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Chapter 1: The Midnight Bribe

The neon “OPEN” sign in the front window of my salon, Paws & Perfection, had been turned off for over an hour.

Outside, a heavy autumn rainstorm crashed against the glass. It turned the dark parking lot into a blurry, watery mess. Inside, my back ached with a dull pain. I had just spent twelve straight hours washing anxious, wet dogs. I was sweeping up the last bits of golden fur from the floor. I just wanted to lock the doors and go home.

Suddenly, a violent, loud banging shattered the quiet room.

I jumped. My heart skipped a beat. I looked toward the front of the shop. Standing under the flickering street light, hitting the glass door with his bare hand, was a man. His other hand held a thick leather leash. The leash was pulled tight against the neck of a dog that was desperately trying to back away into the rain.

Every instinct I had developed over twelve years as a pet groomer went on high alert.

The man was dressed in an expensive, dark suit. But the suit was completely ruined. The knees were soaked and covered in thick, dark mud. His tie was ripped in half. He looked crazy. His eyes darted nervously between the dark, empty parking lot and the bright lights of my salon.

I walked slowly to the door. I left the heavy lock closed. “We are closed, sir! We open at eight tomorrow morning.”

“Open the door!” the man shouted. His voice was muffled through the thick glass, but he sounded desperate. He hit the glass again, leaving a smear of mud. “I have cash! I need this dog handled right now!”

I hesitated. I looked down at the animal at his feet.

It was a Siberian Husky. The dog’s beautiful white and silver coat was a complete disaster. It was covered in layers of wet, dark mud. The mud was twisted into thick, hard knots that pulled painfully against the dog’s skin. The dog was shaking violently. Its striking, ice-blue eyes were wide with deep, intelligent terror.

The animal lover inside me took over. The dog was suffering. I unlocked the door and pulled it open just a few inches.

“Sir, I am closed, and that dog needs—”

The man did not let me finish. He pushed his way through the opening. He dragged the terrified Husky inside with him. The cold wind and rain blew into the lobby before I managed to push the door shut again.

“I need him shaved,” the man demanded. He was breathing heavily. He wiped rainwater from his face. He did not look at me. He was busy looking through the window blinds out into the dark parking lot. His body was tense with a twitchy, nervous energy. “Shave him all the way down to the skin. Right now.”

He reached into his ruined jacket. He pulled out a thick stack of fifty-dollar bills and slammed them onto my desk.

“Take it,” he snapped. “There is five hundred dollars there. Just shave the dog.”

I stared at the money, then at the man. “Sir, I cannot do that. Shaving a Husky is very harmful. It destroys their natural fur, ruins how they control their body heat, and can cause bad skin infections. It is against professional rules.”

The man whipped around. His eyes locked onto mine. They were bloodshot. They were completely empty of kindness. They burned with an aggressive, terrifying anger.

“I do not care about his fur!” the man snarled. He took a sudden, threatening step toward my desk. “I found this stray dog wandering in the woods behind my house. He is covered in ticks and dirt. I am not bringing him inside my house looking like that. You will take him to the back room, and you will shave off every inch of that mud, or we are going to have a serious problem.”

My pulse hammered in my throat. I was completely alone in the building. My cell phone was sitting on the breakroom counter, twenty feet away. The man’s behavior was very strange. He smelled like stale sweat, expensive cologne, and pure adrenaline.

I looked down at the Husky.

The dog was not acting wild or aggressive like a normal stray. Instead, the Husky took a slow step toward me. He pressed his heavy, muddy head directly against my knee. He let out a soft, heartbreaking cry.

He is asking for help, I thought.

“Okay,” I said. I forced my voice to stay calm and steady. “I will do it. But it is going to take me at least forty-five minutes to work through mud this thick safely. You can wait in the lobby.”

“Make it thirty,” the man muttered. He turned his back to me and started pacing by the window again, his fingers drumming nervously against his leg.

Chapter 2: The Hidden Capsule

I unclipped the man’s heavy leather leash. I put my own soft nylon leash around the Husky’s neck. I gently led the dog away from the lobby, walking through the swinging wooden doors into the back grooming area. I let the doors swing shut.

I was finally separated from the scary stranger.

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