Sarah did not drive home.
She drove past it.
Cooper sat in the back seat beside Milo's crate, his head raised, ears forward, watching every turn through the window. Sarah had never seen him behave that way in the car. Usually he slept after the first twenty minutes.
Tonight he was alert.
Daniel followed in another vehicle.
The note sat on the passenger seat.
Ask Cooper where Daisy went.
Sarah kept reading it at red lights.
She hated the message.
Not because it frightened her.
Because it suggested the writer knew Cooper.
Maybe they had watched him.
Maybe they knew where he had been.
Maybe they knew where Sarah lived.
She glanced at the rearview mirror.
Cooper was looking at Milo.
The puppy had fallen asleep.
Cooper remained awake.
Sarah reached backward at the next stoplight.
Her fingers touched his paw.
Cooper leaned forward.
She smiled faintly.
“You're going to have to help me.”
His eyes met hers.
The rescue center had given Daniel an old property map.
East Creek appeared in the upper corner.
A warehouse stood beside the drainage channel.
Another building sat several hundred yards beyond it.
The building had once been a private boarding facility.
Its name had been removed from the county registry.
Daniel believed it had been used by the same transport company.
Sarah parked outside.
The building looked abandoned.
Windows were covered with plywood.
Grass had grown through cracks in the pavement.
A rusted chain hung from the front gate.
Daniel got out.
“You sure about this?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Sarah looked at Cooper.
“He brought us here.”
Daniel stared at the dog.
“How do you know?”
“He won't stop looking at the building.”
Cooper stood at the end of the leash.
His nose was pointed toward the rear entrance.
Milo woke inside the crate.
He began whining.
Cooper answered.
Sarah opened the vehicle door.
Milo was too young to walk freely outside, so Daniel carried the crate.
Cooper led them along the side of the building.
He stopped at a rusted service door.
Sarah examined the lock.
Broken.
The door opened inward.
Inside, the air smelled of damp wood and old disinfectant.
Their footsteps echoed.
Rows of empty kennels lined the corridor.
Sarah shivered.
“Someone kept dogs here.”
Daniel nodded.
The walls were covered with faded numbers.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Seven.
Nine.
Sarah looked at Daniel.
“The same numbers.”
He photographed them.
Cooper continued walking.
He stopped beside one kennel.
The door was marked Seven.
Sarah opened it.
Cooper stepped inside.
He sniffed the floor.
Then the wall.
He scratched at a corner.
Sarah knelt.
There was a small piece of blue fabric caught beneath a metal grate.
She pulled it free.
The red circle.
Seven.
She looked at Cooper.
He lowered his head.
His breathing became uneven.
Milo began crying.
Cooper turned immediately.
Sarah carried Milo's crate closer.
The puppy stopped crying.
Daniel watched.
“It's like he needs to know where Cooper is.”
Sarah nodded.
“Maybe Cooper does too.”
They moved deeper into the building.
A second room contained shelves filled with empty folders.
Most labels were gone.
One remained.
DAISY.
Sarah stopped.
Her hands trembled.
She pulled the folder down.
Inside was one photograph.
Daisy.
Older than in the first picture.
She stood beside a chain-link fence.
There was a scar across her nose.
Sarah covered her mouth.
“She was here.”
Daniel looked at the photograph.
“When?”
The date was written underneath.
Four years ago.
One year after Cooper came to Sarah.
Sarah stared.
“If Daisy was here after Cooper was adopted, then…”
Daniel finished the thought.
“Someone kept tracking her.”
The next page contained a transfer record.
Daisy had been scheduled for transport.
Destination blank.
The signature belonged to Victor Hale.
Sarah felt anger replace fear.
“Victor.”
Daniel nodded.
“He worked for the transport company.”
“And he knew about Cooper.”
“Yes.”
“Then why warn me?”
Daniel looked toward the dark hallway.
“Maybe he isn't the one we should be afraid of.”
Sarah turned.
“What do you mean?”
Before he could answer, Cooper began barking.
Not loudly.
Repeatedly.
He was standing in front of a steel door.
Daniel tried the handle.
Locked.
Sarah searched the wall.
There was a keypad.
Four digits.
Beside it was a faded painted symbol.
Seven.
Daniel looked at Cooper.
“Can he remember a number?”
Sarah shook her head.
“He's a dog.”
“Right.”
Cooper scratched the floor.
Sarah looked down.
Four marks.
