Chapter 1 - THE DOG IN THE ALLEY
Josie was halfway past the alley behind the shuttered print shop when she heard something hit metal.
She stopped.
The sound came again.
A scrape.
Then a low, broken whine.
Every sensible instinct told her to keep walking.
South Side alleys at eleven in the morning weren't necessarily safer than they were at midnight. Josie had survived ten years on her own because she understood one rule better than most people understood their own names:
If trouble didn't belong to you, don't volunteer to make it yours.
She took two more steps.
The whine came again.
Josie closed her eyes.
“Damn it.”
She turned around.
The alley smelled like wet cardboard, old grease, and November rain. She moved past overflowing dumpsters, one hand buried in her coat pocket around the cheap pepper spray she carried everywhere.
At first she saw nothing.
Then something shifted behind a stack of broken pallets.
Josie's breath stopped.
It was a dog.
A huge one.
Black.
Even lying on his side, he looked enormous, with a broad skull, powerful shoulders, and paws nearly the size of Josie's hands. A Cane Corso, she guessed, though she had never been close to one before.
His coat was soaked.
Blood darkened the fur along his ribs.
A strip of leather hung from his neck where a collar had apparently been cut away.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
His eyes opened.
Josie froze.
The dog's lip lifted weakly.
A warning.
Not aggression.
Fear.
“I know,” Josie whispered. “I know. I'm not touching you.”
She crouched several feet away.
The dog tried to raise his head.
He couldn't.
That frightened her more than the blood.
An animal that size should have been able to stand.
Josie slowly removed the half sandwich she'd packed for her diner shift.
Turkey.
One slice of cheese.
It was supposed to be both lunch and dinner.
She tore off a piece.
“I was really looking forward to this.”
The dog's nostrils moved.
She tossed the turkey near him.
He sniffed it but didn't eat.
That was worse.
Josie pulled out her phone.
Nine percent battery.
She searched for the nearest emergency veterinarian.
Three miles.
She called.
The receptionist answered.
Josie explained what she'd found.
“Can you transport the animal?”
“I don't have a car.”
“Animal Control may be able to respond.”
“How long?”
A pause.
“Current wait could be several hours.”
Josie looked at the dog's shallow breathing.
“He doesn't have several hours.”
“Ma'am, don't approach an injured unfamiliar dog. He could bite.”
“I understand.”
“He may be dangerous.”
Josie stared at the animal.
“No,” she said quietly. “He's scared.”
She ended the call and dialed the only person she knew with a vehicle.
Ruthie.
Her boss.
The diner owner answered on the fourth ring.
“You better be calling to tell me you're outside.”
“I'm not.”
“Josie.”
“I found a dog.”
Silence.
“I'm hanging up.”
“He's dying.”
Another silence.
Ruthie sighed.
“You've got a shift.”
“I know.”
“And three people called out.”
“I know.”
“You need those hours.”
Josie looked down at the dog.
“I know.”
“Then leave the dog for Animal Control.”
Josie didn't answer.
Ruthie understood anyway.
“You are the most financially irresponsible broke woman I've ever met.”
“Can I borrow your van?”
“No.”
“Ruthie.”
“The transmission sounds like a blender full of bolts.”
“Please.”
Another long sigh.
“Where are you?”
Josie gave her the address.
“I'll send Eddie with the van. Fifteen minutes. You miss lunch rush, I'm docking you.”
“Fair.”
“You get bitten, I'm not filling out paperwork.”
“Also fair.”
Josie hung up.
The dog's breathing suddenly changed.
Fast.
Panicked.
He tried to move.
“Easy.”
His gaze wasn't on her.
It was behind her.
Josie turned.
Two men had entered the alley.
Both wore dark jackets.
Neither looked surprised to see the dog.
That was the first thing Josie noticed.
The second was the way the shorter man slipped his hand inside his coat.
Josie's stomach tightened.
