“What about papers inside the books?” Striker asked.

“No, nothing.” My stomach sank as I bent down to pick up one of the books. Glancing at the pile, I could see most of them were ruined. They weren’t valuable, but I had kept them in pristine condition and now, with the pages folded and the spines stretched, they would never be worth anything.

But it wasn’t just about the value of the books. I loved books and seeing them treated with such disrespect grated on me.

I placed the book back on the pile and it seemed to sigh in disappointment.

“Did you hear that?” Augusta frowned at the pile.

“What?” I cocked my ear toward it and that’s when I heard it.

The faintest, most pitiful meow I’d ever heard.

“Pandora!” I dug at the pile furiously. I’d assumed she’d run off when whoever broke in had ransacked the house. Had she been lying underneath the books, hurt the whole time?

My heart twisted as I uncovered a lump of gray fur.

Pandora lay on her side. The end of her tail bent at an impossible angle. Blood matted the fur on the side of her head. I reached out to touch her and she stirred slightly, then sighed and lay still.

Tears burned my eyes as I gently freed her from the pile.

Striker had knelt beside me and he reached out, touching her neck.

“She’s alive!” He turned to Augusta. “Call Doc Evans, he’ll open the animal hospital up for me.”

Striker gently took Pandora from my arms and we ran for his car.

***

My heart crowded my throat and tears burned my eyes as I stared at Pandora’s still form on the stainless steel exam table. Her shaved arm stuck out straight to the side, IV lines running from the needles that pinched her tender skin in several places. The side of her head had also been shaved, the long gash closed with ugly stitches.

“She took a beating. Put up a good fight, too,” Doc Evans said. “But she’ll be fine. Just needs some rest.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“She’s in good hands.” Striker put his arm around me and I nodded again, my eyes riveted on the still form of my cat.

I knew she was in good hands. Doc Evans was a pediatrician who had retired to become a veterinarian. He’d been a great pediatrician, but was even better with pets. Some said he had a calling for it. If anyone could mend Pandora, it was Doc Evans.

“You should get some rest, too. But I don’t think you should go home alone,” Striker said, turning me gently toward the door. “I called Pepper to come and get you. She said you could stay at her place.”