The Guardian

Jennifer considered it. She wasn't getting anywhere with what she was doing, but she wasn't sure where it would lead. Sure, they might find someone who saw him leave the car, but what then? What they needed to know was where he was now.

"No," she said, "I think I'll keep looking through the files. Maybe there's something that I missed."

Though drapes covered most of the windows, the dining room window was open, and Richard watched for shadows. Other than the sound of the waves, he could hear nothing. The air had become still, almost as if joining him in breathless anticipation.

Julie would be heading for the back door soon; she usually didn't let Singer stay out for more than twenty minutes or so, and he wanted to see her face when she called for him. Staring toward the house, he allowed himself to hope that she would forgive him for what he had done.

He would comfort her, but there would be time for that later. After all the ugliness was over. When it was just the two of them, the way it was supposed to be.

Singer started up the steps to the back porch, then went down the beach again to pace in circles, his tongue hanging out. He started trotting, as if trying to shake the pain from his belly.

He had already begun to pant.

Jennifer pored over the information on Jessica Franklin, wondering how he'd been able to find her.

Had he tracked her using credit cards? Doubtful, she thought. Unless he knew someone in law enforcement, that seemed unlikely. How else, then? She wondered if someone in her family had called Jessica and he'd somehow been able to track the number to where she was staying. It was possible-most people simply threw their bills away after paying them-and all he would have had to do was to call every long-distance number listed in the record. But it would have entailed sorting through garbage . . . or breaking into their house when they weren't home.

He'd done it with Julie, she thought, so maybe . . .

She wondered whether Topsail was a long-distance call from Swansboro. If so, she would have to warn Henry, Emma, and Mabel not to call Mike and Julie-and if they already had called, to burn the records as soon as they'd paid them.

Her mind wandered back to the car.

It wasn't surprising that he'd abandoned it, of course, but he had to have some way to get around. How, then? Taxi? She thought about it, then dismissed that idea. He was smart enough to know that the pickup and drop-off would have been recorded, and based on how easily he'd vanished in the past, she didn't think he'd make a mistake like that.

So if he was still around, and if he was looking for Julie, how would he get around?

Tapping the phone book with her finger, she saw Captain Morrison moving through the office.

"Captain?"

He glanced at her in surprise. "I thought you'd be heading off to the hospital to check out the car."

"I thought about it, but . . ."

"But what?"

"Where exactly is the hospital?" Jennifer asked. "The center of town? On the outskirts?"

"Right in the middle of town. Why?"

"What's around there? I mean, have you been in that area before?"

"Sure, many times. There's a group of doctors offices, gas stations, the mall. Like I said, it's in the center of town."

"How close is the mall?"

"Right across the street." He paused. "What's up?"

"I'm just wondering how he's getting around. Do you think it's possible that he stole a car?"

The captain's eyebrows rose. "I'll check it out. Let me make a call."

Jennifer nodded, her mind already going through the scenarios. She reached for the keys to the squad car.

"Where are you going?" Morrison asked.

"I think I am going to head toward the hospital to see if they found anything useful. If you hear anything about a stolen car, let me know immediately, okay?"

"You got it."

Julie wandered to the window and put her face to the glass, scanning the beach.

"Have you heard Singer bark yet?" she asked.

Mike came up beside her. "No, not yet. I don't think he's come back yet."

"How long's he been outside?"

"Not that long. I'm sure he'll be back any minute."

Julie nodded. In the distance, she could see the faint lights from a trawler off the coast. Though the beach was dark, she thought she'd be able to see Singer.

"Maybe I should go call for him."

"Do you want me to do it?"

"No, that's okay. I need a bit of fresh air anyway."

Pete watched her as she crossed to the door.

Richard leaned forward when he saw her appear in the window, her face illuminated. He knew with sudden certainty that he'd never loved anyone as much as he loved her.

Then Mike broke into the image, ruining it. Ruining everything before they both vanished from the window. He shook his head. He didn't regret what would happen to Mike.

Richard waited, knowing what she was going to do. In just a moment, he would hear her voice, echoing in the salty air. If he was lucky, she might venture down to the beach, but he wasn't counting on it. No, she'd call for Singer, but he wouldn't come.

Singer would stay exactly where he was.

Julie called for nearly three minutes, moving from the doorway to both ends of the porch, before Mike joined her.

"Not back yet?" he asked.

Julie shook her head. "No. I can't see him, either."

Mike looked from side to side, in both directions. "Do you want me to go look for him? Maybe he can't hear you because of the waves."

Julie smiled. "Thanks."

Mike walked down the steps. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

A minute later, she heard Mike's voice as he, too, began to call Singer's name.

Forty-one

Jennifer Romanello squinted into the oncoming headlights. Lack of sleep in the last couple of days had taken its toll, and her eyes ached. She was wondering whether to stop for a cup of coffee to help keep her awake when she heard the radio crackle to life. Recognizing the captain's voice, she reached for the mike.

"Looks like we might have something," Morrison said. "I just got off with the department in Jacksonville and they had a report of a stolen car from the mall parking lot on the same day Richard vanished. It's registered to a Shane Clinton, and he lives in Jacksonville."