“Miss,” the taller man said, “step away from the animal.”
Josie remained crouched.
“You know him?”
“We've been looking for him.”
There was something wrong with the answer.
People looking for a lost dog didn't usually approach like debt collectors.
“What's his name?”
The men exchanged a glance.
Tiny.
But Josie saw it.
The shorter man smiled.
“Rocky.”
Behind her, the dog didn't react.
Josie looked back at him.
“Rocky?”
Nothing.
The taller man's face hardened.
“Move.”
Josie's pulse accelerated.
“Who owns him?”
“Lady, this doesn't concern you.”
The dog made a weak sound.
His entire body had begun trembling.
Josie had lived around fear long enough to recognize it.
He knew these men.
And he was terrified of them.
She stood.
She was five-foot-four and probably weighed half as much as either man.
Still, she positioned herself between them and the dog.
“No.”
The taller man blinked.
“What?”
“You're not taking him.”
The shorter man laughed.
“Look at you.”
Josie didn't move.
“You think you're protecting something?”
“I think whatever happened to him happened before I got here.”
The smile disappeared.
“Walk away.”
Josie gripped the pepper spray in her pocket.
“Show me a photo of him on your phone.”
“What?”
“If he's yours, show me a photo.”
The taller man stepped forward.
The dog growled.
Weak.
But unmistakable.
The men stopped.
Josie felt the truth settle in her chest.
They weren't rescuing him.
They had come to finish something.
The shorter man pulled his hand from his coat.
Not a gun.
A syringe.
Josie's blood went cold.
“We don't have time for this,” he said.
The taller man moved toward her.
Josie pulled the pepper spray.
“Come closer and I'll—”
He struck her wrist.
The canister flew away.
Pain exploded up her arm.
Josie stumbled.
The dog tried to rise.
His front legs collapsed.
The shorter man moved around Josie with the syringe.
“No!”
She lunged.
He shoved her backward.
Her hip hit the brick wall.
For one second everything blurred.
Then she saw him kneeling beside the dog.
Josie didn't think.
She threw herself across the animal.
Her body covered his neck and chest.
The man froze.
“Get off.”
“No.”
“Move.”
“No.”
His partner grabbed Josie's coat and tried to drag her away.
She wrapped both arms around the dog's neck.
He was freezing.
She could feel his heart hammering against her forearm.
“Lady!”
“Go to hell!”
The taller man pulled harder.
Josie's shoulder screamed.
She held on.
The dog made a sound somewhere between a whimper and growl.
“Do it through her if you have to,” the shorter man snapped.
Josie stopped breathing.
“What?”
The man holding the syringe looked at her.
And something in his eyes told her he might actually do it.
Josie lowered her face against the dog's wet fur.
She had no parents who would receive the phone call.
No husband.
No children.
No savings.
No grand plan.
Maybe tomorrow her landlord would simply throw her belongings into a box and rent the apartment to somebody else.
But beneath her was a creature that was terrified and hurting and couldn't run.
She knew exactly what that felt like.
“It's okay,” she whispered against his fur. “You're not alone.”
The man raised the syringe.
Headlights flooded the alley.
Everyone froze.
Black SUVs entered from both ends.
Fast.
Too fast.
Doors opened before the vehicles had completely stopped.
Men in dark suits spilled into the alley.
The two attackers turned.
The taller one whispered something Josie couldn't hear.
The shorter man dropped the syringe.
A final SUV stopped sideways at the alley entrance.
The rear door opened.
One man stepped out.
He wore a dark overcoat over a black suit, no hat despite the cold. Tall. Early forties. Black hair touched with gray at the temples.
He didn't rush.
He didn't need to.
Every other man in the alley seemed to rearrange himself around the simple fact of his presence.
His eyes moved first to the two strangers.
Then to Josie.
Then to the dog beneath her.
Something changed in his face.
Not much.
But enough.
“Saint.”
The dog's ears moved.