Then he turned toward another wall.
He scratched again.
Seven marks.
Daniel stared.
“Maybe he's responding to something.”
Sarah noticed a small metal plate beneath the keypad.
Four buttons.
7.
8.
9.
10.
She tried seven.
Nothing.
Three.
Nothing.
Five.
Nothing.
Nine.
Nothing.
Cooper whined.
Milo barked from the crate.
Sarah looked at the four numbers.
“Maybe they aren't a code.”
Daniel frowned.
“What else?”
“Units.”
She looked toward the corridor.
Seven.
Three.
Five.
Nine.
“Families.”
Daniel understood.
“The order of the dogs.”
Sarah pressed the numbers in sequence.
7-3-5-9.
The lock clicked.
The steel door opened.
Inside was a narrow office.
There were no kennels.
Only shelves.
Photographs.
Folders.
And a large corkboard.
Sarah stepped forward.
Hundreds of photographs covered it.
Dogs.
Dozens of them.
Some had numbers.
Some had names.
Some had neither.
In the center was one large photograph.
Cooper.
Daisy.
Toby.
And another dog Sarah had never seen.
A golden female with a white stripe down her face.
Daniel whispered, “That's Daisy's sister.”
Sarah turned.
“How do you know?”
“She was listed in the old records.”
“What happened to her?”
“Missing.”
Sarah looked at the board again.
The dogs were arranged in groups.
Families.
Littermates.
Mother and offspring.
The red circle marked each group.
Seven.
Three.
Five.
Nine.
And beneath them was another heading.
“Observation Program.”
Sarah felt sick.
“What is this?”
Daniel walked to a file cabinet.
He opened it.
Inside were medical reports.
Genetic tests.
Behavior notes.
Breeding histories.
Sarah stared.
“They were tracking bloodlines.”
Daniel nodded.
“But why?”
He pulled another file.
The answer was there.
The transport company had been collecting certain dogs from shelters and private owners because buyers were paying for specific traits.
Temperament.
Size.
Color.
Pedigree.
Some dogs had been resold.
Others had been used to produce litters.
The records had been hidden to avoid inspection.
Sarah looked at Cooper.
He had been one of those dogs.
Milo might be another.
She felt anger rising.
“They didn't see them as animals.”
Daniel's voice was quiet.
“They saw them as inventory.”
Milo began crying.
Cooper stood beside his crate.
Sarah knelt.
“You're not inventory.”
Cooper looked at her.
She opened the crate.
Milo stepped out.
Cooper immediately lowered himself beside him.
Then Sarah saw something beneath the corkboard.
A photograph had fallen onto the floor.
She picked it up.
The image showed Daisy beside a man.
Victor.
But behind them stood another person.
A woman.
Sarah recognized her.
It was Lena.
The technician who had supposedly quit.
On the back of the photograph was a date.
Six months ago.
Sarah stared.
“Lena is still involved.”
Daniel took the photograph.
“No.”
“What?”
“Look at the background.”
Sarah turned it over.
A building number was visible through the window.
17.
Daniel went pale.
“I know that place.”
“Where?”
“It's a private kennel outside the county.”
Sarah looked toward Cooper.
He had stopped beside the doorway.
His nose was pointed toward the exit.
Then he looked back at her.
Milo stood beside him.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“If Lena is there, she may know what happened to Daisy.”
Sarah tightened her grip on the photograph.
“Then we're going.”
Daniel nodded.
“But we're not going alone.”
Sarah looked at the wall of photographs.
For years, Cooper had lived quietly beside her.
She had believed she rescued him.
Now she understood something more complicated.
Maybe she had.
But perhaps he had also been carrying a map.
Every scar.
Every reaction.
Every refusal to leave Milo.
Every frightened glance toward a familiar symbol.
He had been pointing toward a past Sarah could not see.
Now they finally knew where the trail led.
Before they left, Sarah noticed one final photograph pinned beneath the others.
It showed Daisy standing beside a kennel.
A small handwritten note appeared underneath.
“Moved before inspection.”
Sarah read it twice.
Then she looked at the date.
It was tomorrow.
Click Here to continue read next: PART5: The Date on Daisy’s File Was Tomorrow, Leaving Sarah Only One Night to Reach the Private Kennel Before Another Family Vanished
The Moment Sarah Handed Over the Leash, the Golden Dog Looked Up at Her as Though He Already Knew Something Was Wrong
Part 4 of 16
