Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

GARRETT

W ell, that was an afternoon to remember—for all the wrong reasons,” Garrett said as he stripped off his latex gloves and dropped them into the garbage.

“We’re not closed yet.” Kirsten sprayed cleaner on the stainless steel examining table and wiped it down with paper towels before removing and discarding her gloves. “Don’t tempt fate.”

“Is there a full moon? I swear that must be it.” Garrett pushed his hair back and rolled his head to loosen a stiff neck.

“Could be. But the last time I checked, we still had a full waiting room.”

Garrett sighed. “I keep telling myself that busy beats the alternatives, but I don’t always believe it.”

“Maybe everyone decided to get their pets in to be seen before the weekend. Or there’s a virus going around,” Kirsten suggested.

“Yeah.” Garrett wished he had a triple latte. He rubbed his eyes. “Okay. I’ll head over to room three after I check on whether those two Parvo vaccination dogs had a reaction. See you there.”

They had been swamped with sick and injured animals almost from the time the clinic doors opened. Some were serious and others less so, but Garrett did his best not to turn anyone away and so he had muddled through a caseload that was half again as many patients as he would usually have seen.

Garrett knew that they could have sent some of the patients to the urgent care vet and the veterinary emergency room. But he didn’t think they were sick enough to need that level of care, and he knew the expense to the owner would be more. Plus, these were regular patients, and Garrett didn’t want to let them down.

So many people are already watching their pennies—I don’t want to saddle them with a big bill if I can help it.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Given the backlog, Garrett didn’t get to chat as much as he would have liked with the owners, something that made his day more social and tended to decrease their stress. On the other hand, thanks to his staff pitching in to help, he worked his way through the queue of patients before closing time.

“Almost done.” Kirsten peeked out toward the waiting room. “And it’s nearly time to quit for the day. Good job!”

Mrs. McHenry’s nauseated boxer and Mr. Sanders’s constipated orange cat were the last two patients and their appointments were uncomplicated. Garrett took a swig of his energy drink and leaned against the counter, closing his eyes for just a minute.

He’d just wrapped up with Mr. Sanders’s cat when his watch buzzed, telling him that it was five o’clock.

“Hey—I know you said you had some paperwork,” Kirsten said. “Do you want me to take Bailey to the dog park with Cuddles, and you can pick him up on the way home?”

“You’re a godsend, and this is why you’re one of Bailey’s favorite people,” Garrett told her gratefully. “I won’t be here long, but Bailey paces when he’s ready to go, and it drives me nuts.”

“Cuddles adores Bailey, and they both love the dog park,” Kirsten said.

“Thank you. I’m not planning on being more than an hour if that. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s definitely not a hardship. Plus they’ll play harder with a buddy, and that means they’ll sleep better when they get home,” she said with a conspiratorial grin. Cuddles, her boxer-pittie mix, was a total pushover and loved Bailey like a brother from another mother.

He said goodnight to the staff and let the after hours cleaning crew in, then locked the door behind them and went to his office. The cleaners had their own key to lock up afterward. Having them in the building kept it from being too quiet. Tonight, they finished up more quickly than usual, leaving him alone again.

Garrett tried not to let paperwork build up, but he had left earlier than usual the last few nights when he had plans with Drake, so he had a small stack of forms and files to wade through. Without Bailey prodding him to go home, he expected to breeze through the documents and be on his way quickly.

He frowned when he heard a strange noise from the waiting room, but it wasn’t repeated so he went back to his papers. Garrett had a sudden spike of fear and pain that he knew didn’t belong to him. He reeled, wondering if one of the dogs boarding with them had an unexpected illness, and when he looked up, found himself staring at the business end of a Glock.

“No quick moves,” Colletta said. “Brian’s been hurt, and I need you to save him.”

Garrett’s eyes widened. “I’m not set up as an emergency room.”

“You do surgery, right? You know how.”

Garrett nodded. “Basic sorts. Not the specialized kind. I really don’t think?—”

“Brian got stabbed in the shoulder. He’s in pain, and I want you to fix him up.”

“Stabbed? You mean?—”

“I mean some bastard stabbed my dog, and I want you to make sure Brian is okay,” Colletta snapped.

Garrett raised both hands, palms out, in surrender. “Okay. Where is he?”

“I carried him into your OR. Please—help him.”

Colletta was a mobster and probably worse, but Brian was an innocent, and Garrett couldn’t say no to a hurt dog even without a gun pointed at him.