"Do you have an address?"

"Yeah-412 Melody Lane."

"What kind of car was it?"

"A 1984 Pontiac Trans Am. Green." He recited the license plate number and offered, "We've already got an APB out on it."

Jennifer made a mental note. "Have you talked to him yet?"

"No, but he lives right near the hospital. Do you want his phone number?"

"Sure."

Morrison recited it, and Jennifer committed it to memory, then decided to head that way.

Mike's feet sank into the sand as he moved down the beach. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see Julie standing on the porch, her image growing smaller with each step he took.

"Singer!" he bellowed again.

His eyes were gradually adjusting to the darkness, and he scanned the dunes, watching for the dog. He knew that Singer sometimes wandered over the dunes to explore in between the houses, but it was strange that he hadn't come back yet.

He was cupping his hands to call again when he noticed a shadow off to his left, near a set of stairs. He squinted, moving closer, and then recognized the shape in the sand. Turning around, he shouted in Julie's direction.

"Found him!"

He took another couple of steps forward. "What're you doing? Come on. Let's go back inside."

Singer's tail moved slightly, and Mike heard what sounded like a low whine. The dog was panting hard, his tongue out. His chest was rising and falling rapidly.

"You look like you wore yourself out . . . ," he started, but as Singer whined again, he paused.

"You okay?" he asked.

Still, Singer didn't move.

"Singer?" he asked again.

Mike squatted down and put a hand on the dog's chest; he could feel Singer's heart beating fast. The look in his eyes was glazed and unfocused. Singer didn't respond to his touch, and it was then that he noticed that one of Singer's rear legs was quivering.

Pete Gandy joined Julie on the back porch.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Julie glanced at him. "Just waiting for Mike and Singer to get back."

Pete nodded and they stood in silence, both of them watching the beach. Julie was just beginning to wonder where they were when she heard Mike calling her name. Even from a distance, she could hear the sound of panic in his voice. A moment later, he appeared on the sand below.

"It's Singer!" Mike shouted. "Something's wrong! Come on!"

It took a moment for the words to register, and she blinked.

"What do you mean? What's wrong?" she shouted back.

"I don't know! Hurry!" Mike yelled.

Her chest suddenly constricting, Julie started for the steps.

"Wait," Pete said. He tried to grab her arm to stop her, but Julie was already past him. Watching her charge down the steps, he debated whether or not to follow them.

"Shit," he mumbled, then headed toward the beach.

Richard watched the three of them as they began to run down the beach. As they moved farther into the distance, he could feel the adrenaline race into his system. It had begun.

When they finally vanished from sight, he crept over the dune. Staying low in the shadows, he moved toward the house, tire iron in hand.

Breathing hard as she tried to keep up with Mike, Julie felt the pangs of panic begin to take hold. Behind her, she could hear Pete calling her name, pleading with her to return to the house.

A moment later, he saw where Mike was heading-and saw Singer lying in the sand.

Julie began to tremble as she ran to Singer. By the time Pete reached her, both Julie and Mike were hovering over the dog.

"What's going on?" Pete panted.

"Singer? What's wrong, baby?" Julie crooned as she stroked the fur on his back.

No response. Julie looked at Mike with a child's expression, her eyes pleading with him to tell her that she had nothing to worry about, that she was mistaken, that there was no reason to be frightened.

"Why isn't he moving?" Pete asked.

"Mike?" she asked.

"I don't know," he mumbled. "I just found him like this. . . ."

"Maybe he's tired," Pete offered, but Mike's stare cut him short.

"What's wrong with him?" Julie cried. "Help him!"

Mike gently lifted Singer's head from the sand. "C'mon, boy, get up. . . ."

Singer's neck was rigid, and his panting intensified, as if the movement had hurt him. When he whimpered, Mike lowered his head. Pete looked from Mike to Singer to Julie, wondering what to do next, feeling as confused as the others.

"We've got to do something!" Julie screamed.

It was her anguished wail that finally forced Mike into action. "Pete-go back to the house and see if you can find an emergency veterinarian."

"I'm not supposed to leave you alone-"

"Just go!" Mike shouted. "And hurry!"

"But-"

"Just get going!"

"Okay, okay," he said. A moment later he was charging into the darkness, leaving Mike and Julie with Singer.

Even as he ran, Pete could hear Julie's wails behind him.

Jennifer had just entered the Jacksonville city limits when she realized that something was gnawing at her. It had started a few minutes after Morrison had given her the information over the radio, but she hadn't been able to put a finger on why she felt so uneasy.

She was missing something, she thought. But what?

Up ahead, only distant taillights were visible, and the road seemed to split the world in two. The engine whined as she held her foot to the accelerator. The reflectors on the highway passed beneath the tires in a rapid stutter.

It wasn't about the stolen car . . . or was it? And if so . . .

She couldn't figure it out, but she knew it was there. Something in her subconscious, something obvious, something just out of reach.