Josie felt it.
The man crossed the alley.
“Saint.”
This time the dog lifted his head.
Barely.
His tail struck the pavement once.
The man's expression went still.
Terribly still.
One of the attackers suddenly ran.
He made it three steps.
A suited man caught him and slammed him against the wall.
The second raised his hands.
“We didn't do anything.”
The man in the black overcoat kept walking toward Josie.
She tightened her arms around the dog.
He noticed.
His gaze dropped to her protective hold.
“Let him go,” he said.
Josie swallowed.
“No.”
Several men stared at her as if she'd just thrown herself off a roof.
The stranger's eyes narrowed.
“He's my dog.”
“Prove it.”
Someone behind him muttered, “Jesus Christ.”
But the man's expression shifted.
Almost surprise.
“His name is Saint. Seven years old. Cane Corso. He has a crescent-shaped scar behind his right ear from running into a fence when he was sixteen months old.”
Josie carefully felt behind the dog's ear.
There it was.
The man continued.
“He hates thunder. Won't sleep near open doors. He won't eat chicken unless it's cooked. He knows commands in English and Italian.”
Josie looked down.
“Saint?”
The dog's tail moved again.
She released a breath.
“He's yours.”
“Yes.”
She started to rise.
Saint whimpered.
His paw moved over her wrist.
Josie froze.
The stranger did too.
The dog pressed weakly against her as though afraid she would leave.
The man's eyes moved from Saint to Josie.
“What happened?”
She looked toward the two restrained men.
“Ask them.”
His gaze followed hers.
The temperature of the alley seemed to drop another ten degrees.
One of his men picked up the syringe using a handkerchief.
“Mr. DeSantis.”
So that was his name.
DeSantis.
Josie knew it.
Everybody in Chicago knew it.
Marco DeSantis.
The newspapers called him a businessman.
People in neighborhoods like Josie's used quieter words.
Words usually spoken while checking whether anyone else was listening.
Her heartbeat became painfully loud.
Marco DeSantis crouched beside his dying dog.
His hand hovered above Saint's head before settling gently against him.
“Get Dr. Levin ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now.”
Two men rushed forward with a collapsible stretcher.
Saint growled.
Josie put her hand against his neck.
“It's okay.”
The dog stopped.
Everyone stared.
Marco looked at her.
“Come with us.”
Josie laughed once from pure disbelief.
“No.”
His brows drew together.
“Saint is allowing you near him. He may need you.”
“I don't get into cars with strangers.”
“You just shielded my dog from a syringe with your body.”
“That doesn't make your kidnapping proposal better.”
For half a second, something almost human flickered in Marco's face.
Then Saint convulsed.
Josie's humor vanished.
“Saint!”
His body went rigid.
Marco's men reacted instantly.
“We need to move!”
Josie climbed into the SUV without another argument.
Marco entered behind her.
Saint lay across a stretcher between them.
Josie kept one hand on the dog's head.
Marco kept the other near his chest.
The SUV tore away.
Only after several blocks did Josie realize her sleeve was wet.
She looked down.
Blood.
Not Saint's.
Hers.
The taller attacker had cut her arm during the struggle, apparently with something she had never seen.
Marco noticed.
His eyes darkened.
“You're bleeding.”
“I'll live.”
He looked at the woman in the torn discount-store coat who had apparently decided his dog's life mattered more than her own.
Then he looked at Saint.
“How long were you with him?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
“And you did that?”
“Did what?”
“Covered him with your body.”
Josie looked down at Saint.
“He couldn't cover himself.”
Marco DeSantis said nothing for the rest of the ride.
But when his phone rang, he answered with a voice colder than the November streets.
“Find out who those men work for.”
A pause.
“And nobody touches them until I get there.”
Josie looked at him sharply.
Marco met her eyes.
May you like
Then Saint's breathing suddenly stopped.
And every person inside the SUV started shouting.