“Show me,” he told Colletta. “And quit pointing that thing at me.”

Colletta walked behind him to the operating room. Brian lay wrapped in a bloody blanket on the floor. He raised his head to look at Garrett with sad eyes.

Garrett hunkered down beside him. “Did you get hurt, baby boy?”

“Don’t worry—I took care of the one who did it,” Colletta said in a voice that sent a shiver down Garett’s back.

Garrett tried to think of a way out of the situation that didn’t end with him dead. He came up blank. He was unlikely to get a chance to call Drake or the police, and he certainly didn’t want to involve his staff. As long as Colletta needed him, Garrett figured he would be relatively safe.

And Brian couldn’t help belonging to a criminal.

“I need to lay out supplies and scrub up for surgery,” Garrett told Colletta, mustering his nerve. Here in the operating room, he was the expert, and a gun didn’t change that. “Most of the supplies are in those cabinets. I won’t know until I examine Brian whether or not he needs blood. If he does, that’s in the refrigerator in the back. You can follow me around as I get what I need, but if you want me to operate on your dog, I’ve got to have supplies.”

“Be quick about it.”

Garrett gritted his teeth but didn’t want to provoke the man with the gun. It’s not Brian’s fault his dad is a jerk.

He found most of the things he needed in the operating room cabinets but motioned for Colletta to follow him when he went to get the medications required for surgery from the locked refrigerator in the back.

“This is the pain medication and anesthesia,” he told Colletta. “When I’m done, I’ll get some pills for him to keep him comfortable after you leave.”

Assuming he lets me live and they don’t find my body in the morning.

His phone was in his pocket, turned to silent, but he didn’t dare try to text Drake or summon help.

Garrett and Colletta lifted Brian on a blanket onto the operating table and shimmied him onto the stainless steel surface. Brian whimpered but looked at Garrett with big, trusting eyes.

“Fix him,” Colletta ordered.

“I do better when I’m not nervous, and having a gun pointed at me isn’t going to help me relax,” Garrett said. “Ease up and let me do my job.”

“So do it. I’m waiting.”

Garrett drew in a deep breath and let it out, trying to focus on helping Brian and not on the gun pointed his direction. He didn’t have a date with Drake tonight, so no one would notice anything was amiss until he didn’t go to pick up Bailey from Kirsten. By that time, it might be too late.

Focus on the patient. Brian deserves care.

Colletta fretted in the corner, gun still in hand, while Garrett prepped Brian and gave him anesthesia. He was a little surprised it took more than usual but felt relieved when the dog gradually relaxed into a deep sleep.

Only then could Garrett fully focus on the wound to Brian’s shoulder. “How did this happen?”

“None of your business.”

Garrett turned to face Colletta and met his gaze. “You want me to fix this? I need to know what I’m dealing with. It looks like a knife wound. What happened?”

Colletta gave him a deadly glare. “There was a fight. Doesn’t matter what about—but someone came at me, and Brian tried to protect me. He got the knife that was meant for me. I fixed the problem—won’t happen again.” His smirk suggested he had implemented a very final solution.

Garrett’s stomach twisted. When he had met Colletta, he thought the man gave off gangster vibes, but he didn’t think the man was an actual mobster. Now, Garrett wasn’t so sure.

“Okay, that helps. A sharp blade is better than a rusted piece of farm equipment. Less chance of infection, cleaner edges.”

Colletta grunted in acknowledgment as Garrett continued to narrate what he was doing. “I’m going to flush the wound to ensure it’s as clean as possible and stitch it closed. Then I’ll put an antibiotic cream on the surface and wrap it. I’ll give you antibiotic pills for him so he doesn’t get an infection, as well as pain pills so he’ll be comfortable. He shouldn’t do much moving for several days, nothing strenuous for at least a week.”

Colletta stood against the far wall with his hands clasped in front of him and his gun still in his grip. He watched Garrett’s every movement. If the man wasn’t holding him hostage, Garrett might have appreciated how much a tough guy could care for his dog. Now, he just felt bad that Brian had a criminal for a father.

Garrett pushed all that from his mind and focused on his patient. The wound missed anything vital and probably wouldn’t cause permanent damage. Brian needed a blood transfusion, and he would be sore for a while, but with rest and medicine, he would recover nicely, maybe even without a limp.

He managed to keep himself together until he tied off the last stitch. Until then, his hands didn’t shake, but they were trembling as he set the scissors aside.

“Well?” Colletta asked.