Okay, she thought, going through it again. Richard's car had been abandoned. Check. The car was stolen around the time that Richard would have arrived in Jacksonville. Check. Put those two together, and she suspected-no, she knew that Richard had taken it. Check.

What had the captain said? The make and model of the car, the person who owned it, the address where the young man lived. She thought about it. The last two meant nothing, she decided, but what about the make and model of the car?

Green Pontiac Trans Am.

The kind of car she'd wanted back in high school. . . .

She frowned, wondering why that thought seemed so familiar.

From the porch, Richard heard Julie screaming about her dog. For a moment, he stopped to listen to the wailing, feeling a twinge of sympathy. He'd known that it would be hard for her, of course, but actually hearing it-the fear and heartbreak-affected him more deeply than he'd thought it would.

He didn't want Julie to be upset, and he wished there could have been some other way. But there wasn't. He'd had to do it. Had Singer been a gentle dog, a sweet dog, he would never have hurt him. But Singer was as confused and temperamental as she was.

Julie's cries grew louder, more frantic, and the sound was terrible. He felt sorry for her and wanted to apologize, but he would save that for later, when she could see through her pain and recognize that he'd done it for the two of them.

Maybe he would get her another dog, after all this was behind them. Though he'd never wanted a dog, he realized that he could do that for her. They could pick out a dog together, and she would forget all about Singer. Maybe they'd make a special trip to the pound and get a dog who liked to fetch the way Singer did. Or they'd look through the newspaper and find someone selling puppies and pick the one they both thought was best.

Yes, he thought, that was it. Another dog. A better dog. That's what he would do for her when all this was over. She would like that. It would make her happy, and that's all he'd ever wanted for her. Happiness.

Now that he was feeling more in control, her cries sounded more distant to him.

On the beach, he saw a sudden movement. Knowing what it meant, Richard retreated to the corner, where he hid in the shadows.

Pete Gandy rushed up the steps, across the porch, and through the back door, racing for the kitchen. He tore open the drawer beneath the phone so hard that it nearly broke, and he grabbed the directory.

"C'mon, c'mon," he said as he began flipping through the pages, looking for the nearest veterinarian.

He found the right section and began running his finger down the page, looking for someone who might be able to handle an emergency.

The nearest animal hospital was in Jacksonville, thirty minutes away, and with sudden certainty he knew that the dog wouldn't last that long.

What should I do? Pete thought. What do I do now?

He forced himself to order his frantic thoughts.

The names of the vets were listed, and he decided to call them at home, since it was too late for offices to be open. It was the only chance the dog had. But that entailed looking up phone numbers one by one.

And time was running out.

Jennifer had stopped at a red light in the heart of Jacksonville. Though technically she was making her way toward Melody Lane to talk with Shane Clinton, her mind was still sorting through the problem of the green Pontiac Trans Am.

The kind of car she'd wanted in high school.

She'd had the same thought recently, but where? At the station? No, she'd barely left her desk in the last couple of days. At her apartment? No, not there, either. Where else, then?

The light turned green and Jennifer shook her head as the car started forward again.

Have I been anywhere? Only to talk to Julie and Mike, when I dropped Pete of

f. . . .

Her hands tightened on the wheel.

No, she thought, it couldn't be. . . .

Reaching for her cell phone, she pressed the accelerator to the floor, knowing it would take at least twenty minutes to reach Topsail Beach . . . and the green Trans Am she'd seen parked up the road.

Pete Gandy was flipping back and forth through the phone book, running his finger down the pages, growing more and more frustrated. There were over a dozen vets listed, but most of them lived in Jacksonville, too far away to help.

There were three names left, and he turned the pages in search of the next possibility, the thin paper tearing in his fingers.

Linda Patinson was next on the list, and he turned to each section of the phone book that listed the localities. She didn't live in Jacksonville, nor did she live in Orton or Maysville. Turning to the final section, he scanned the page and found a Linda Patinson.

Her home was in Sneads Ferry, just ten minutes up the road.

He picked up the receiver and began to dial; he hit the wrong numbers and hung up, forcing himself to take a deep breath in the process. Calm down, he told himself. If I sound crazy, she's not going to help.

He began dialing again, and the phone on the other end began to ring.

Once.

Twice.

"C'mon . . ."

Three times.

Then four.

"Be home . . ."

There was a click as someone at the other end picked up.

"Hello?"

The voice sounded young, like that of a college student.

"Hi, I'm Officer Pete Gandy with the Swansboro Police Department. I'm sorry for calling, but is this Linda Patinson the veterinarian?"

There was a moment's pause. "Yes," she said. Her voice sounded wary.

"I don't know what else to do. Our dog looks like he's having convulsions of some sort."

"Well, there's an emergency vet clinic in Jacksonville."

"I know. But I don't think he'd make it that long. . . . He's shaking all over and he's breathing really fast. His heart's going and he can't even lift his head."

Pete went on, describing Singer's condition as best he could, and when he finished, Linda Patinson hesitated. Though relatively new in practice-she'd been out of school only a few years-she knew this was serious, not only from the panic in Pete's voice, but because of the symptoms he was describing.