Chapter 1 - The Dog That Should Have Torn Him ApartThe masked man cleared the stone wall at 1:17 in the morning.
He landed hard on wet grass, one black-gloved hand striking the ground to steady himself.
For three seconds, nothing moved.
Beyond him, the backyard of the Whitmore mansion looked almost unreal beneath the August night. Garden lights glowed along perfectly trimmed hedges. The enormous swimming pool burned electric blue in the darkness. Tall glass doors reflected the water back toward him, making the house appear awake even though every room inside was dark.
Ethan Cole knew better.
A house like this was never really asleep.
He straightened slowly.
Thirty-four years old. Six feet tall. Strong enough to climb the wall without assistance.
Dark clothes.
Black gloves.
Face covering.
To any security camera that caught him, Ethan looked exactly like what Grant Whitmore had once accused him of being.
A criminal.
That irony almost made him smile.
Then he heard the growl.
Ethan stopped breathing.
Twenty feet away, a massive Pit Bull stood beside the pool.
Broad shoulders.
Powerful jaws.
A thick black collar around its neck.
The dog wasn't barking.
It simply stared.
Ethan's heart slammed once against his ribs.
"Easy," he whispered.
The Pit Bull lowered its head.
Ethan took one slow step backward.
The dog's muscles tightened.
Another step.
The animal charged.
Ethan threw both arms up.
"Rex!"
The dog hit him at full speed.
Ethan staggered.
But there were no teeth.
No attack.
Instead, Rex rose onto his back legs and planted his front paws against Ethan's chest, tail swinging so violently that his entire body moved with it.
A strangled laugh escaped Ethan.
"Jesus."
Rex whined and desperately licked at his face covering.
"Rex…"
The dog whined louder.
"You still remember me?"
Ethan lowered to one knee.
Rex nearly knocked him over again.
Three years disappeared.
Ethan saw a six-week-old puppy sleeping inside his jacket during a thunderstorm.
Rex chewing the leg of Ethan's kitchen chair.
Rex refusing to leave the front door whenever Ethan worked a night shift.
Rex sitting beside Caleb on the pool deck while Ethan's younger brother tossed him pieces of hamburger.
Before the lies.
Before the police.
Before the funeral.
Before Ethan had been taken away in handcuffs while Rex barked through the mansion gates.
His throat tightened.
"Hey, buddy."
Ethan pulled the lower portion of his mask down.
Rex buried his nose against Ethan's jaw.
The reaction was immediate.
The dog made a soft sound Ethan hadn't heard in years and pushed his massive head into Ethan's chest.
"I raised you since you were a puppy," Ethan whispered.
Rex licked his glove.
"I didn't leave you."
That part was for himself.
Ethan looked toward the mansion.
Dark.
Good.
He scratched the familiar spot behind Rex's left ear.
Rex's back leg twitched.
Ethan almost laughed again.
Then he saw the collar.
His hand stopped.
It was thick, expensive and new.
A small electronic module sat beneath Rex's throat.
GPS, Ethan guessed.
Possibly more.
"Who put that on you?"
Rex only stared at him.
Ethan rose.
"We don't have time."
He moved toward the swimming pool.
Rex followed.
"No."
The dog continued.
"Stay."
Rex wagged his tail.
Ethan stared at him.
Rex stared back.
"Your obedience got worse."
For half a second, Ethan felt like the man he'd been three years ago.
Then he reached the edge of the pool.
The feeling vanished.
Caleb had died here.
Officially.
At twenty-eight years old, Ethan's younger brother had supposedly gotten drunk, slipped, struck his head and drowned alone after midnight.
That was what the police report said.
That was what Grant Whitmore said.
That was what Lauren Whitmore had sworn under oath.
And Ethan had spent three years knowing every one of them was lying about something.
He reached inside his jacket.
The packet was exactly where he'd left it.
Small.
Unmarked.
Filled with fine white powder.
Ethan stared at the water.
In his head, he heard the warning he'd received two days earlier.
Don't touch the pool until you know where the old return line goes.
He tore the packet open.
Rex watched him.
"It's not poison," Ethan whispered, though he had no idea why he was explaining himself to a dog. "Relax."
He poured the contents into the illuminated water.
The powder spread across the surface and disappeared.
Ethan watched carefully.
Nothing.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then a faint cloudy ribbon drifted toward the deep end.
Exactly as he'd been told it would.
His pulse quickened.
"There you are."
The water was being pulled somewhere it shouldn't have been.
The old architectural plans had shown four circulation returns.
Ethan was looking at evidence of a fifth.
He crushed the empty packet in his fist.
BARK!
Ethan spun.
A second dog stood beside the rear doors.
A large shepherd mix Ethan had never seen before.
Its posture was completely different from Rex's.
Rigid.
Defensive.
Furious.
"Oh, damn."
BARK! BARK! BARK!
The second dog charged.
Ethan ran.
Rex turned in confusion.
"Rex, stay!"
The new dog crossed the patio.
Lights exploded on inside the mansion.
Kitchen.
Hallway.
Upstairs landing.
Ethan sprinted toward the stone wall.
A human silhouette appeared behind the glass.
He reached the wall and jumped for the ledge.
Behind him, the dog was getting closer.
The glass door opened.
"Who's there?"
A woman's voice.
Ethan froze.
His fingers remained hooked over the wall.
He knew that voice.
He hadn't heard it in three years.
He had heard it in dreams.
He had heard it in nightmares.
He had heard it the day she looked directly at him in a courtroom and destroyed what remained of his life.
Rex suddenly ran toward Ethan.
But instead of attacking, he positioned himself between Ethan and the second dog.
Protecting him.
The woman stepped into the pool light.
Long dark hair.
Bare feet.
White sleep shirt.
Lauren Whitmore stared at Rex.
Then at the masked man.
Her expression changed.
She couldn't see Ethan's face.
She didn't need to.
Rex had already told her.
Lauren's lips parted.
"No."
Ethan felt three years of rage rise inside him.
She stepped closer.
"Ethan?"
The second dog barked wildly.
A light came on in Grant Whitmore's upstairs bedroom.
Lauren looked toward the house.
Then back toward Ethan.
And the fear in her eyes wasn't fear of him.
It was fear for him.
"Go," she whispered.
Ethan didn't move.
Lauren's voice broke.
"Go now. My father knows you're here."
And somewhere inside the mansion, a man's voice shouted:
"Release Kane."
Ethan looked down.
The second dog was already loose.
But Lauren's face went white.
May you like
Because apparently—
Kane wasn't the dog Ethan needed to fear.
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