“He’s going to be okay— if he gets rest, stays off his feet as much as possible for a week, no strenuous activity, and he’ll need medicine for pain and to prevent infection,” Garrett told him.

“That’s good. You did good, Doc.”

Garrett relaxed a little since it didn’t seem like he was going to get shot in the next few minutes.

“What stuff will he need for recovery? Pack him a bag.” Colletta gestured with the gun.

“Pain pills, antibiotic pills, antibiotic ointment for the site, gauze bandages, surgical tape, and the dreaded cone to keep him from licking the stitches,” Garrett listed off. “I’m giving him blood, so he shouldn’t need another transfusion. The pain pills should make him groggy so he doesn’t try to be too active.”

“Put it together.”

Garrett figured the longer he could keep Colletta happy, the more likely he was to get out of this alive. He gathered everything and put it in a bag.

“You’re pretty good at stitching up, Doc.”

“Got a lot of practice in vet school.”

“Pack what you’ll need for a couple of days. You’re coming with us to take care of Brian.”

Garrett’s blood ran cold. “I…that’s not…I can’t?—”

The gun rose to point at his chest. “That was an order, not a request. Don’t worry—I’ll pay you very well. But I’m going to be busy, and Brian needs someone looking out for him. So you come with me, keep an eye on him, and in a couple of days, I bring you back. Easy peasy.”

Except for the part where I don’t get a choice. And how you’ll figure that I know too much afterward and you can’t let me go after all.

Rushing the guy with the gun would be suicidal, and Colletta probably had thirty pounds of muscle on him, even if Garrett was taller. Colletta had the look of a brawler, so he probably didn’t even need the gun to knock Garrett out, toss him over his shoulder, and throw him into a panel truck.

I’m going to disappear, and no one will know what happened.

“Okay.” Garrett figured it was a good idea to appease the guy with the gun. “I need to get my go-bag from my office. I keep one packed for emergencies. And I have to gather the medicine Brian needs.”

“Hurry—and don’t try anything stupid.”

Garrett tried to take deep breaths to calm his nerves and still his shaking hands. He moved slowly, buying himself time to think. If anyone had noticed Colletta picking the lock and reported it, police would have arrived by now. Garrett hadn’t set the alarm because he was still in the building. He and Drake had both planned to work late so no one except Kirsten and Bailey would notice he didn’t come home.

Since Colletta didn’t seem inclined to let him clean up the operatory, Garrett’s staff would probably figure out what happened, and Colletta was the likely suspect. But the regular police wouldn’t know how to follow the clues, and no one was likely to think about calling Drake. Eventually, Drake would come looking for him, but the trail would be cold by then.

Colletta stood in the doorway as Garrett bustled around his office. He knew he wouldn’t get away with writing a note, but he stuck one hand in his pocket as he angled away from Colletta, and hoped that he could send a text to Drake.

Garrett: Kidnapped. Car

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Colletta snatched the phone away and smashed it to the floor.

“I—”

“No more stalling. Grab what you have and Brian’s medicine. I need you to get him into my SUV.”

Garrett knew from the look in Colletta’s eyes that he had pushed his luck as far as it would stretch. While the mobster wanted Garrett to care for Brian, he might decide the vet knew too much and make a clean break.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

They got Brian into the back, and the sedatives kept the dog from minding being jostled.

Colletta dangled a pair of handcuffs. “Put these on.”

Garrett complied. “These go on your ankles. No funny stuff.”

Garrett snapped the cuffs closed with a sinking heart. His chances of escape were nil, and his likelihood of surviving this adventure were looking worse by the moment.

Colletta smacked him in the temple with his gun, and everything went black.

Garrett woke with a rag stuffed in his mouth. He was still bound hand and foot, and the SUV had stopped.

He heard raised voices, Colletta arguing with someone outside the SUV.

“You brought a doctor here for your damn dog?” a stranger demanded.

“If he can stitch up a dog, he can sew up a person,” Colletta countered. “You’ve got the drugs, but no one who knows how to do doctoring.”

“And you think he’s just going to go along with it?”

“For as long as we need him.” Colletta’s tone sent a chill down Garrett’s spine. Once I’m not useful and Brian is out of the woods, I’m toast.

Two other toughs came to carry Brian, surprisingly gentle. They lifted Garrett from the car and set him on his feet. “Be careful with him.” Colletta gestured with his gun. He turned to Garrett. “What are you staring at? Follow them. Where the dog goes, you go.”

