Page 111 of Call it Reckless

“Place your bet.”

I stood quickly from my chair. “Sterling, what did you say?”

“Nick’s a dick. Woof. Place your bet.”

“Sterling, are you trying to say there’s a dogfight scheduled?

Squawk!“Nick’s a dick.”

I reached for my phone and dialed Reid. I wasn’t sure what this meant, but he needed to know. It went to his voice mail. Frustrated, I hung up and tried again. “Come on, Reid. Pick up. This isn’t the time to not talk to me.” But once again, it went to his voicemail. “Reid, look. I’m sorry for earlier, but—”

A hand reached around me and took my phone, powering it down. I spun to see Griff, his expression grim. “I’m sorry, Bristol, I can’t let you do that.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX

Reid

Isighed impatiently. If we didn’t move soon, we were going to run out of daylight, but we were waiting on one more paper to be signed off by a judge.

Currently, Zane and I were waiting with acting Sheriff Sinclair on the edge of Chase’s property for the call to “go.” Another two of our guys were hiding on the other side of his Jack’s house, and yet another team was across the street.

We’d notified the Tennessee State Police we’d found evidence of animal cruelty that was quite possibly part of a dogfighting ring. They authorized us to go ahead since it was just a small operation and hadn’t been on their radar. I disagreed with their terminology, but I didn’t want those animals to suffer any more abuse, so I wasn’t going to challenge them. Zach and Harold Coleman, his veterinarian partner, along with some folks from the Humane Society were currently waiting in Chase’s living room to help the animals once the all-clear was given.

I pulled out my phone. One never knew how these things would go down. And while I felt sure everything would be fine, I didn’t want the last words Bristol heard from me to be in anger. To my surprise, I saw she’d tried to call twice. I didn’t bother playing the message but went straight to calling her, but I was sent directly to voicemail. Frustrated, I tried to call again, but Sinclair’s phone rang.

I heard Simone’s voice on the other end. She might be a flirt, but when push came to shove—getting a judge to sign paperwork—she was a force to be reckoned with. “We got it,” I heard her say breathlessly.

I tucked my phone away and waited for Sinclair to give the call. Instead, he looked at me. “This is your sting. You take it.”

I nodded. Whatever doubts I had about him, he’d taken Zane and me seriously when we’d gone to him and explained everything we found. It turned out he was quite the animal lover and had been horrified when we showed him pictures of the dogs staked in Jack’s yard.

I started to speak into my radio but paused when I heard a car engine slow nearby. A white van slowed and pulled into Jack’s driveway, followed by a pickup truck.

“Son of a bitch,” I mumbled when I saw Griff get out of the truck. For Bristol’s sake, I hoped to be wrong about him. But it was nothing to how I felt when a familiar tall, blond guy got out of the van.

“What the hell’s going on?” Zane whispered.

“Looks like it’s time for that bigger fish fry after all,” I whispered back.

I waited until they went into the house, then called for everyone to move in, making sure all the doors were covered. Using a listening device, I waited for what I needed, then gave the signal.

What followed was a lot of confusion, at least for the suspects inside. A noise flash device was detonated and then all the teams rushed in. Within minutes, Jack, Nick, and Griff were all handcuffed and separated from each other outside. The search warrants were executed, and a computer and bags of cash were brought out and bagged within the next hour.

Most importantly, Zach and Harold were able to get to the animals to check their wounds. Other vans were brought in to take the poor animals away, where they could be looked after in better conditions.

After the last van pulled away with the dogs, I found Zach in the backyard, squatting with his back against the house, arms resting on his knees, head bowed.

“You okay, man?”

He shook his head as he looked at me, his green eyes shimmering with moisture under the floodlight that had been set up.

“What’s your take on their well-being?” I asked, squatting next to him.

“There are two pups. They’ll be fine. They’re underfed, but they’ll recover well. There were five other dogs. Still young, less than two years old, I’d say. We had to tranq them to move them. They’ll heal and, hopefully, with the right care, be reconditioned. They’re only mean because of the way they’ve been treated. The best we can figure out is these dogs were bred and raised to be fighters. Your suspect probably took them up to the mountains to “try them out.” If they do well, they sell for some big money. If not…” He spread his hands out. I didn’t want to think about what he wasn’t saying.

He pointed toward an open shed. “We found some other caged animals over there, a rabbit, a cat, and a couple of small dogs, even a raccoon. I recommended they take it to Tillie. They’re used like a carrot dangling in front of the dog. The fighting dog runs in a perpetual circle to try to catch it to build cardio.”

He turned his head toward me. “I’m pretty sure Buddy was a victim. Not sure how he escaped, but now that we know this has been going on, I’m sure that’s what his injuries were from.”

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