A shadow loomed over her. A knee pressed into her back, shoving her face into the seat. The weight holding her down sparked a surge of brain-numbing panic. Before she could move, something bound her ankles. Her hands were pulled behind her back and fastened together. In seconds, she was effectively kidnapped.

The weight moved off her back. Unable to control her body enough to even turn her head, she caught the driver’s back in her peripheral vision. She couldn’t see his head, but the figure was too tall, too thin. It wasn’t the short, stocky driver from the Rittenhouse. Then who was it?

The door closed. Her captor got into the driver’s seat. The quiet snick of the door locks made everything fall into place.

Oh my God. Fear slammed through her with the same jolt of electricity as she realized the truth. The police had arrested the wrong person as the murderer.

CHAPTER 31

31

The back room at the veterinary clinic smelled like dogs and disinfectant. Conor stared at the plastic pouches of coffee-colored liquid spread on the stainless-steel tray. “What is that?”

Standing next to him in pale blue scrubs, the vet scratched her head. “We aren’t positive, but we suspect drugs.”

“Drugs.” Events and information clicked into place like the tumblers in a lock. “And you took them out of Kirra’s stomach?”

“Yes.” The vet gestured to the packs. “There have been several other recent cases of liquid heroin and cocaine being transported inside animals.”

“Liquid heroin.” It made perfect sense. Hector had been way too determined to get Kirra back.

“Yes. Kirra is a lucky dog. If one of those pouches had burst, she would have died.”

“But you said she’s going to be OK.”

“She is.” The vet nodded. “The police are on the way. Since she’s your dog, you’ll need to stay and talk to them. Do you want to see her while you wait?”

“Yes.” Relief coursed through Conor as his gaze swept over the pitiful dog. Her belly was shaved. A long row of stitches closed an eight-inch incision. An IV line was taped to her foreleg. The line snaked out of the metal cage and attached to the bag of fluids hanging on the bars above the door.

The vet opened the cage door. “You can pet her.”

Conor reached in and stroked the dog’s head. Her eyes opened. Her tail stub jerked in a weak wag the second she caught sight of him.

“I spayed her since she was under anesthesia anyway. She’ll need to stay here overnight,” the vet said.

“Thank you.” Conor checked his messages but saw none from Louisa. A sliver of apprehension slid through his gut. She’d been waiting for word on Kirra.