One Eye Open. Karen Whiddon

whimper from under a nearby desk caught her attention. Crouching down to peer underneath, she let her breath out in a quiet hiss. A tiny black puppy of mixed heritage, eyes huge and frightened, stared up at her from the floor, shaking.

      Here, then, was something she understood, one in many ways closer to her kind than the myriad assortment of humans inside this place. Still kneeling, Brenna held out her hand, letting the small creature absorb her scent before she reached out to stroke the softness of his midnight-colored fur, noticing the contrast of his white paws.

      Touching the animal, Brenna felt a sensation of noise and terror. She shivered with the aftershocks of what the small creature had experienced and even now still felt. This young dog had been with his human companion when he died. Glancing at the sheeted bodies, she received a brief image of love, burst apart by a single gunshot to the head. The noise, the blood, the hatred, had terrified this young animal. Grieving and fearful, he was alone now.

      Without a second thought, Brenna scooped him up in her arms. “I will be your protector now, small one,” she promised, whispering the ancient words that had always bound her people to their animal companions.

      “Has anyone viewed the tapes?” Carson asked the nearest officer.

      “Not yet.” The cop indicated another man, a plainclothes detective from the looks of him. “We were waiting for him.”

      “He’s here, let’s go,” Carson barked.

      The other two men conferred, then moved toward a darkened back office. Carson signaled Brenna to follow. Head held high, she did, the pup cradled in her arms, trying to burrow under her jacket.

      “Where’d that dog come from?” one of the local officers asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

      She lifted her chin to reply. “He was under the desk. I think he might have belonged to one of the victims.”

      The officer gave her a skeptical frown. “Do they allow pets in here?”

      “Who cares?” the detective snapped. “Let’s go.”

      With the lights dimmed, they had already set up the equipment to play the security tape.

      “Ready?” At the collective nod, he hit Play. Grainy images began to move on the monitor as the horrifyingly brutal robbery was reenacted in black-and-white.

      From the general area outside the office, Brenna could hear a woman sobbing.

      “There.” One officer pointed to the tallest man in the video, the obvious leader, the one with the bare chest and intricate tattoo twining up his muscular arm.

      “Can’t see his face,” another man grunted, leaning so close to the monitor his nose touched it.

      A grumbled complaint from the others moved him back.

      Brenna held her breath, letting it out with a loud sound as she got a better look at the criminals’ leader. He was built like her brother, yes. But there the resemblance ended. Though she couldn’t make out the killer’s features, she could tell from the way the man moved that he was not her twin.

      Relief flooded her. Carson’s unwavering certainty that her brother had gone bad had given her doubts. But the man in the video was not Alex. A quick glance at Carson told her he knew that, as well.

      “Hey.” Catching the interaction, the detective moved closer. “Why didn’t you come with the other DEA guys who called this morning? They’re on their way in.”

      Carson went still. “We wanted to be first,” he said. “We wanted to check around on our own.”

      Though the other man nodded, Brenna got the distinct impression he knew Carson was lying.

      “As a matter of fact, I think we’re gonna head into Hawks Falls and look around there. We’ll check back with you guys tomorrow to see if anything new turns up.”

      As they left the room, Brenna heard one man comment, “DEA or FBI, they’re all the same. Always want to sweep in and steal the glory, even from their own.”

      “What was that all about?” she asked, as soon as they were outside. “Why aren’t you working with the other DEA guys?”

      He didn’t answer, just yanked her truck door open with a brusque motion. Without protest, she climbed into the cab, the puppy still tucked in the curve of her arm.

      “Just a minute.” Carson indicated the young dog with a wave of his hand. “Leave the animal here.”

      “No. That’s not negotiable. He comes with me or I don’t go at all.”

      Carson frowned. “That puppy doesn’t belong to you.”

      “He does now.” She pulled the door closed behind her with a thunk. Adjusting her seat belt, she made sure the dog was comfortable before turning to look at Carson, who was still standing outside the truck. Finally, as she continued petting the pup’s soft fur, Carson shook his head and strode around the vehicle. He climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed his own door. Without another word, he started the ignition and put the vehicle in Reverse.

      “Tell me one thing,” he said, one arm draped over the back of the seat. “Are you bringing that dog because he’s your brother’s?”

      Brenna laughed. “You really think Alex would bring a puppy with him to rob a bank and kill a bunch of people? And then leave his pet behind?”

      Carson lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Why not?

      In his tone she heard what he did not say: If The Wolf didn’t value human life, what would the life of one small animal matter?

      “Not my brother’s,” she told him finally. “I think the owner was probably one of the people killed in the robbery. Now it’s your turn to answer a question. Why aren’t you working with the other DEA agents? You lied. You didn’t even know they were coming.”

      Carson drove as if a demon were chasing him, rapidly increasing their speed until they were hurtling down the highway. They took the left lane by storm and passed every other vehicle they encountered.

      “What are you hiding?” Brenna heard the taunt in her voice and lifted her chin. “Tell me, Mr. Level-With-Me. Why aren’t you working with the other government people?”

      “I work better alone,” Carson snapped. “I’ll find him and bring him in before they even get their heads out of their asses.”

      “You never stop, do you?”

      His expression grim, he shook his head. “No. And I never will. Not until he’s in custody.”

      “Did it ever occur to you that he might still be undercover?”

      “Yeah.” His mouth twisted. “It did. Briefly. But I saw him. I’ll never forget that. He shot my family, then threw away the gun. And he never contacted me. Ever. Not even the day of the funeral, the day I buried Julie and Becky. He was my partner, damn it. My friend.”

      The bitterness of betrayal rang in his voice. Unable to take the stark desolation in his eyes, she looked away.

      “That wasn’t Alex in the video,” he said finally. He eased up on the gas pedal and moved into the middle lane.

      Staring at him, she nodded. “I know.”

      “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved.”

      “He wasn’t.”

      The puppy whimpered, shifting in her arms. Some of her tension must have communicated itself to the animal. Taking a deep breath, Brenna forced herself to relax.

      “You’ll see,” she told him. “Once we find him, I’m sure he’ll have a reasonable explanation for everything.”

      Ignoring her, Carson exited the freeway and pulled into a service station.

      While he refueled, Brenna concentrated on her new companion. He