Page 27 of Wild Card
I opened the passenger door, and Sugar and Loki jumped inside, then I got behind the wheel and reversed out of the auto shop parking lot. Halfway down the rutted road to the junkyard, I spotted Taz running as fast as his little feet would carry him.
I slammed the brakes and opened the car door. “Taz!”
He darted under the car—Jesus, that was not a safe habit—and popped out by my feet, barking up a storm. I scooped him up with one hand and got back into the driver’s seat. “What are you doing out here?”
He whined and licked my hand.
I had a bad feeling about this. I remembered closing the gate. Banshee would have followed me right out if I hadn’t. Was it possible the latch broke, or had Taz found some other way out? He was small enough he could squeeze through a gap in the fence somewhere, but he’d never been interested in escaping.
I put the car in drive and continued down the road. The gate was closed.
Well, damn, maybe he had escaped, then, the little turd.
I parked and hopped out to open the gate, prepared for Banshee to barrel into my arms, but there was no sign of her. I whistled sharply, and Oreo came trotting out from behind the RV. But there was no white fluff of fur beside her.
“Banshee!” I called. “Where are you, girl?”
The dogs barked from inside the car, wanting to join the search. I jogged over to open the door and ushered them all into the junkyard.
I closed the gate behind me and called out for Banshee again. As if Sugar understood what I was about, she gave a deep, commanding woof.
Oreo trotted over and dropped to the ground, rolling over to show her belly. Taz went skittering off into the piles of junk. I used to worry about him, but Chihuahuas were bred to go into small spaces, and it was in his nature. I’d soon learned to let him explore.
I did a sweep of the junkyard, checking by the food and water bowls, then heading over to the cat colony in case they’d caught Banshee’s interest. I called her name until my throat was hoarse, but I already knew—even while I checked every spot the dogs liked to hide or play—that she wasn’t here.
And if the gate was closed, how did she and Taz get out?
That red car flashed up in my memory. The one that had taken the turn onto the highway so fast it had fishtailed outside the auto shop. The one that had seemedfamiliar.
“Son of a bitch,” I growled, suddenly knowing why I’d recognized the car.
Banshee’s previous owners, Rusty and Candy, had dumped her out of a carjust like that one.
I turned and ran toward the exit. The dogs raced after me, but I slipped out of the gate and closed them inside. This time, I took the time to lock it—which I should have fucking done when I went over to the shop.
I was only gone a few minutes, but it was a few minutes too long. Luckily, I knew where that Rusty fucker lived.
The dogs barked, whined, and howled their displeasure as I left them behind.
“Sorry, guys, but you can’t come this time.”
I hopped into the driver’s seat and did a three-point turn to get myself headed toward the highway. Once there, I took a left, heading out of town.
I punched the accelerator, pushing the car up to seventy miles per hour, hands tight on the wheel. Rusty better hope Banshee was okay, or I was likely to squeeze them around his throat next.
“Motherfucker,” I growled, so worked up I almost missed the turn into the sorry trailer park Rusty called home. I drove until I spotted his red Pontiac parked in front of a single-wide riddled with hail dents.
It was tempting to bang on his door and kick his ass when he answered. But getting Banshee back was the most important thing.
I circled the trailer park, getting a look at the property from all angles, then parked behind Rusty’s place. There was a six-foot wooden privacy fence, and inside it, I could hear a woman’s voice and the familiar whimpers of a troubled Banshee.
My pulse spiked, and my plan to wait and sneak Banshee out went to hell. Her distressed cries twisted my heart, and I yanked open the gate.
“Banshee!” I called.
Candy whirled toward me, eyes wide, as Banshee raced toward the gate.
“Wait! That’s our dog?—”
