Page 31 of Crowbar

“Spencer.” Deb’s voice pulled me back. “Inventory?”

“Right. Yes. Going.” I tore my eyes away from the window and headed toward the back.

The puppies were in the back with a partition separating them from the main floor. Eight in all, each one containing a furball. A golden retriever puppy was chewing on a stuffed toy. Two beagles were wrestling over a rope toy.

Clipboard in hand, I popped in my ear bud and pulled up the playlist with upbeat tempos. The beat helped the task of counting kibble bags feel less soul-crushing.

“Morning, everyone,” I announced to the puppies, crouching in front of the nearest pen. “Update on Noodles.”

The golden retriever with a pink collar looked up at me with eyes that were a blend of innocence and chaos.

“She’s thriving. Learned to sit on command, though she only does it when there’s food involved. Can’t blame her. Capitalism applies to dogs too.”

The retriever tilted her head.

“She’s also figured out how to open the kitchen cabinet where Crowbar keeps her treats. He’s had to install a baby lock. Yes, a baby lock. For a puppy. She’s smarter than both of us combined.”

The Pomeranian barked.

“I know. I’m proud too.”

Back to the clipboard. I counted the stacks of newspapers in the corner, checked the supply of cleaning solution under the sink, and made a note that we were low on the small-breed puppy formula.

My arm throbbed, a dull ache that radiated from shoulder to elbow. The ibuprofen I’d taken that morning was wearing off faster than advertised. I shifted the clipboard to my other hand and kept going, marking off boxes.

The music in my ear bud shifted to something slower. I hummed along, crouching to check the numbers on my sheet to the actual count of supplies.

Behind me, the back door eased open.

The hum died in my throat. Slowly, I turned my head.

Ken stood in the doorway, one hand holding it open, hazel eyes locked on me with an expression that was too calm to be anything but dangerous.

And in his right hand, held low against his thigh, was a gun.

Chapter Ten

Crowbar

A cacophony of barking made me turn my head toward the shop. Gunner joined in as if it was a game. “You miss your friends?”

Gunner yipped, pawing at the window like she could climb through it to reach them.

Puppies didn’t bark like that unless something was wrong. Fear or threat or both.

My hand was already on the door handle when Gunner scrambled over my lap toward the driver’s side window, nails digging into my thigh. She pressed her nose against the glass and barked again, high and urgent.

“Easy.” I scooped her onto my shoulder and stepped out of the truck.

The barking continued, muffled now by walls and glass but still audible. Too loud for normal business. Too frantic for play. My wolf stirred, hackles rising, and the toothpick stilled between my teeth.

Something was off.

Crossing, I scanned the street. No suspicious vehicles. No one loitering near the entrance. But the feeling didn’t leave. It crawled up my arms and sat heavy in my gut.

The bell chimed when I pushed through the door. Deb was heading toward the back, but turned around when she saw me, surprise flickering across her face before she smiled.

“You’re Spencer’s friend.” She smiled at Gunnar perched on my shoulder. ”Hey, beautiful. You’re getting so big.”