The wind gusted, sending leaves cartwheeling across the grass. She glanced back at the house. Lights glowed in the kitchen windows.

“It’s warm in there,” she said to the dog.

AnnaBelle looked toward the darkness of the trees and whined.

“Oh, sure. You’re wearing your fur coat.” Hannah hunched against the chill. The temperature seemed to be dropping by the minute. “You have five more minutes. If you have any business to do, you’d better get on with it. I’m freezing.”

A scratching sound emanated from the forest. The dog’s ears pricked forward, and her body went taut.

Not again.

Hannah tugged on the leash, but moving the large, stubborn canine proved impossible. She lifted her jacket and slid her weapon from the holster at the small of her back. The dog growled and lunged.

She wrapped the leash around her wrist. “No. Come.”

What was up with this dog? Normally, except for some barking, AnnaBelle was well behaved and would follow her humans anywhere.

AnnaBelle whined. The dog turned and backed away from Hannah.

No.

Hannah saw the disaster unfolding and was helpless to stop it. AnnaBelle ducked her head, slipped out of the collar, and bolted for the woods. The retriever splashed across the creek and disappeared down the dark trail. No. No. No!

She raced after the dog. Entering the woods, she switched on the flashlight and played the beam on the ground in front of her. A carpet of dead leaves covered most of the ground. Tracks would be difficult to find. Within minutes, the futility of her task filled her with panic. She had a vision of Carson crying as Grant told him his dog had run away. She had to find AnnaBelle. That little boy had lost both his parents. He was not going to lose his dog, too.

She needed a bribe and help.

Securing the weapon in her holster, she jogged for the house. She unlocked the door and disabled the alarm. Brody’s lecture about keeping the system armed at all times echoed in her head.

Brody.

She grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen drawer and a package of hot dogs from the fridge. She reset the alarm and went back outside. With the door locked securely behind her, she set off for the woods again. She jogged across the grass and across the bridge, dialing Brody’s number as she ran.

Rain pattered on the window of Brody’s home office. Sitting behind his desk, he flipped through the search results from the query he’d run in ViCAP. Unfortunately baseball bats and strangulation were popular methods of committing violence, and Brody had far too many possibilities to sift through. The amount of rage directed at the victim pointed toward a significant other or a seriously disturbed killer.