This sound, coming from inside the house, sounded like Taffy’s barking: anger and fear all swirling together in a kind of mania that even the poor dog probably didn’t understand. It didn’t sound like a dog that was bored. It didn’t sound like a dog who heard people and wanted to warn them off. And the damn sound just kept going and going until North’s stomach turned over. With something else mixed in, now that North was closer. A clink like metal striking metal. And then again. Like some horrible timepiece marching along with the barking. And the barking kept going. More and more. Yippy, hysterical barking. A small dog. A terrified, angry, hurt dog.

“I don’t like this,” Shaw said as they worked their way to the front of the A-frame. His hand found North’s.

“Let’s call the Innsbrook security,” North began.

Then, from inside, came a loud cry and a crash. A human cry.

North shouldered past Shaw, grabbing the front door of the A-frame and drawing it open. “Hello,” he called as he stepped into the house. The sound of barking was overwhelming now. A little dog, North thought, but big lungs. The A-frame had an open design, with the living space and the kitchen combined on the main floor and bedrooms in the loft. It didn’t take long for North to spot the source of the cry, the crash, and the barking.

A man in a pink paisley dressing gown lay on the floor, apparently unconscious. In one hand, he still held a hammer. Next to him sat a reinforced Bluetooth speaker, the kind designed for outdoor use and meant to withstand the elements and some rough handling. The barking was coming from the speaker at full blast.

3

THE MAN IN the paisley dressing gown was hysterical when he woke up. He wouldn’t answer questions. He wouldn’t tell them his name. He lay on the floor and screamed about brickle. Shaw kept an ear tuned, just in case anything changed, and then began examining the A-frame: kitchen cabinets, the living area, the bathroom—“Two toothbrushes,” he called back to North—and the bedroom—“Two pillows.”

North was fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker; the barking continued at its unbearable volume until North found the power button.

“Two pillows are boring,” North said. “Call me if there are eight.”

“Oh,” Shaw said. “Like a poly kind of thing? That’d be kind of hot.”

“Bullshit.”

Shaw wandered back to the kitchen, where the man in the paisley dressing gown was still rolling on the floor. “I mean, kind of.”

“You would never be into a poly situation.”

“I’m open-minded. I’m flexible.”

“Eight people, Shaw? You’re not that flexible.”

Shaw crossed his arms. “I’ve been reading about the emotional advantages of having more than one partner. It was this article in Marie Claire, I think.”

“Did Marie Claire say anything about a tourniquet?”

“What?”