs too, having learned the hard way that some items of clothing were harder to get rid of once he had paws. He tucked the car keys and his watch into one of his pants pockets and then, completely naked, changed into a dog.

Now Micah could smell that she’d been here, in this very spot, for quite a while.

Her scent made his heart accelerate. Ignoring that reaction as a complication he couldn’t think about at the moment, he nudged the door open and slipped out of the shed.

Moving quickly, he cut across backyards until he reached the house where she’d wiggled beneath the fence earlier.

It was a simple matter to pick up the path she’d taken. He caught the heady scent of Bridget, as well as the odor of disturbed earth and slightly crushed vegetation caused by the tread of her paws. Settling into a steady trot, Micah followed her route automatically while he tried to work out a plan for when he found her.

Shit
, he thought. This was getting more and more messy. How could a six-year-old be the cause of so much trouble? Giving an impatient huff, he sped up, his nose filled with Bridget’s scent.

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Bridget’s panicked dash had slowed into a regular trot. She’d reached the outskirts of the city and the houses were getting farther apart. Neighborhoods were replaced by sprawling farms with battered outbuildings and fields that disappeared over the rolls of faraway hills.

She needed a plan, a destination. Although she didn’t feel comfortable going back to her house, she needed to find internet access somewhere, to find someone like her or at least some information that could help her. The two burglars’ conversation repeated itself over and over in her head as she tried to make sense of it. Was Micah Foster the boss? He’d shown up so quickly after they had called. Why else would he have been at her house? He’d chased her too, which meant he had to have known who she was—or at least
what
she was.

A faint barking brought her out of her daydream. She whipped around, immediately on guard, not sure what—or
who
—to expect. A black and white dog was heading toward her at a full gallop. She could smell him now—his morning kibble and the pigs he guarded and, most reassuringly, the scent of ordinary, non-human dog.

Bridget was so relieved that he wasn’t a human in dog’s clothing that the dog was almost on her before she turned to run. His barks changed to a snarl and his teeth snapped together with an audible crack. Part of Bridget wanted to stay, to fight, to roll the smaller dog beneath her and press her teeth into his throat, but the human part of her was appalled at this urge and that part told her to run.

Bunching her hindquarters beneath her, Bridget shot forward, her tail tucked safely away from the threatening teeth close behind her. She gained ground quickly, her longer legs carrying her across the weed-strewn pasture. At the edge of the field, she flattened her body and wriggled beneath the bottom of a wire fence. As soon as her hind end was clear, she was off and running again, the barks of the pursuing dog growing fainter.

She didn’t slow down until she’d passed through the next property, staying far away from the ranch house and barn, just in case. It had been stupid of her not to expect dogs. In fact, she’d been lucky not to have seen any people, or she could have been picked up as a stray or shot at by one of the farm owners.

Her stomach rumbled and she ignored it. The only food to be had around here was the small creatures hiding in the tall grass. Occasionally she’d hear the rustle of movement or catch a warm rodent scent. As acceptable as the canine part of her found eating a mouse, the human part was adamantly against it and totally grossed out by the idea.

What she needed was a town. Although that would mean more people, it also meant internet access and the possibility of real, from-a-store, cooked food. She’d be naked when she changed back to human form, which meant she’d also need clothes.

Bridget stopped for a few seconds to get her bearings. She’d gone south out of town and, according to the sun, she was still headed roughly south. Therefore, unless she’d gotten completely turned around, she should stumble into the town of Myra sooner or 42

Title

later. She’d driven through the town a few times on her way to the outlet mall, and Bridget didn’t think it was more than fifteen miles outside the southern edge of the city.

What she wanted to do was follow the main highway south to make sure she didn’t get lost but a dog running by the side of the road was sure to attract interest. With a sigh, Bridget set off at an even jog, ignoring her rumbling stomach and the anxious thoughts swirling in her brain.

She had a plan now, as basic as it was—get to Myra.

Where the hell is she going?
Micah fumed, coming to a halt at the edge of the city.

He’d expected her to go a few blocks and then hole up somewhere, whimpering and confused. Instead, she’d bolted—running off into the country, who knew where.

With a growl, he turned around and retraced his steps, heading back to Bridget’s house. He had to get back, change and pick Sam up from school. His brother would arrive tonight, so Micah could pick up the trail tomorrow morning, after Joey and Sam were safely headed far away from Bart Carlson.

Her trail would still be there for him. Tomorrow, he’d find her, talk to her, explain why Sam had done what he’d done… He sighed. How could he explain when Micah didn’t understand himself?

Being a dog was getting old. Bridget whined softly as she forced herself to keep up a steady speed. She was getting too hungry to ignore the rumblings of her stomach and the rodents were starting to smell better and better. Trotting down into a shallow depression, she fought her way through the tall weeds that were almost as tall as she was.

She lunged forward to jump up and out of the small ditch. Something bit into her leg and yanked her backward. With a yelp, she tried to regain her balance while struggling against whatever held her hostage. The harder she fought, the tighter the hold, shooting tearing pains up her leg.

Panting, she forced herself to calm down, to stop struggling against the invisible restraint. Twisting her body around in order to investigate, Bridget saw that a strand of barbed wire, probably left over from a long-ago fence, had circled her leg, digging into her flesh and snagging holes in her skin.

