Chapter 3 - THE UNWELCOME GUESTS
"Good morning," I said, forcing my voice to remain perfectly steady as I leaned against the front counter, sliding my hand inside my pocket to brush against my emergency panic button. "We don't open for another hour. If you have an injured animal, bring it inside."
The man in the center—older, with a jagged scar running from his ear down his neck and cold, reptilian eyes—stepped forward. His boots tracked melting slush across my freshly mopped linoleum.
"We aren't looking for vets, Dr. Santos," he rasped, his voice sounding like gravel grinding inside an iron pipe. "We're looking for a stray dog. Big build, dark hair, carries a nasty bite."
I felt my heart skip a beat, but my face remained an unreadable mask of professional detachment. "I haven't treated any stray dogs matching that description recently. Only a golden retriever yesterday afternoon."
The scar-faced man stepped closer, leaning over the counter until his face was inches from mine. The smell of cold air, cheap cigars, and burnt gunpowder radiated off his wool coat.
"Let's not waste each other's time, Doctor," he whispered, his eyes narrowing. "A man bled all over the road three miles down the highway before his car ran out of gas. Our tracking dogs lost his scent right at the edge of your property line. Now, either you tell us which ditch you dumped his body in, or we'll tear this little clinic down to the foundations to find him ourselves."
Behind me, Thor let out a low, vibrating growl from the back room, sensing the hostility in the air.
I didn't flinch. I held the man's gaze, channeling every ounce of stubborn clinical authority I possessed. "This is private property. You have zero jurisdiction here without a warrant from the county sheriff. And as far as I'm concerned, you're trespassing in a licensed medical facility. Get out."
The man stared at me for three agonizing seconds, a dark, dangerous smile playing at the corners of his thin lips. He slowly reached into his coat pocket.
I braced myself, my finger pressing down hard on the panic button beneath the desk.
"You've got spirit, Doctor," he muttered, turning on his heel. "Too bad it's going to get you buried in the snow. We'll be back. And next time, we won't knock."
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With a synchronized turn, the three men walked out to their idling black SUVs, leaving the clinic doors wide open to the freezing mountain wind.
I slammed the door shut, locked the deadbolt, and slid down to the floor behind the counter, my hands shaking uncontrollably. They knew. They knew Dante had been here. And worse—they knew I had helped him.
