Chapter 2 - THE MAN EVERYONE FEARED
“Saint!”
Josie dropped to her knees beside the stretcher.
The veterinarian seated across from them had been monitoring Saint during the drive and immediately pressed two fingers against the dog's neck.
“No pulse.”
Marco went completely still.
The vet began chest compressions.
“Bag!”
An assistant shoved an oxygen mask over Saint's muzzle.
The SUV became a moving emergency room.
Josie backed against the seat.
There was nowhere for her to go.
“Come on,” she whispered.
The veterinarian pushed medication through an IV line he'd established only minutes earlier.
Nothing.
Marco watched without blinking.
But his right hand was clenched so hard his knuckles had gone white.
“Again,” he said.
“Mr. DeSantis—”
“Again.”
The vet pushed another dose.
Then—
A beep.
Another.
Another.
“I've got him.”
Josie almost collapsed.
Marco's eyes closed for less than a second.
The SUV turned through iron gates and stopped outside a building that looked nothing like an animal hospital.
It resembled a private medical clinic hidden behind high brick walls.
Men were already waiting with equipment.
Saint disappeared through double doors.
Josie tried to follow.
A nurse stopped her.
“We need room.”
“He doesn't like strangers.”
“We know.”
“No, you don't.”
Marco stepped beside her.
“Let them work.”
Josie looked at him.
Up close, he was even more intimidating.
Not because of his size.
Because he didn't waste movement.
Every gesture seemed considered.
Every word economical.
People around him waited for instructions before breathing too loudly.
Josie had known men who tried hard to look dangerous.
Marco DeSantis didn't appear to be trying at all.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I need to leave.”
“You're injured.”
“I have work.”
He stared at her.
“You almost died twenty minutes ago.”
“And now I'm late.”
For the first time, Marco looked genuinely confused.
“You're worried about being late?”
“Some of us get fired for that.”
He glanced toward her torn sleeve.
“How much do they pay you?”
Josie's eyes sharpened.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Don't do that rich-person thing where you ask what somebody makes so you can decide whether their problems count.”
A man standing nearby looked horrified.
Marco only studied her.
“What is your name?”
“Josie Brennan.”
“Josie.”
“I know my name.”
A corner of his mouth nearly moved.
Then the clinic doors opened.
Dr. Levin emerged wearing surgical scrubs.
Marco stepped forward.
“Well?”
“He's alive.”
Josie's knees weakened.
“But?” Marco asked.
The doctor's expression remained serious.
“He has internal bleeding, two fractured ribs, severe dehydration, and something else I don't like.”
“What?”
“His bloodwork suggests poisoning.”
Josie looked at Marco.
His entire face changed.
“Poisoned with what?”
“We're running toxicology now.”
“Could it have happened accidentally?”
“No.”
The single word hung there.
Dr. Levin continued.
“He also has puncture marks along the left shoulder and shaved patches under the fur. Someone has been injecting him repeatedly.”
Josie's stomach turned.
Marco's voice dropped.
“For how long?”
“Maybe forty-eight hours.”
Josie remembered the syringe.
“They were going to inject him again.”
Marco's eyes moved to her.
“You saw it?”
“Yes.”
“What color was the liquid?”
“Clear.”
“How much?”
“I don't know. Half the syringe, maybe.”
Dr. Levin swore under his breath.
“We'll test what your people recovered.”
Marco turned to one of his men.
“Get it here.”
“Already moving.”
Dr. Levin looked at Josie's arm.
“She needs stitches.”
“I don't.”
“You absolutely do.”
Josie glanced down.
The cut looked worse now that adrenaline had faded.
“Fine. Glue it.”
“Stitches.”
“Glue.”
The doctor stared at her.
“You bargain with physicians often?”
“Only when I'm paying.”
“You're not paying.”
Josie's eyes immediately moved to Marco.
He lifted one hand.
“Before you start, I didn't offer.”
“Good.”
“I was going to.”
“No.”
Marco exhaled through his nose.
Dr. Levin looked between them.
“I'll send someone.”
Twenty minutes later, Josie sat on an examination table while a nurse stitched her arm.
She had missed most of the lunch rush.
Ruthie had called six times.
Josie finally answered.
“Are you alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where's my van?”
Josie blinked.
“Oh.”
“Eddie got to that alley and found police tape, six black SUVs, and no Josie.”
“I had to leave.”
“With the dog?”
“Yes.”
“Are you in trouble?”
Josie looked through the glass wall.
Marco stood at the end of the corridor speaking quietly to four men.
“Yes.”
“Do you need me to call the police?”
Josie watched two uniformed Chicago officers arrive.
They shook Marco's hand.
“No,” she said slowly. “I don't think that's going to help.”