Garrett looked down at his feet. Colletta grumbled but unlocked the cuffs on his ankles, although his wrists were still bound.

Garrett fell in behind the men, heading into the basement of a shuttered industrial building that looked like it had been out of business for a long time. He had no idea where he was or how long it had taken them to get there since he had been unconscious. Right now, his head throbbed, and he thought about taking one of the pain pills he had brought for the dog.

They went into a windowless room with a steel door. Inside were two cots, two blankets, and two very questionable pillows. Buckets in the corner were probably meant to be toilets. A few bottles of water stood near the door, along with a filled water bowl for Brian.

The toughs put Brian on one of the cots, threw Garrett’s bags onto the other cot, and left.

Garrett looked at Colletta. “So how does this work?”

Colletta shrugged. “Fix my dog, you don’t die.”

“It’s going to take a few days to get him feeling better—not one hundred percent, but better. He’ll need food and water, and so will I to be able to take care of him.” He figured he might as well put his most basic needs up front. “And when he’s in better shape, your people will take me back to the clinic?”

Colletta gave him a smile that made Garrett’s blood freeze. “Yeah. We’ll take you back.”

I’m going to die here. As soon as I’m not useful for Brian, and maybe for treating some of their soldiers, they’re going to kill me.

No one will know where to find the body.

I won’t get to say goodbye to Drake.

Bailey will never understand why I didn’t come home.

Colletta unlocked the handcuffs then locked the door behind him, leaving Garrett and Brian alone. Garrett walked the perimeter of the small room, looking for cameras or microphones. He didn’t see any but doubted anyone thought he would be telling a dog the secrets of the universe.

Without his phone, he couldn’t contact Drake. Garrett moved his bed closer to where Brian lay and sat down.

“Guess it’s just you and me.” He gently petted the dog’s side. Brian snuffled and shimmied, still asleep.

“You seem like a very nice dog. How did you get mixed up in all this?” If Garrett held any hope that being a devoted pet owner meant Colletta was not also a cold-blooded killer that had fizzled.

“I’m glad he takes good care of you,” Garrett went on since he had nothing else to do. Even though Brian was still out cold from the pills, gentle contact and a soothing voice would help reduce anxiety and let him relax. At least he could do some good during what were likely to be his last hours on Earth.

“I had a black Lab when I was a kid,” Garrett continued. “She lived to be fifteen. Dora. Great dog. You’d have liked her. Best fetcher ever. Well, until Bailey. You met Bailey when you came to the office before. I bet you two would have gotten along great.”

He told Brian stories about his childhood dogs and walks he had taken with Bailey. After that, he thought of the funny things that had happened at the clinic and recounted the plot of the last two series he had binged.

“I’m not much of a singer, or I’d sing you to sleep.” Garrett walked over and took a bottle of water to soothe his throat. It looked unopened, and he figured that poisoning him after they just brought him to help with the dog didn’t make any sense, so he took a chance and drank it down.

Garrett stroked Brian’s side, taking as much comfort from the contact as he was giving. He thought about Drake and how he had hoped their budding relationship would go.

I figured that we’d still date after his case wrapped up. Wheeling isn’t very far away. Then, when the time was right, we’d move in together, maybe somewhere in the middle between his office and the clinic.

Down the line, after a while, maybe we’d get married. Bailey would have been a cute ring bearer. We’d figure out how to make our schedules work, go on vacations, and get old. We’d bitch about things and make up.

I want that life, that future. And the way things are going, I don’t think it’s going to happen.

At least it’s early in our time together. We’ve both fallen hard, but we haven’t been together very long. Maybe that will make it easier for Drake. I never meant to hurt him.

He probably can’t adopt Bailey, given his schedule. I hope Kirsten or someone from our office gives him a good home.

They’ll need to sell the clinic. If someone takes it over, maybe they’ll keep the employees—we have a good team. I’d just gotten everything up and running the way I’d always wanted it. I thought I’d have decades to keep building.

Guess there’s no way of knowing how long you’ve got.

If I ever get out of here, I’m posting a strict “No Mobsters” policy. Except that wouldn’t be fair to their dogs, who didn’t do anything wrong. Brian is a sweetie. Not his fault Colletta is a scumbag.

Over the next few hours, Garrett talked and sang to Brian and made sure he took his medicine. The pain pills made Brian groggy, so he drifted in and out of sleep.

Later in the day, the door opened. One of the mobsters came in with a bowl of food for Brian and a sandwich for Garrett.

