Page 32 of Crowbar

“Gunner wanted to see her friends.” The lie came easy. Truth was, my instincts were screaming, and I’d learned long ago not to ignore them.

“Gunner?” Deb’s smile widened as she came around the counter. “Is that her name?”

Started to say yes. My mouth opened. The word was right there.

“Noodles,” I said instead for some reason.

Deb laughed, reaching up to scratch behind Gunner’s ears. The puppy leaned into the touch, tail thumping against my shoulder. “Noodles suits her better anyway. She’s all wiggly.”

My mate had won. The realization didn’t bother me as much as it should’ve. Spencer had claimed my dog’s name the same way he’d claimed space in my head, my bed, and every quiet moment between breaths.

Still, I couldn’t let my mate this one. I was getting her a cut made. Vest would have Gunner stitched across the back in bold letters. Let Spencer call her whatever he wanted. The leather would tell the truth.

“She’s beautiful,” Deb continued, giving Gunner one last pat. “How’s she settling in?”

“Chewed through three pee pads and learned to open cabinets.”

“Smart girl.” Deb stepped back, studying me for a beat. Her expression shifted, something knowing sliding into place. “You’re here to see Spencer.”

Wasn’t a question.

“That obvious?”

“You’ve been parked across the street since he clocked in.” She smiled. “He’s in the back doing inventory.”

“Appreciate it.”

“You can hang around if you want. But only if you make yourself useful and help him.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Turning toward the back, I adjusted Gunner on my shoulder. Her nails dug in through my shirt, tiny pinpricks of pressure.

General Patton was on his perch, head cocked at an angle that made him look like he was plotting something. As I passed, he ruffled his feathers.

“Wolf!” the bird shrieked.

I froze mid-step. The bird knew. Animals always knew. They could smell what humans couldn’t see.

The bird stared at me with one beady eye then turned his head and preened a wing like he hadn’t just outed me to anyone listening.

Smirking, I kept walking toward the puppy section. The barking had stopped, leaving an eerie quiet that made my skin prickle. Eight pens lined the wall. Most of the puppies were alert, ears perked, staring toward the back corner where the supply area opened into a hallway.

No Spencer.

A clipboard lay on the floor near the sink, pages crumpled like it had been dropped. Spencer’s handwriting was visible from where I stood, messy and slanted, half the words unreadable. My wolf went from alert to hunting in the space between heartbeats.

“Spencer?”

Nothing.

Spencer’s scent was everywhere. Vanilla and strawberry and that clean laundry smell that clung to his clothes. Setting Gunner down near one of the pens, I sniffed the air. So did she. The scent grew stronger by the back door where we stopped.

Gunner pawed at something on the floor. Crouching down beside her, I picked it up. An earbud. White plastic, still warm from being in Spencer’s ear. The cord was frayed at the end like it had been yanked free.

My blood turned cold.

Snatching the earbud off the floor, I shoved open the door and pulled my phone from my pocket. Preacher answered on the first ring.