“Who owns the dog?”
Josie hesitated.
“Marco DeSantis.”
Silence.
Then Ruthie whispered, “The Marco DeSantis?”
“I don't know how many there are.”
“Josie.”
“I know.”
“You need to get out.”
“I plan to.”
“Now.”
“As soon as they finish sewing my arm together.”
“They're sewing you?”
“It was a complicated morning.”
Ruthie groaned.
“Your shift is covered.”
“I can't afford—”
“Your shift is covered. Just don't get murdered. Training new people is exhausting.”
Josie smiled despite herself.
“I love you too.”
She hung up.
The nurse tied the final stitch.
“Done.”
Josie stood.
Her body hurt more now.
The adrenaline was gone, leaving bruises, exhaustion, and hunger.
She started toward the exit.
Marco appeared in front of her.
“How are you leaving?”
“Walking.”
“To where?”
“Home.”
“No.”
Josie stared at him.
“No?”
“The men who attacked Saint saw your face.”
“So?”
“So one of them said something interesting.”
Josie's stomach tightened.
“What?”
Marco studied her for several seconds.
“He said they were told to recover the dog and anything the dog had touched.”
Josie glanced toward Saint's treatment room.
“I don't understand.”
“Neither do I.”
“That doesn't involve me.”
“You touched him.”
“Half Chicago has probably touched that dog.”
“Not in the last twelve hours.”
Josie stepped around him.
Marco blocked her again.
“I need to go home.”
“Someone will drive you.”
“No.”
“It isn't a request.”
Josie laughed.
“You know, people probably find that line impressive when you've got eight men standing behind you.”
Marco's expression hardened.
“Josie.”
“But I grew up in foster homes where adults said things weren't requests all the time. So here's something you should understand.”
She stepped closer.
“I decide where I go.”
For the first time all day, Marco DeSantis had no immediate answer.
His security chief, a broad man named Carlo, suddenly approached.
“Boss.”
Marco looked over.
Carlo held a clear evidence bag.
Inside was Saint's torn leather collar.
“We found this in the alley drain.”
Marco took it.
The collar had been sliced apart.
Something about it bothered Josie.
“Wait.”
Marco looked at her.
She pointed.
“That wasn't on him.”
“What?”
“When I found Saint, there was leather around his neck, but not that.”
Carlo's brow furrowed.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“What was on him?”
“A narrow strip. Dark brown. Maybe an inch wide.”
Marco and Carlo exchanged a look.
“What?” Josie asked.
Marco ignored the question.
“Search the alley again.”
Carlo left immediately.
Josie folded her arms.
“What aren't you telling me?”
“Saint has two collars.”
“Why?”
“One is decorative.”
“And the other?”
Marco looked through the glass toward the operating room.
“Contains a GPS unit.”
“That explains why you found him.”
“No.”
Josie frowned.
“Saint's GPS stopped transmitting nineteen hours ago.”
“Then how did you find the alley?”
“We didn't.”
Marco's eyes returned to her.
“We found the men.”
Josie felt cold.
Before she could ask more, Dr. Levin rushed into the corridor.
“Marco.”
Something in his voice made everyone turn.
“We found a foreign object on Saint's X-ray.”
“What kind?”
“Metallic. Small. Near the stomach.”
Marco went still.
“He swallowed something?”
“Possibly.”
“When?”
“I can't tell.”
Josie remembered Saint refusing the sandwich.
Marco's phone rang.
He answered.
“Speak.”
His expression changed.
Carlo's voice came faintly through the speaker.
“We found the second collar.”
A pause.
“Cut open. Tracker removed.”
Marco's jaw tightened.
“Anything else?”
Another pause.
Then Carlo said something Josie couldn't hear.
Marco slowly looked at her.
“What?” she demanded.
He ended the call.
“The alley camera caught footage from last night.”
“And?”
“Saint wasn't dumped there.”
Josie waited.
“He escaped there.”
That should have been good news.
It wasn't.
Because Marco's next words made Josie's skin prickle.
“He had something in his mouth when he arrived.”
Josie looked down at her torn coat.
A strange memory surfaced.
When she'd first crouched beside Saint, before the men appeared, he had pushed his muzzle hard against her side.
She had thought he wanted comfort.
Now she remembered hearing a tiny metallic click.
Slowly, Josie reached into her coat pocket.
Nothing.
Then she felt along the ripped lining.
Her fingers touched something hard.
Marco saw her expression.
“What is it?”
Josie pulled open the torn seam.
A small brass capsule fell into her palm.
Every man in the corridor went silent.
Marco stared at it.
Then at Josie.
His voice was almost a whisper.
“Where did you get that?”
May you like
Josie looked toward the operating room.
“I think your dog gave it to me.”
