He thought he was stopping for a stray dog in the snow-until he saw what she was hiding beneath her body

pulled low over pale eyes. His jacket was stained along the zipper. His beard had grown in patchy over a weak chin. The men with him looked less committed to the cause, hands jammed into their pockets, boots shifting on the snowy boards.

“You got my dogs,” Crowley said.

Cal kept one hand on the door. “They’re under county hold.”

“They’re under my ownership.continue reading …