Page 2 of Chasing Creed

But the room was empty. And so was the bed. A tangle of sheets attempted to cover the blood.

There was a lot of blood. More than was necessary.

She was too late.

That’s when she noticed cigarette butts floating in a lone coffee mug on the bedside stand. She suspected the exposed capsule inside the filter was orange flavored. One of Orlando’s favorites. The smell still lingered with blood. She’d missed him by minutes.

Sara turned to leave, and that’s when she heard the low moan.

Was someone still here?

The sound came from under the bed. She pulled out a mini-Maglite and immediately saw splatters of blood on the rug. Drag marks continued under.

She dropped to her knees. Shot a stream of light. Two eyes. One blue. One amber. Then a flash of teeth jolted her back. A snarling dog sent her scrambling backward.

“What the hell!”

She lost her balance and came down hard. Her left elbow and right hand took the brunt of the fall. Both landed in a puddle of blood. Panic ticked inside her. She pushed to her feet. Pain shot up her arm. She stumbled out of the room, weaving her way to the back door. It took only seconds for her to crawl through the hole in the glass. She drove her hands, fingers, palms over the wet grass, desperate to get the blood off. Desperate to race to the shelter of the woods.

A cry stopped her dead in her tracks.

Sara spun around to see the dog now clawing at the patio door. There was nothing menacing about this shaggy animal. No show of teeth. No growls. Just an awful yelping, a desperate cry.

A crack of thunder made her jump. Her eyes pivoted, scanning the entire backyard. It was darker now with low, bulging clouds threatening another downpour.

A glance at her watch.

No time. She was out of time.

How could there be a dog? All her planning, all her preparation, there had been no signs of an animal.

The dog, now on hind legs, thumped and scratched at the door. The panicked whine, a plea to not be left behind. It ripped at Sara’s good sense.

She raced back to the door.

“Come on through here.” She pointed to the hole in the glass.

The hole was big enough, but the dog looked confused. Skittish. Then Sara noticed the fur matted on the right side. A patch was still wet with blood.

Down on hands and knees, Sara climbed through the cut glass and stopped halfway inside. Vulnerable, she realized the dog could bite her face off. Instead, it met her with a lick to her nose.

“Okay. Follow me,” she told the dog as she pulled herself back, hopefully showing how it was possible.

More thunder. Right on top of them, as if the gods were telling Sara to get the hell out.

Warily, the dog poked at the opening. Then backed away.

Now panic was beating a warpath inside Sara. She had to go. Now!

She couldn’t be responsible for this dog. That wasn’t in the plan. Someone else had beaten her to this job. There was nothing more she could do. She needed to get the hell out of here.

Sirens screeched in the distance. An alarm? Had she missed one?

The dog stared at her through the glass. Those mismatched eyes more sad than threatening.

“Come on. Let’s go.” She slapped her hand against her leg.

Nothing.