Maggie #2
The driver’s eyes focus on Jules before returning to me again. “You always this suspicious, Maggie?”
“Only when strangers start talkin’ like they know more than they should.”
His smile disappears completely. Fear crawls beneath my skin.
The security guard near the back door notices the tension and immediately starts toward us. The driver notices too. Without another word, he climbs back into the truck. Then he pauses before shutting the door.
“You really should be more careful.”
The truck pulls away hard enough to spit gravel across the parking lot behind it.
Jules exhales sharply while staring after it. “What in the fresh Savannah hell is goin’ on around here today?”
I wrap my arms across my stomach, trying unsuccessfully to calm the adrenaline rushing through me. “He looked at Ivy.”
Jules nods once. “I saw.”
Seconds later, barking erupts from the kennel corridor, loud enough to snap every head in the shelter toward the back. Panic rips through the sound, wild and wrong in a way that sends alarm crashing through me.
My head jerks toward the kennel corridor just before a volunteer screams, “Oh my God, the gates!”
Everything explodes into mayhem at once.
Dogs pour from the outdoor kennel runs in every direction, while volunteers shout, and families stumble backward, trying not to trip over leashes and frightened animals.
A shepherd tears through the lobby while two beagles race toward the parking lot fast enough to send three volunteers sprinting after them.
“Elvis!” I yell automatically when I spot the dachshund barreling toward the front entrance. “Don’t you dare!”
Elvis absolutely dares.
Jules curses beside me before taking off after him while I sprint toward the kennel area, my heart slamming against my ribs. Three outdoor gates hang wide open, not damaged or forced apart, but unlatched cleanly and left swinging. Someone opened them on purpose.
“Maggie!” one volunteer cries while struggling to hold onto two terrified terriers. “They were all open when we got here!”
“Start getting them back inside!” I yell while grabbing a leash from the wall.
I move toward a frightened hound pressed against the fencing near the side yard. Across the property, Ivy stands near the building entrance, beside Irina, with wide eyes, as barking erupts from every direction.
“Sugar, stay right there!” I shout.
“We are!” Irina calls back immediately.
Another dog darts past my legs while security moves through the property trying to contain both the animals and the growing panic spreading among the visitors. Then I notice the side employee gate hanging partially open, too. Someone was testing how fast we respond once mayhem starts.
Across the parking lot, the same black SUV from earlier idles near the curb before slowly pulling away into traffic, watching us the entire time.
The next hour passes in pure madness. Dogs race through the property while volunteers scramble in every direction trying to keep terrified adopters from getting knocked over by sixty pounds of panicked fur.
Mr. Pickles somehow steals an entire package of hot dog buns from the refreshment table before Jules finally corners him near grooming.
One of the younger volunteers ends up crying after a frightened shepherd slips its leash and nearly bolts through the courtyard.
By the time we regain control over the shelter grounds, sweat clings to the back of my neck, and my nerves feel scraped raw.
“This,” Jules says breathlessly while bracing both hands against his knees, “is why I drink iced coffee like they’re discontinuin’ it tomorrow.”
I tighten a leash around the hound, finally resting beside my leg before looking toward the outdoor kennels again. “Did we get everybody back inside?”
“Almost. One of the volunteers spotted Lulu behind the donation shed.”
“Well, of course she’s behind the donation shed,” I mutter.
“She’s orange, Maggie. Orange cats are the Lord’s way of keepin’ people humble.”
Despite everything, I laugh tiredly.
Jules straightens slowly before wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt.
The humor fades from his face when he notices my attention on the side gate and latches.
Three separate kennel gates hang open while one of Alexei’s security men photographs them with his phone.
Another crouches beside the employee entrance, studying the lock mechanism there.
“It wasn’t accidental,” Jules says quietly.
“No, it wasn’t,” I agree.
The longer I look at the gates, the worse my stomach feels.
Each latch is fully open, done by someone who knew exactly how scared animals would react in a crowded shelter.
They knew security would focus on the people first, then try to keep the dogs from running into the road.
For those first few minutes, no one was watching the shelter itself. No one was watching me.
The thought hits me, cold and ugly.
Jules notices my expression. “Hey.”
I drag my eyes toward him.
“You alright?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “I think somebody’s playin’ games with us.”
His eyebrows snap together. “Yeah. I think so too.”
