“Larry? Here, boy. Come on now.”

Nothing.

Heart in her throat, she kept searching, peering under her bed and behind her favorite recliner.

“Larry!”

She was having trouble breathing, fear shooting through her, when she heard a muffled yip. Her heart leapt. “Where are you—?”

Another sharp bark.

From the kitchen! She opened the pantry door, and he burst out, yapping wildly.

Relief flooded through her as she crouched, and he sprang into her arms. “Silly boy, how did you get in there?” She scooped him up as she straightened. He rewarded her with sloppy kisses that made her giggle. “You know you’ve been naughty, don’t you, hiding from me?”

But it was her fault. She must’ve left the pantry door ajar, and Larry, always curious, had somehow gotten caught inside, the door swinging closed behind him.

Still, it was odd, she thought, as she carried him into the living room.

“All’s well that ends well,” she said, but she was left with an uncomfortable feeling, her nerves slightly jangled. As she took up her spot on the couch and stared out at the parking lot, her gaze moved to unit 8. All locked up.

So, what about the disguise?

It was odd.

She decided to keep the baton at her side.

Larry gave off a sharp bark, and before she picked up her knitting, she reached for his treats. “Sit,” she commanded, and he obeyed, his eyes focused on the treat in her hand. “Good boy.” She rewarded him, and he ate hungrily, then spun in tight circles, hoping for more. “Okay, fine.” She gave him a few more of the liver-flavored treats, then brushed her fingertips on her sweatshirt. “My turn.” Though she knew she shouldn’t, she reached into the candy dish and counted out five M&Ms, then plopped them all into her mouth. The chocolate was delicious, definitely melting in her mouth and sliding down her throat and . . .

No!

Her eyes widened at the taste of peanuts—peanut butter.

What??!!

It couldn’t be.

Frantic, her throat closing, she stumbled into the kitchen, found her purse, and opened it. The EpiPen. Where was it? Fingers scrabbling inside, she gave up and emptied the bag on the counter. Coins rolled and fell to the floor, tissues and lipstick and her glasses and wallet tumbled onto the Formica. No EpiPen!

It was always there. It had to be! But no. And her phone . . . where the hell was her phone?

Oh. Dear. God.

Her lungs were so tight she could barely breathe, couldn’t think.

Gasping for breath, she opened the cupboard where she kept her medications, but her spare EpiPen also was missing.