“Eat. Boss is going to need you to help him with something later on.”

Garrett tried to ignore the ominous comment and did his best to get Brian to eat and drink before turning to his food. The ham and cheese sandwich wasn’t bad, but given the stress, Garrett didn’t taste it.

Garrett put aside his empty plate and took a swig of water from his bottle. What’s going on out there? Something brought Drake to Moundsville, and whatever it was had to be pretty big to involve the feds.

He had heard rumors that other vets had run into animals dosed with unusual painkillers and anxiety medications, ones that weren’t standard pharmacy issue.

What if they weren’t really pets? I think I’d notice if I ended up with a shifter because of the way I can pick up on animals’ thoughts, but would a regular vet with no psychic ability notice?

How many shifters and weres are out there, passing for pets when they need medical help because they are more likely to get caught by regular doctors than by veterinarians?

Brian was still heavily sedated, so Garrett pulled his cot next to the dog’s and decided to catch some sleep while he could.

They’re probably going to kill me one way or another, so if they do it in my sleep, at least I won’t see them coming. He stretched out one arm so that he could stay in contact with Brian, soothing the dog and taking comfort from his company.

“Hey, wake up.”

Garrett felt something hard poke him in the ribs and woke to find himself staring down a shotgun. Colletta stood in the doorway with his handgun while a tough kept the shotgun pointed at Garrett.

“A couple of the boys got hurt. They need stitched up. You’re a doc. I need you to take care of them.”

Garrett gave Brian a pat, unsure whether he would see the dog again, then he followed Colletta with the tough guy behind them.

What he saw told him that his guess about being in the basement of an abandoned industrial building was correct. They wound through a maze of windowless concrete walls until Colletta stopped in front of a door.

“Here we go, Doc. I’m counting on you to do your thing and take care of my boys. Do a good job, and everything will work out peachy for you.”

Garrett didn’t believe a word of it, but he tried to keep his skepticism from showing in his eyes. The door swung open, and he saw half a dozen young men milling about in what looked to be a makeshift medical station.

“Gunshot wounds, some knife wounds, and a couple of broken bones,” Colletta told him. “You tell Freddie here what you need, and he’ll go get it. I’m going to hang out and make sure my boys don’t give you a hard time.” He gave Garrett a hard stare. “You’d have to be a smart man to get through medical school, so I’m counting on you not to try anything dumb. Understand?”

Garrett nodded, momentarily defeated. “I want to triage them—see the injuries—and then I’ll know what I need. For starters, rubbing alcohol, clean cloths, sutures, suturing needles, antibiotic cream. I won’t know what more until I’ve had a look.”

Colletta nodded and motioned for one of his toughs to follow Garrett from patient to patient and take notes. “He says he needs something, you write it down. Got it?” The man nodded, and Colletta went to stand by the door.

“They said you’re a dog doctor. Is that true?” the first man asked as Garrett looked closely at the gunshot wound in his bicep.

“Does it matter? I’m the only doctor right now.”

“Guess not. You’d better not snip my balls by accident or there’ll be a world of hurt.” His joke fell flat, and Garrett, overwhelmed by the situation, just stared at him in return.

“Did you get shot in the balls?”

“No,” the mobster said.

“Then trust me, I’m not going near them.”

Garrett dictated the needed supplies to the man who followed him around as Colletta watched from a distance.

“Think it’ll fix right, Doc?” One of the men, barely out of his teens, gritted his teeth against the pain of a broken arm.

“I’d feel better about saying yes if we were in a real hospital,” Garrett replied without looking up as he carefully palpated the arm, using as gentle a touch as he could and seeing the young man wince from the pain. “Pretty sure it’s broken, but I can’t tell more without an X-ray. I’ll do my best, but even if the bone heals the way it should, you’ll need some kind of physical therapy after the cast comes off.”

“Just have him jerk off with that hand. He’ll get plenty of exercise,” one of the other men said, getting laughs and catcalls in response.

“Better than nothing.” Garrett refused to be flustered.

After he had made one round, his assistant went for supplies. Garrett wasn’t sure where he found the items, but the man returned faster than expected.

“I need to wash up before I start and between patients,” Garrett told his helper. “Since I don’t see a sink in here, I need soap, a basin of water, and a clean towel. The water needs to be changed between each patient. You don’t want your boys knocked out by an infection.”

Garrett had to wait for the supplies, but he found reasons to dawdle so he could listen to what the injured men were saying.

