He moved closer, his nose angling for her ankles. He sniffed her like he was searching for gold up her pant leg.
“Ugh, not you too. I’ve been canine assaulted enough today.” He probably smelled Prince Hairy on her. She gently nudged him away with her shin. “Come on, Scruffy. I’ve got to get home.”
He barked, a soft woof that seemed to come from deep in his chest, and then stared up at her with big, black eyes.
She let out a heavy sigh. “Well, damn. You’ve got that look down pat, don’t you? You’ve charmed someone out of their dinner before.”
He plopped his butt on the ground and panted, some dog version of a smile on his face.
She groaned. “Fine. You win.”
Rebecca tossed him the bread. He opened his mouth to catch it in the air, but it bopped him on the snout and then fell to the sidewalk. He didn’t seem to mind a little dirt. He wolfed it down in two bites and then sat again and looked up.
“That’s all I’ve got for you, buddy. The chicken’s for me.”
He woofed.
“This is not a negotiation. I’m hungry. I need to eat, too, and I have nothing in the fridge at home.” She looked to the stars above and shook her head. “I’m arguing with a dog.” She peered down at him. “You shouldn’t try this with me. I’m a very good lawyer. I’ll win.”
He dog-smiled again.
“Fine.” She grabbed the last roll from the bag. “You’re right. You win. Now go.” She tossed the bread far down the sidewalk and watched as he chased after it. She turned and headed the other way before he could waylay her with those puppy eyes again. She needed to get home. She couldn’t do anything else for him. But a pang of guilt went through her, and she grunted in frustration. When she got home, she’d call the animal shelter and let them know his description and where he was so they could pick him up.
“Look for the dog with buttery garlic breath,” she muttered to herself.
The dog didn’t follow her, and she walked for a few more minutes, listening to the sounds of a car playing music in the distance and enjoying the cooling night air. She was only a few blocks from home when she heard something shuffle behind her. The back of her neck prickled. She paused, planning to turn around and have words with the dog again, but before she could, an arm banded around her from behind.
Her body went rigid, and everything dropped from her hands, the wine bottle shattering on the sidewalk, the bag muffling the sound. She opened her mouth to scream, but something cold and hard pressed against her temple. All her words evaporated.
“Make one noise, and I pull the trigger,” someone said against her ear, his voice shaking but his hold firm.
The gun cocked, and the distinct sound flipped a switch inside her, sending a cascade of cold dread through her. Familiar dread. Click. Boom. Click. Boom. The sound loop was one she recognized. One she still heard in her nightmares. Only this time, the bullet wouldn’t lodge in her leg. This time, there was no Finn to throw his body in front of the bullets. It’d land where it was meant to.
Click. Boom.
She’d be on the news again. This time with a sheet over her face.
The mugger said something in her ear. Something angry. Demanding. She heard nothing but a few disconnected words. “Kill… Now… Bitch.”
But his voice morphed in her head. Became someone else’s voice. Other words.
You think you’re so much better than me. You’re so fucking pathetic. I can’t believe I actually let myself give a shit about you. You’re just like the rest of them. An empty-headed sheep.
Click. Boom. Her ears started to ring like the gun had already gone off.
She closed her eyes, everything going still inside her. Not fear. Not terror. But…inevitability. Of course this was how it would go. She’d escaped when she wasn’t supposed to. Now it was time to pay off that debt.
“Are you listening to me?” The guy shook her and pressed the barrel of the gun harder against her temple.
But she hadn’t been listening. She couldn’t. All she could hear were screams and bullets pinging into lockers, shots hitting flesh, calls to get down, get down, get down.
“What the hell is wrong with her?” a second voice asked.
Oh. There were two.
Of course there were. How could it be any other way?
A hand yanked at her purse strap, ripping it off her shoulder. “Give me your watch or you’re dead, bitch.”