Her first instinct was to turn to her human shape and use her hands to pull the wire free, but her dog legs were much smaller and a change would bury the wire so deeply into her leg she didn’t think even her hands would be able to help. Besides, it would really, really hurt. Instead, Bridget used her teeth to tug at the encircling wire, trying to widen the loop that held her captive.

The wire, ancient and rusty, was stubborn. It resisted her efforts and panic began to rise as she imagined pursuing men—the doctor and the two burglars and even Micah Foster. At the thought of Micah, Bridget fought the wire even harder, whipping her 43

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head from side to side, ignoring the barbs that caught on her tongue and the sides of her mouth.

Pulling down on the wire, she pulled her leg up hard, feeling the skin tearing. It worked though, and her foot pulled free. Twisting around, she licked the red lines that striped her leg a few times before realizing what she was doing. Bridget gagged at the metallic taste of blood that coated her mouth, whimpering as pain sent a shiver across her body, raising her fur away from her skin.

After scrambling out of the small ditch, she gingerly walked the first few steps, testing to see if anything was truly injured. Although it hurt, the leg was able to support its share of her weight, so she moved forward, determined to get to town before it got dark. She could feel the slow trickle of blood dampening her fur and running down the side of her paw. Squashing another rush of panic, Bridget tried to reassure herself by reasoning that the flow of blood was good since it would wash out the bacteria from the rusty wire.

As she tried to remember when her last tetanus booster had been, Bridget decided the danger of the road couldn’t be worse than dogs and barbed wire. She could hear the occasional rumble and whoosh of traffic in the distance and she changed course to intersect the road.

Everything looked grainy and gray as dusk began to fall. Bridget increased her speed to a trot, hopping quickly off the injured hind leg with each stride. She could see the road, an asphalt interruption of ditch weeds, and saw that drivers had turned on their headlights. Falling in next to the road but far enough away to be out of direct sight, Bridget ran toward the town of Myra.

Her leg throbbed each time it moved and her stomach clenched in hunger. She began to doubt her decision—why hadn’t she stayed at her house and called the cops on those men? She didn’t know where she was headed, only that Myra had looked decent enough. Once she did arrive, Bridget wasn’t sure what she planned on doing there.

She’d like to go back to her house but she was afraid that someone was watching it.

One of the burglars had said her car was being monitored. She realized that, as she’d been thinking, her limping jog had slowed to a walk. Speeding up again, Bridget pressed on.

When the first raindrops hit, she wanted to cry. Only the thought that it might draw the attention of other dogs, wolves or people stopped her from throwing back her head and howling. Instead, she lowered her head, shook herself and trudged on. The drizzle was heavy enough to send rivulets through her thick fur that tickled as they ran down her body. Her injury stung as the water touched it, although the cool liquid did feel good against the inflamed skin around the cuts.

With her tail and head tucked, she almost walked right into the wall of a house.

Peering through the falling rain, Bridget saw there were several houses bordering the street. With a shuddering sigh of relief, she realized she’d made it to Myra.

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Micah made Sam’s favorite after-school snack—celery with peanut butter, washed down by milk with a couple strawberries as a chaser. The little boy just poked at his food though, turning one piece of celery upside-down and squishing it onto the other one. Micah watched Sam, suddenly struck by how much the boy looked like Joey. “Did you see her?” Sam asked his mashed-together food.

“Yeah,” Micah said, thinking of the dog that had dashed away after glimpsing him.

“She mad at me?”

“I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“Oh.” One small finger poked at the peanut butter.

“Your dad’s coming tonight.”

That brought Sam’s head up. “Yeah?”

Micah smiled. “Yeah. He’s going to pick you up and take you on a trip.”

The light behind Sam’s eyes dimmed as quickly as it had brightened. Dropping his head, he resumed poking at his food.

“What?” Micah asked the top of the boy’s head.

“Is it…because of what I did?” Sam finally asked.

“Of course not,” Micah told him. “It’s not a punishment. You get to go somewhere warm with a beach. We’ll have to remember to pack your swim trunks.”

Sam looked at him but even the promise of swimming hadn’t lightened his expression. “Are you coming too?”

“I can’t.” Micah shook his head. “I have to find Brid— I mean, Ms. Grace.”

“Oh.” Sam traced peanut butter loops on his plate with his finger.

Looking at the brown swirls around the uneaten snack, Micah asked, “You done with that?”

When Sam nodded, Micah wiped the boy’s face and hands and sent him out to play in the fenced yard. As he cleaned up the food, he glanced out the kitchen window to see his nephew sitting in the sandbox, not playing, gazing across the lawn. Micah sighed.

He didn’t know how to reassure the kid—or even if he
should
reassure him. What Sam had done was so wrong, maybe he should have to feel some guilt.

Micah winced. The boy wasn’t even seven years old. He shouldn’t have to know what guilt was yet.

Letting out a huff of air, he put Sam’s plate in the dishwasher. He was well aware he didn’t know what he was doing with this whole child-rearing thing. He’d probably already made a shitload of mistakes that would fuck Sam up forever. In fact, this whole thing with Bridget Grace was probably Micah’s fault too.