“—fucking feds. Came outta nowhere.”

“—gotta be a mole, and when we find him, he’s gonna regret it.”

“—bastards had good witches. We didn’t have a chance.”

Garrett’s heart soared, thinking that Drake and his people had been behind the raid that laid up the mobsters. He might not get out of this in one piece, but it sounded like the Syndicate’s days were numbered.

I guess I’ll have to settle for being avenged if I don’t end up being rescued.

He worked into the evening suturing and splinting, checking for infection, and doing his best to put his human patients at ease. For all that they might be stone-cold killers, they seemed oddly vulnerable despite their tough-guy posturing. Most were still in their mid-twenties, and Garrett wondered what the Syndicate had offered that persuaded them to join. He ran out of supplies, and the flunkies went to get more. While he waited, Garrett walked over to Colletta.

“How many of them are shifters?” He tested a theory that had occurred to him.

“What do you know about shifters?”

“Enough,” Garrett replied, although his knowledge came from TV shows and movies, not clinical experience. “Are they? Because it’s going to affect how I treat them.”

If the shows were right, shifters had faster metabolisms than regular humans. That usually meant that they healed faster unless silver weapons were involved. Still, a doctor’s help avoided bones setting badly, and even a fast metabolism needed help with gunshot wounds and the like.

“All of them,” Colletta said after a pause.

“What sort of animal do they shift into? That might affect the dose of the painkiller.”

“These are all wolves or big dogs like German Shepherds and Belgian Malinois,” Colletta answered. “If that tells you anything.”

Garrett nodded. “Actually, yes. Full-grown, their weights aren’t far off from an adult human. That helps with dosages.” He frowned. “You have special drugs for them? According to the TV shows, shifters have a higher-than-usual metabolism. Is that true?”

Colletta guffawed. “The TV shows? TV shows don’t know shit about most things.”

“Well excuse me, but we didn’t cover shifters in vet school,” Garrett shot back, made bold by his acceptance that he wasn’t getting out of here.

Colletta gave him a look. “Guess not. So here’s the deal—yes, the metabolism is faster. They burn off meds quicker than humans, and they need a higher dose for their size to feel it. Some human meds don’t do a damn thing. There aren’t any official medicines for their kind, so we made our own. The feds aren’t too happy about that.”

Bingo. That must be the case Drake’s on, cracking down on illegal shifter drugs. Shit. I’ve landed right in the middle of things.

“How come no one makes shifter drugs on the down-low—legally?” Garrett asked. “There are niche markets for everything.”

Colletta looked at him as if he were stupid. “Because of the fuckin’ FDA. Legit drugs have to get approvals. Can’t get approval for shifter and vamp drugs without admitting there are shifters and vampires. Then the Area 51 guys come out with their white vans and shock collars and cart everyone away for experiments.”

Garrett could follow the logic, even though he disapproved of the tactics. Thanks for telling me that vampires are real. I didn’t need to know that.

“And it ain’t just the FDA,” Colletta went on. “There would be too many questions about who the drugs were for since their metabolisms are completely whack compared to humans. Once word gets out that they’re real, the panic starts, the government gets involved, people decide to play monster hunter, and it all gets ugly.”

Colletta shook his head. “Better to keep the feds out of it. We don’t need them on our ass.”

Meaning any kind of supervision would make it clear real fast who had teams of shifter hitmen.

“Do you have any of these wonder drugs here for me to use with them? And if you do, what kind? I need to know what I’m dealing with.” Garrett’s fatalism made him bold. Colletta seemed to respect his expertise—for now.

“We’ve got antibiotics that wipe out infections normies don’t get. Pain killers strong enough to stop the pain and not wear off right away. Some drugs for things that regular people don’t get but shifters and weres do, like a version of that Parvo thing.”

Shifters can get Parvo? Garrett started thinking about what other diseases people usually thought of being strictly for animals and how mundane medicine would deal with the idea that shifters could be infected.

Wait, what? Weres? Like werewolves? My God, they’re real too.

“Feel like you just fell through the looking glass?” Colletta chuckled. “Surprise. It’s all true.”

And now he has even less reason to let me go because I know too much. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t mind answering questions. I’m never going to have a chance to tell anyone.

Is this Drake’s world—busting vampires and werewolves and the monster mafia? Could I have ever fit into that life if this hadn’t happened?

Colletta’s henchmen returned with the new supplies and a fresh bowl of hot water with soap. Garrett returned his attention to treating his patients.

