Chapter Fifty-Four #2
“Did you ever see him without his shirt on?” she asked. “You wouldn’t think he’s as muscular as he is… Okay. I have to get going,” she said, suddenly in a rush to get home to her dishes and faulty radiator. And likely to overthink about Tucker as well.
I was kind of proud of myself for planting that seed of interest. Maybe it was just because I was happily with someone that I wanted everyone around me to feel the same way.
I watched as the two of them shared a little conversation out in the parking lot, Ella smiling and laughing a bit more than usual, and I wondered if Tucker picked up on the difference.
But then he was coming back in, gathering up the garbage, and taking it out with him before pulling out of the lot.
I had to leave the doors unlocked for another hour, knowing one of our regulars was running late. We had pretty strict hours, but, obviously, exceptions had to be made. We all had emergencies now and again.
“She’s coming, baby,” I said to the frantic German Shepherd, his finely-tuned internal clock telling him that something had gone terribly wrong.
Samson kept trying to engage him in play with one of his toys, but the poor boy wanted nothing but to pace in front of the doors, watching for any sign of his owner.
Just when I thought he might pant himself into overheating, her headlights came rushing in, parking right by the doors, then rushing inside, wrapping her arms around her dog.
“I’m so sorry, bud. The AAA guy took forever to bring me a new battery. It won’t happen again,” she told him as the dog licked frantically at her face. “Again, I’m so sorry,” she said.
“No worries! I’m here all night.”
“Ugh, rough,” she said, grimacing.
“You get used to it,” I said instead of my usual I don’t mind. Because for the first time, I kind of did. Because each night here at the daycare was one night I was away from Atlas. When I wasn’t in his arms, on his chest, feeling him trace things over my skin that felt suspiciously like letters.
I tried sometimes to imagine what he was writing.
But I couldn’t tell if the things I came up with were real, or my hopes and dreams.
Mine.
Love.
“Thanks again so much for this,” she said, grabbing her dog’s leash, then heading out of the door.
I waited until she was loading him into the car before locking the door and setting the alarm.
I tucked my phone into my back pocket, gave Samson a treat to settle down with, then went about my nightly tasks of cleaning out the indoor runs.
Beds needed to be stripped, the covers thrown into the wash with some of the toys, then each run needed to be swept and mopped.
After that, I restocked the treat jars, found and put all the leashes back, hauled some boxes out from the stockroom to restock soaps, detergents, and paper towels.
God, we went through so many paper towels.
But even well-trained dogs sometimes had accidents or forgot that they weren’t supposed to mark things.
After that, I checked our three boarders, changing out their water, taking them out for one last potty, then giving them some love before putting on their white noise machine, so they could drift off peacefully.
When I finished all of that and figured out only two hours had passed, I sighed and took myself into the break room, brewing a pot of coffee I had a feeling I was going to need to drink all of.
I smelled it brewing as I turned to look at the schedule pinned to the board on the wall, excited to find that, so far, there were no overnight boarders for my next two scheduled overnight shifts. Surprising, considering the holidays were usually our busiest time.
I reached for my phone, checking my most recent text—a picture from Atlas of the Christmas decoration that just came in, a moose made of sticks whose head moved back and forth that he must have put together since I left for work.
My finger was swiping to text back as I reached for my cup of coffee when, suddenly, I heard something that had my heart flying into my throat.
Footsteps.
Footsteps inside of the closed, locked, and alarmed building.
For reasons I didn’t understand, I immediately tried to tell myself I was hearing things, that it was my wild imagination, or simply just one of the dogs knocking around in their rooms.
It wasn’t uncommon, especially back when I first started doing overnights, to jump at every shadow, and imagine masked intruders with each building noise. I once nearly jumped out of my skin when the air conditioning kicked on one night.
But this wasn’t the beginning of my career here.
I knew all the sounds of this place intimately. The way the fridge buzzed. How the heat hissed. The jingling noise the dryer made.
Nothing sounded even remotely like footsteps.
Sure, Samson was free in the building.
But there was no telltale tap of nails on the hard floor. Or the jangle of the tags on his collar.
This wasn’t Samson who, just two minutes ago, was belly-up on his bed, his little jowls jiggling as he woofed at something in his dreams.
Holding my breath, I tried to hear past the whooshing of my heartbeat in my ears.
Then there it was.
Step. Step. Pause. Turning into the big dog playroom. Step. Step.
Panic spread through my system, making my heartbeat trip into overdrive, and a cold sweat to bead on my brow and in my hairline.
I remembered to release my breath, only to have them start coming in shallow huffs that had my head feeling light, and scrambling my thoughts.
The break room had one exit.
And the footsteps were steadily approaching.
This made no sense, damnit.
The alarm was set.
I was sure of it.
I even noticed the telltale blinking of it each time I passed the front door. It was engaged.
How was someone in here?
I tried to rationalize with myself.
If the alarm system was disengaged, then maybe the owner had dropped by.
It didn’t happen often, but they had the code, so they could get in without tripping the alarm.
So could Tucker and Ella.
But there was no way they would come back here this late.
I wondered if maybe someone had snuck in while we were open. It wouldn’t be impossible. There were many times, especially in the middle of the day or right before pick-up time, that the front desk was unmanned because we were all busy trying to play with dogs or get them ready to head home.
But why would someone do that?
It wasn’t like this was a place to rob.
We never dealt in cash. I wouldn’t even know what to do with cash if someone tried to hand it to me. There was no register or safe to break into.
And, well, there was nothing of worth to steal.
Sure, dog treats and toys were expensive—especially the enrichment toys—but no one in their right mind would try to take them.
So, why?
The answer came charging back in a second.
Because it wasn’t about money.
It often wasn’t when a woman was alone and vulnerable.
Had one of the dog parents been harboring some sort of sick crush? Did they want to hang back and… act on it?
The steps drew closer as my head whipped around, desperate to find somewhere to hide, or a weapon to brandish.
There was a minuscule pantry in the room.
I turned and rushed toward, it, squeezing inside, then silently closing the door, telling myself that I wasn’t a sitting duck, that this was just to hide until the person passed the room, went to look for me somewhere else, then I would rush out, and make a mad dash for the front door.
The built-in wooden shelves bit into my back as I tried to take a few slow, deep breaths, attempting to think past the anxiety gripping my system.
It was going to be okay, damnit.
My hand tightened on my phone, wondering if I should call the police.
But I couldn’t risk making a sound. My own breath felt too loud to my ears. And I had no idea if a burner phone could be traced like a normal phone could. So what would be the point?