Across the lot, Ivy sits on the curb beside Irina, holding a puppy in her lap while he licks enthusiastically at her cheek. Ivy giggles like the last sixty minutes never happened, completely relaxed again now that the dogs are safe.
Thank God for that.
Irina looks less calm. Her posture stays rigid while her eyes move across the property carefully, and for the first time since I met her, I notice fear beneath all that composure.
Not panic exactly. More like recognition.
Like part of her already understands what this is, and that unsettles me far more than I want to admit.
One of the security men approaches us a moment later. Mid-thirties, maybe. Muscular build. Dark black hair cropped short enough to emphasize the scar near his jawline.
“Mr. Agapov is on his way,” he says.
Wonderful.
“Did you find out who opened the gates?” I ask.
“Not yet.”
“That’s comforting.”
His expression doesn’t change. “We’re reviewing the surveillance footage now.”
Jules folds his arms across his chest. “You mean the surveillance that apparently missed someone opening half the shelter?”
The man’s eyes slide toward him calmly. “The cameras covering the side yard lost power briefly.”
My pulse jumps. “Lost power?”
“For approximately forty-seven seconds,” he confirms.
I stare at him wide-eyed. “You’re tellin’ me the cameras conveniently stopped workin’ right before the kennel gates opened?”
“We’re investigating.”
“Well, ain’t that a nightmare.”
The guard glances toward the parking lot before touching the earpiece hidden beneath his collar. “Excuse me.”
Then he walks away without another word.
Jules watches him go before muttering under his breath, “I hate when scary people get quiet. It always means the situation is worse.”
I rub both hands over my face. The adrenaline in my system leaves my muscles trembling faintly now that the immediate catastrophe has passed. My shirt sticks uncomfortably against my back from the heat and stress, while barking continues to echo through the shelter in restless bursts.
“You should sit down,” Jules says gently.
“I don’t have time.”
“Maggie.”
“We have two days until this event starts and half the volunteers already look traumatized.”
“You look traumatized,” he says with one hand on his hip.
“I look sweaty.”
“You look like you’re about to fight God in a parking lot.”
Maybe I would at this point.
I exhale hard before finally lowering myself onto the edge of the loading dock. Jules sits next to me. Heat radiates from the concrete as the late-afternoon sun burns gold across the parking lot. Neither of us speaks.
Then Jules says, “You know this isn’t really about the shelter anymore.”
I stare ahead toward the street. “I know.”
“That man this mornin’ knew your name.”
“And the delivery driver knew exactly where Ivy was standing,” I add.
Jules nods once, his expression darkening.
Fear makes my skin prickle now that the muss has slowed enough for me to think. It’s not really fear for myself. It’s the fear of what happens when dangerous men stop being careful.
The doors open behind us before Ivy races outside carrying the puppy. “Maggie! Look!”
The puppy now wears a bandana tied crookedly around its neck.
“Oh, my goodness,” I say, forcing warmth back into my voice. “He looks very fancy.”
“He’s ready for the adoption event.”
“Well bless his little heart.”
Ivy beams before holding the puppy higher. “Jules said he has emotional support eyebrows.”
“He absolutely does,” Jules confirms solemnly.
Irina follows behind Ivy, though her eyes focus on the parking lot instead of the puppy. I can see the tension in her shoulders.
“You should go home soon,” she says gently.
I frown. “The event prep still isn’t finished.”
“You are exhausted.”
“She’s right,” Jules says. “You’ve been here all day.”
I start to argue before my phone vibrates inside my back pocket.
Alexei.
Just seeing his name releases some of the pressure in my chest.
I answer immediately. “Hi.”
“How bad was it?” he asks.
I lean forward, pressing my free hand against my forehead. “How did you hear about it that fast?”
“My men called.”
Around me, the shelter continues to hum with activity as volunteers reorganize supplies. I watch one of Alexei’s men walk the perimeter fencing again while speaking quietly into his earpiece.
“It’s handled,” I tell him.
“That’s not what I asked.”
His voice drops lower on the last word, and God help me, I feel it everywhere.
I close my eyes briefly. “Nobody got hurt.”
He releases a long breath. “Maggie.”
“There were two men here today,” I admit. “One outside earlier. Then another pretending to deliver supplies.”
The silence afterward is intimidating.
“What did they say to you?” he probes.
“That I should be careful.”
“Did either of them touch you?”
“No.”
More silence.
He sounds colder when he speaks again. “I’m coming there.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Yes. I do.”
Before I can argue, the call ends.