On the plus side, no one bites—at least, I don’t think they do. Then again, they’ve got nothing to prove to me since I’ll be dead soon.

“The drugs your people make—are they addictive?” he asked Colletta as he cleaned up when he finished with the patient he’d been stitching. “Or do shifters burn them off too quick?”

Colletta shrugged. “People who want to find a place to hide will find it. If the drugs wear off, there are always more.”

Not much of an answer, but it might not be a problem—or the mobsters are likely to die young before bad habits have a chance to catch up with them.

“What about recreational drugs? Werewolf weed? Vampire vapes? Monster meth?”

Colletta snorted. “That’s good—you ought to be one of those marketing guys. Yeah, all that. Why not? Equal rights and all that jazz.”

Garrett didn’t want to know what a bad trip looked like for creatures who were stronger, faster, and had more teeth than humans.

“I gave them enough of the drugs to dull the pain and get them through the night,” he reported to Colletta. “Same thing as with Brian—they’ll heal better if you don’t send them back into the fight too fast. Even with a faster metabolism, they won’t heal overnight, and if they get re-injured, it will take even longer the next time even if they heal right.”

When Garrett thought of his patients as mobsters, he feared them. When he pictured them as hurt dogs, he found the compassion to do his job in the right frame of mind. He didn’t want any creature to be in pain or to not get appropriate care.

Just like the tiger. He had read about a zoo vet who had bonded with one of the tigers after he nursed it through a long illness. The tiger never tried to hurt him, not even a nip, while he was sick. The vet had told everyone it proved that tigers were just misunderstood. Except when the tiger recovered, it mauled and ate him.

At least getting shot is faster than being eaten. I guess there’s a silver lining for everything.

Garrett had no idea of time in the windowless room. A runner brought in a pot of coffee and a mug for him to swig between patients. It only helped so much. He guessed that he had been up most of the night seeing to the injured men, but he wanted to make sure no one suffered complications before he could feel the job was done.

If they’re going to kill me, at least it won’t be for incompetence.

Once again, his thoughts drifted to Drake. If his team had been behind the fight that injured the shifters, did he know Garrett had been kidnapped? Would Drake have any way to link Colletta to the other targets of the night’s battle and figure out what happened to Garrett?

He might not get here in time to save me, but at least he wouldn’t think I ran off. Give me a decent burial—if they don’t feed me to the wolves, that is.

Garrett felt totally spent when he finished. He saw firsthand how the illicit shifter drugs affected his patients and had to admit that for their heightened metabolisms, the medicines appeared to work very well.

A runner came in as he dozed in a chair waiting to make another round of checks on his patients. Garrett roused enough to see the stranger speak quietly to Colletta in an urgent, low tone.

“Hey, Doc. Gino is going to take you back to Brian. He’s waking up, and you’d better go see how he’s doing.”

Garrett nodded wearily. After everything that day, he wanted nothing more than a few hours’ sleep, but he knew that being useful kept him alive—at least for a while longer.

“Call me if anyone here runs a fever, gets sharp pain, or has any unusual symptoms,” he told Colletta. “Those will be drug reactions, nothing to do with my stitching, but if they whack out and pop my sutures, it’ll cause problems.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you know if that happens. Go fix my dog,” Colletta growled.

Garrett followed the runner back to the room he shared with Brian. “Look, I’m dead on my feet,” he told the man. “Can you bring me food? I don’t care what kind. I’m no good if I pass out from hunger.”

To his surprise, the man agreed. He locked Garrett in the room and stayed outside, presumably to fetch his requests.

Garrett approached Brian carefully, not wanting to scare the dog if he was half-asleep.

“You doing okay?”

Brian whined and looked at Garrett with sad eyes. It had been long enough that Garrett could dose him again with painkillers, but first, he offered food and water, which had their own healing properties.

“So do you stay a very pretty fellow, or change into a person?” Garrett asked the dog as he ate. He scratched Brian’s ears and when the dog finished eating, led him to where their jailers had put down a pad for him to use for a bathroom.

“Sorry, dude. This is what we’ve got. You should see what they gave me,” Garrett said when Brian looked up at him, confused.

Once Brian finished his business and drank some water, Garrett gave him another dose of pain medicine that would help him sleep.

“You’re a very good boy,” Garrett told Brian as he curled up on the cot with his blanket. “Very brave. I’m sorry you got hurt. Maybe you can get your master to change jobs to something where people don’t shoot each other.”

