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The back room was a quiet place full of clean metal tables and the calming smell of lavender dog shampoo. I lifted the fifty-pound Husky onto the main grooming table and secured the safety loop around his neck.

The dog did not fight me. He simply collapsed onto his belly. His ice-blue eyes watched my every move with a desperate, tired intelligence.

“It is okay, buddy,” I whispered. I ran my hands gently over the dog’s body to feel the damage. “I am not going to shave you. We are just going to fake it. I will cut out the worst pieces of mud so he thinks I did what he asked. Then we will get you cleaned up.”

I grabbed my heavy-duty professional clippers. This is a powerful, electric tool designed to cut through very thick, dirty fur. I attached a long plastic guard to the blade. I only wanted to cut the top layer of the dreadlocked mud. I wanted it to look like I had started shaving him.

I started near the dog’s shoulder blades. The mud was packed very thick there. I pressed the humming clippers against the fur and pushed forward with steady pressure.

Suddenly, the clippers violently kicked back in my hand.

A loud, scary metallic CRUNCH echoed through the room. The motor screamed in a high-pitched sound before grinding to a complete, dead stop. The sharp cutting blade shattered into pieces. A small piece of white plastic flew across the room.

I gasped. I dropped the broken clippers onto the metal table.

“What in the world…?” I whispered.

I leaned in close. I pulled the bright, overhead light directly over the dog’s neck. I used both of my thumbs to forcefully pull apart the thick, muddy fur where my blades had jammed.

Hidden completely from sight, resting flat against the dog’s pale skin, was a cold, metal object.

It was a tiny, silver titanium capsule. It was barely larger than a thumb drive. It was perfectly sealed with a rubber ring. It was secured tightly to the root of the Husky’s fur with a heavy-duty, black plastic zip-tie. The skin around the zip-tie was red and angry. The capsule had been attached forcefully and on purpose. It was designed to be completely invisible under the Husky’s thick winter coat.

Chapter 3: The Bloody Note

My hands began to shake.

This was not a stray dog. Stray dogs do not carry high-tech titanium capsules zip-tied to their skin.

I grabbed a pair of curved surgical scissors from my tool cart. With extreme care, I slid the blunt tip of the scissors under the tight plastic zip-tie. I pressed down against the dog’s skin to protect it, and I cut. The plastic snapped. I pulled the heavy, cold capsule free.

I looked nervously at the swinging doors leading to the lobby. Through the small, frosted glass windows, I could see the blurry shadow of the man. He was still pacing back and forth. He had his phone pressed to his ear.

I twisted the cap of the titanium cylinder. It opened with a tiny pop.

Inside was a micro-SD computer card and a tiny, tightly rolled piece of waterproof paper. The outside of the paper was stained with a dark brown mark.

It was a bloody thumbprint.

I unrolled the paper under the bright grooming light. The handwriting was messy, rushed, and terrified.

If you find this, my name is Elena Malek. I am a lead verification auditor. I found massive amounts of stolen money and fake financial records for the Vanguard corporation. They are forging documents. My business partner found out I was going to the police tonight. He kidnapped me. I am locked in the soundproof basement of the abandoned shipping office on Route 9. He thinks my dog, Ghost, ran away into the woods during the struggle, but I managed to hide the original, secret files on this SD card and secure it to him. The man looking for Ghost is the one who took me. He is a corporate cleaner. He is going to kill me. Please, give this drive to the FBI.

I stopped breathing. The air in the grooming room suddenly felt as thick and heavy as water.

The man in the lobby was not a frustrated homeowner dealing with a stray dog. He was a hitman. He was a kidnapper. He was a murderer waiting to finish his job.

He had not brought the dog in because of muddy fur and ticks. He had brought the dog in to be shaved completely bald because he suspected Elena had hidden the missing evidence on the Husky before the animal escaped into the woods. He needed a groomer to strip the dog down to the skin to find the drive, without getting his own hands dirty or looking suspicious to the police.

And I was standing fifteen feet away from him, holding the exact piece of evidence he was willing to kill for.

Chapter 4: The Cat and Mouse

My eyes darted frantically around the grooming room. I needed to leave. Now.

The back door of the salon led out into a dark, narrow alleyway where I parked my car. It was a heavy steel door with a deadbolt lock. The problem was, my car keys were in my purse. And my purse was sitting on the counter in the breakroom.

The breakroom was located at the front of the hallway, directly next to the lobby where the hitman was pacing.

I could not just run out the back door. I needed those keys. And I could not let the man know I had stopped grooming, or he would burst through the swinging doors to see what I was doing.

I took a deep, shaking breath. I needed a distraction.

I reached under the grooming table and grabbed the high-velocity blow dryer. It is an industrial-strength machine used to blast water out of thick coats. When turned on the highest setting, it sounds exactly like a commercial jet engine taking off.

I flipped the switch. The dryer roared to life. It was a deafening, screaming wall of sound that instantly drowned out the storm outside. It vibrated the walls of the salon. I wedged the nozzle safely between two thick towels on the table so it would not thrash around. I left it running.

To the man in the lobby, it would sound exactly like I was intensely working on drying the dog’s coat.

I unclipped Ghost from the grooming table. “Come here, buddy,” I mouthed. I could not even hear my own voice over the roar of the dryer.

The Husky seemed to understand the danger. He hopped quietly off the table. He did not whine. He stuck to my leg like glue.

I crept toward the hallway leading to the breakroom. I kept my back pressed flat against the wall. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I reached the edge of the hallway and peeked around the corner.

Through the breakroom doorway, I could see my leather purse sitting on the counter. Just ten feet past that, the frosted glass of the swinging doors separated me from the lobby.

I could see the man’s shadow. He had stopped pacing. He was standing directly in front of the swinging doors. His hands were resting on his hips. He was staring through the frosted glass, listening to the roaring sound of the blow dryer.

I dropped to my hands and knees. If he pushed those doors open right now, he would see me instantly.

I crawled across the cold floor. Ghost walked silently right beside me. I reached the breakroom counter. I slowly stood up. I blindly reached my hand over the top of the counter. My fingers brushed against the leather strap of my purse. I pulled it down slowly, wincing as the metal buckles made a tiny clinking sound.

The shadow at the swinging doors shifted. The man placed his hand on the wood. He pushed the door open a crack.

“Hey!” the man yelled loudly over the deafening roar of the blow dryer. “How much longer?!”

I froze. I dropped completely flat onto the floor, pulling my purse tightly to my chest. I held my breath. I prayed the Husky would not bark. Ghost simply laid down beside me on the floor, completely silent.

Receiving no answer over the noise of the loud machine, the man let the door swing shut again. I heard him curse loudly.

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