Page 37 of Shelter for Martina

“Night, honey. I’m so glad I’m here with you.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me too.” He gave her a squeeze and she snuggled in closer to him. Bud was in heaven. They could have a good life together—he knew they could. They just had to get all the mess behind them. And he had to find Renita so Martina could have some peace.

* * *

A noise rousedBud from his sleep and he glanced at the clock. Fifteen after four. Listening, he heard it again, and in a few seconds, he knew what it was. He grabbed a pair of pajama pants, drew them on over his boxer briefs, slipped his feet into his slippers, and grabbed his shotgun. “What’s going on?” Martina asked, her voice coarse with sleep.

“Fucking coyotes. I’ll be back.” As soon as he reached the back door, he flipped on the floodlight on the back of the house and the entire back of the property was illuminated.

Sure enough, there was a pack of five circling one of his miniature horses, and the little thing was terrified. It kept kicking with its hind legs, and it appeared one of the animals had already nipped at it, judging from the blood on its left rear flank and one of its feet. There was a smear on its neck too, and that frightened Bud. If one grabbed a vein there or in its chest, it could bleed out in a matter of seconds. He couldn’t take a clear shot, but he could run and yell. And that’s when he saw it.

Between the horse and the coyotes was a dog, one he’d never seen before. It looked like a cross between a Labrador retriever and a border collie, a large dog, but with a longer, shaggier coat, and one that obviously hadn’t been brushed in quite a while. It appeared to be a bit emaciated, but it was guarding the horse fiercely, snarling at the coyotes and snapping when they got close. It was bloodied too, and that surprised Bud. Apparently it had been there for a while, helping the little horse fight them off. Where the other two horses were, he had no idea, and he prayed they were okay.

“Get outta here! God damn you, get out!” he screamed and shot up into the air. The report of the big shotgun’sBOOM!most likely woke all the neighbors, but they’d know what was going on. Sure enough, the lights came on over at Mr.Emerson’s house next door, and Bud could see his neighbor heading his direction with his own weapon. “Don’t shoot my horse!” Bud bellowed.

“Don’t worry! I’m a good shot!” old Mr.Emerson yelled, and sure enough, he dropped one of the coyotes with one slide of his bolt-action rifle. The other four took off, the dog snarling and nipping at their heels. “Whose dog is that?” he asked Bud as he stepped up beside the detective.

“I have no idea. I was about to ask you the same.” Bud made his way across the back yard toward the pasture with Mr.Emerson right behind him.

It was Sissy, and a brief glance over the horse told him she had some scratches, but no puncture wounds and nothing serious. “Oh, fella, you need some help, don’t you?” he heard Mr.Emerson ask, and turned to find him looking over the dog.

The poor thing had bite marks in several places on its neck, its ears, and on a front leg. “I think he needs some medical attention. Come here, fella,” Bud said, crouching down, and the dog came up to within about a foot of him and lay down, whining. “You’re a good boy. You were doing a good job. Let’s get you some help and then we’ll find out who you belong to.”

“Oh my! What happened?” he heard a voice ask and turned to find Martina standing there.

“Coyotes. I think the horse is okay, but this dog isn’t. I need to take him to the vet. And I need to check on Prissy and Pete. Sissy here seems okay.”

“I’ll check on the horses. You go get dressed so you can take the dog.” Martina had on a pair of pajamas and some slippers, and she headed toward the pasture, a big flashlight in her hand.

“I’ll go with her to check on the horses,” Mr.Emerson volunteered.

By the time Bud was dressed and ready to take the dog, Mr.Emerson and Martina had checked on the other two horses, who appeared fine, and had gone over Sissy again, with a request for an antibiotic for her while Bud was at the vet’s office with the dog. After calling the emergency clinic in Owensboro, he set out.

“Holy shit, you did a good job, but you’re expensive!” Bud said with a laugh when the vet presented him with the bill.

“She’ll be okay though. And there’s no microchip. Looks like you may have yourself a dog,” the vet said with a grin.

“Yeah, I need a dog like I need a hole in my head.” He glanced at the pitiful thing. “Come on, dog. Let’s get you back to the house.” He stopped at the always-open discount store on the way home and bought a big bag of dog food. God help the poor thing, it needed something to eat. It was skin and bones.

By the time he got home, Martina had already left for work, and all he had time to do was drag the dead coyote out to the burying hole, then get ready to go to work himself, but not until he’d fed the dog. It ate as though it hadn’t eaten in weeks, and he felt sorry for it. It was friendly, and he wondered if somebody had dumped it nearby. He’d never seen it before, but he was glad it had been there that night. His horses had a friend, and with those coyotes around, that was a good thing to have.

Chapter 6

“Bud!”

“Yeah! What’s up?”

“We’ve got two KDCI agents coming our way at two o’clock this afternoon. Driving now. You’re in luck—Fletcher wasn’t assigned to anything in particular right now, so he’s coming and bringing another agent with him. Said he remembered you from Palmer’s murder and that human trafficking case a couple of years back, and he’d be glad to come down and work with us.”

“Thanks, Len.” Bud remembered the trafficking case well. Five young Guatemalan women being held as sex slaves in a motel in BeaverDam. It had been a horrible case, but once KDCI had stepped in, things moved quickly and within days, the trafficking ring had been busted and the girls were safe. That was what mattered most to the agents who worked those cases, the safety of the victims, and they’d been extremely effective.

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need anything else. Otherwise, I assume I should expect you in the conference room at two?”

“You can expect me in the conference room at one thirty. I’ve got a cage to rattle before then. See you in a bit.” Bud hit the button on the cruiser’s steering wheel control center to end the call and sat back in his seat. It was still pretty early. No better time to shake up Adams.

When he pulled up in the driveway again, he took a long look at the house. For the neighborhood, it was pretty nice. It was big enough that it had at least three bedrooms, he was sure, and maybe a den on the back, with a two-car attached garage. There was a detached two-car garage too, and he figured that’s where Adams kept the four-wheeler, maybe the boat, or maybe a stolen car or bike. That would be just like the scumbag. The yard, of course, was a mess. It didn’t look like there’d ever been a string trimmer taken to any of the edges, and there was junk everywhere. In that respect, it looked like every other house in the neighborhood.

Bud knocked on the door and waited. Sure enough, it opened a crack and that same surly eye peered out. “What the fuck? You again?”

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