If Brian was really a shifter, then he was likely all-in on the Mob like Colletta. It made Garrett sad that he probably wouldn’t like person Brian nearly as much as dog Brian.

Garrett dozed next to Brian until he heard the door open. He went from sleepy to wide awake, wondering whether they had more wounded to treat or had decided to get rid of him.

Colletta walked in with a man Garrett didn’t recognize but whose presence made his hindbrain want to run and hide. The man was taller than Colletta and slender, with fine, almost aristocratic features. He had dark hair and very pale skin, and while he was just dressed in a black shirt and jeans, he moved with predatory grace.

Colletta turned back to the door and ushered in a second stranger who had a strange glint in his eyes.

“You’ve been helpful, so we need to keep you with us a while longer,” Colletta said. “And there are…situations going on outside that will require my attention. We can’t have you running off. So I’ve asked Paul here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Garrett backed up, not sure what was going on, but positive he wouldn’t like it. “I said I wouldn’t run away.”

“Of course you did. And of course, you were lying,” Colletta said easily, as if they weren’t talking about Garrett’s life. “Which would be unfortunate. So my associate is going to make sure you won’t leave without permission.”

The slender stranger moved so quickly that Garrett didn’t see the motion until the man had crossed the room and grabbed him by the collar from behind.

“Wait! What?—”

He felt two needle-sharp punctures in the side of his neck and gasped in pain and fear.

Vampires are real. Is he a vampire? Oh God, is he going to turn me?

In just seconds, the man stepped back, releasing Garrett. Two rivulets of warm blood trickled down Garrett’s neck. The other man Garrett didn’t recognize spoke strange-sounding words that sent a shiver of energy through his body and left him gasping.

Colletta looked amused. Garrett wanted to be angry but found he couldn’t muster the energy.

“Until I release you, we are bound blood to blood. You will only leave if I permit it or if you die. If you leave without my permission, you will die within three days,” Paul said.

“Confused? Let me explain. Paul is, indeed, a vampire. He’s fed from you, which creates a bond. He hasn’t done anything to turn you; at least, not yet,” Colletta added with a smirk.

“The bite creates a link between you and him, and the link, along with the witch’s spell, forges a compulsion. You can’t harm him, and if he forbids it, you can’t harm me or anyone else, either. But look at the bright side—you won’t need those handcuffs anymore,” Colletta said.

Garrett wanted to be furious. He knew he should be terrified. All he could manage was a remarkable level of unconcern.

“You’ve been very useful. I’m grateful for what you’ve done for Brian. Maybe we’ll keep you around. Having a doc comes in handy.”

With that, Colletta, the witch, and the vampire left. They turned their backs on Garrett and did not hurry, knowing he was powerless to attack or escape.

Garrett stared at the door for a moment, then sank to the floor, distraught. I’m screwed. I can’t even run away. If Drake finds me and tries to rescue me, would I fight back? When they’re done with me, will they kill me or turn me?

Normally, he would have taken comfort hugging the dog, but not knowing if Brian was really a shifter made it weird. Garrett curled up in a ball with his arms around his knees and tried to calm down.

Are they lying about not turning me? If Drake found me, would he see me as one of the monsters he hunts?

Vampires are immortal. I bet the compulsion means I can’t harm myself.

I am truly fucked, and definitely not in a good way.

To his surprise, Brian staggered over and lay down beside him. He nudged Garrett’s hand and pressed against his side.

“You shouldn’t have moved,” Garrett said quietly, although the sentimental gesture affected him.

Brian gave a soft whine and shimmied a little closer. Shifter or not, Garrett wasn’t about to turn down comfort when offered, not when he needed it so badly.

A thought occurred to him. Is Brian with Colletta of his free will? Drake said something about trafficking. People who can shift or do magic would be valuable. Did they get kidnapped too, and held against their will, sold off to the highest bidder?

The thought made Garrett’s stomach turn. He petted Brian, wondering how he came to belong to Colletta and whether he stayed out of choice. That made him sad, and he scratched Brian’s ears again.

“Thanks for sitting with me,” he said quietly. “I wish I could promise to get you out of this mess, but I don’t even see how I’ll get myself out. If I can protect you, I will.”

Brian nuzzled Garrett’s hand, and he took that for agreement. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and Garrett collapsed onto his cot, which was pulled up right beside Brian’s so that he could keep a hand on the dog as they slept. If we’re both stuck here, at least we’re not alone.