Daniel opened the rear door of the SUV.
Milo immediately lifted his head.
The puppy had been quiet since Sarah arrived, but now his tiny body pressed toward the front of the crate. Cooper answered with a soft whine. Sarah had never heard that sound from him before. It was almost the sound of recognition.
Daniel looked at Sarah.
“Come inside.”
She hesitated.
“You said there was an investigation.”
“There is.”
“And you're going to explain it?”
“I'll show you.”
Sarah followed him into the covered entrance of the rescue facility.
The building smelled of disinfectant, wet concrete, and dog food. Volunteers moved behind glass doors carrying towels and bowls. Somewhere deeper inside, a dog barked twice and then fell silent. Sarah knew this place well. She had worked here for nearly six years.
But suddenly it felt unfamiliar.
Daniel placed the report on a table.
Sarah opened it.
The first page contained Milo's intake photograph.
Beneath it was a date.
Three weeks earlier.
Found near the East Creek drainage channel.
Male.
Approximately four months old.
No collar.
No microchip.
Sarah turned the page.
There was a second photograph.
Milo lying beneath a blanket.
Then a medical report.
Then a handwritten observation.
“Puppy demonstrates unusual distress when separated from large golden dog.”
Sarah stopped.
She looked up.
“That's Cooper.”
Daniel nodded.
“But this was written before Cooper met him.”
Sarah stared at the sentence.
“What?”
Daniel took the paper.
“Read the date.”
She did.
The observation had been recorded two days before Sarah brought Cooper into the puppy room.
“That can't be right.”
“It was written by another technician.”
“Who?”
“Lena.”
Sarah remembered her.
Lena had worked night intake during the week of the storm.
“Where is she?”
“She quit.”
“Why?”
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
“She said someone was asking questions about Milo.”
Sarah turned another page.
The report described something strange.
When Milo was placed near several dogs, he remained anxious.
But when a large golden retriever passed the examination room, Milo stopped crying.
At the time, nobody knew why.
They had assumed it was coincidence.
Then Sarah had brought Cooper into the room.
Milo had reacted immediately.
Sarah remembered the moment.
She had opened the door.
Cooper had looked inside.
Milo had lifted his head.
The puppy's entire body had relaxed.
Daniel continued.
“After that, the staff started checking security footage.”
Sarah leaned closer.
“What did they find?”
“A vehicle.”
The photograph showed a dark SUV entering the clinic parking lot at 2:17 in the morning.
The plate was blurred.
The driver never exited.
But the vehicle had remained outside for eleven minutes.
Then it left.
The same red circle and number seven appeared on the rear bumper.
Sarah looked at Daniel.
“That's your vehicle.”
“It was.”
“Was?”
“I sold it last week.”
She stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because someone had been following me.”
Silence filled the room.
Sarah closed the file.
“You're telling me someone followed you because of a puppy?”
“Because of what the puppy may have seen.”
Sarah felt the pieces shifting.
“What could a four-month-old puppy see?”
Daniel sat down.
“Maybe nothing.”
“Then why are you frightened?”
He looked toward the window.
“Because Milo wasn't the only animal found near East Creek.”
Sarah waited.
“Three dogs were found there over six months.”
“Dead?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Separated from their owners.”
Sarah's stomach tightened.
“That's not unusual.”
“Not individually.”
Daniel pushed another document toward her.
The dogs had all been found within a small radius.
Different breeds.
Different ages.
Different neighborhoods.
But all three had one thing in common.
They had been wearing collars marked with a red circle.
And every collar had the same number.
Seven.
Sarah remembered Cooper's collar.
She had bought it herself.
There was no marking.
But she remembered the small scar near his shoulder.
She had noticed it when he was younger.
A narrow line hidden beneath his fur.
She had always assumed it came from a fence.
“Cooper was adopted from a private rescue,” she said.
Daniel nodded.
“Which one?”
Sarah gave the name.
Daniel opened another folder.
The rescue organization had closed two years earlier.
Its records had been transferred.
Sarah felt her mouth go dry.
“What's in them?”
“We don't know.”
“Then find out.”
“We tried.”
“And?”
“They're missing.”
Sarah pushed back from the table.
“Everything is missing.”
Daniel nodded.
“That is the problem.”
Milo began whining in the vehicle outside.
Cooper heard him.
He stood immediately.
Sarah went to the door.
Milo's small face appeared behind the crate.
Cooper pressed his nose against the glass.
Milo stopped crying.
Sarah watched them.
There was something profoundly wrong about it.
Not because they liked each other.
Because they seemed to need one another.
Daniel opened the vehicle door.
“Let them see each other.”
Sarah stepped outside.
The rain had slowed.
She crouched beside the SUV.
Milo stretched his nose toward Cooper.
Cooper licked his face through the narrow opening.
Milo's tail began wagging.
Sarah smiled despite everything.
Then Cooper suddenly froze.
His eyes shifted toward the road.
Sarah followed his gaze.
A white pickup had stopped across the street.
No one got out.
Daniel stood.
“Inside.”
Sarah looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because that vehicle has been there three times this week.”
The pickup remained for several seconds.
Then it drove away.
Sarah watched until it disappeared.
“Who is it?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
Daniel's jaw tightened.
“I know who owns it.”
“Who?”
“A man named Victor Hale.”
The name meant nothing to Sarah.
Daniel continued.
“He used to work for the rescue that handled Cooper's records.”
Sarah felt the ground shift beneath her.
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“I didn't know whether he was involved.”
“Involved in what?”
Daniel looked at Cooper.
“Something that happened before he came to you.”
Sarah crouched beside her dog.
Cooper was watching the road.
She ran her fingers through his wet fur.
“Tell me everything.”
Daniel took a breath.
“Cooper wasn't originally surrendered.”
Sarah looked up.
“He was listed as transferred.”
“Transferred where?”
“East Creek.”
Her heart sank.
“That's where Milo was found.”
Daniel nodded.
Sarah stood.
“That can't be coincidence.”
“No.”
“What happened at East Creek?”
Daniel opened the final page of the report.
It contained a photograph taken years earlier.
A group of dogs stood behind a chain-link fence.
One was a young golden retriever.
Cooper.
Sarah recognized the crooked white patch on his chest.
Beside him sat a small cream-colored puppy.
Milo.
But the date on the photograph was impossible.
Milo had supposedly been born four months earlier.
The photograph was dated three years ago.
Sarah stared.
“That's not Milo.”
Daniel pointed toward the puppy.
“Look at the ear.”
Sarah did.
One ear folded forward.
The same distinctive shape.
“No.”
“That's why we don't know what we're dealing with.”
Sarah looked from the photograph to the puppy in the car.
Then back again.
Milo was too young.
Yet the resemblance was undeniable.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“There may have been another puppy.”
Sarah's hands trembled.
“Then where is he?”
Daniel did not answer.
Cooper gave a low growl.
The sound came from deep in his chest.
Sarah turned.
A man stood at the far end of the parking lot.
Victor Hale.
He was watching them.
He did not approach.
He simply raised his hand.
In it was a photograph.
Then he turned and walked away.
Sarah looked at Daniel.
“What was that?”
Daniel stared at the empty parking lot.
“A warning.”
Click Here to continue read next: PART3: The Photograph Victor Left Behind Changed Everything Sarah Believed About Cooper, and the Missing Puppy Suddenly Became More Than a Rescue Case
The Moment Sarah Handed Over the Leash, the Golden Dog Looked Up at Her as Though He Already Knew Something Was Wrong
Part 2 of 16
