Dangerous Legacy. Valerie Hansen

He won’t be able to fight them all.”

      Flint took a step forward. “Okay. I’ll radio a report and board up your window while we wait for more help.”

      The noise she made was half exasperation, half anger. As soon as he was through contacting his partner, she said, “I nailed a board over the window myself. I called the sheriff, too, but he said there was nothing he could do about a runaway dog.”

      “Why didn’t you call Game and Fish?”

      When Maggie rolled her eyes, he had his answer.

      “I get it. You’d rather have your dog die than ask me for anything.”

      “No! I never said that. I left a message on the answering machine at your office.”

      Flint was penitent. “Right. It’s Saturday. Sorry.” He eyed the porch. “Why don’t we go wait inside?”

      Her “No!” was so forceful he stepped back, hands raised as if he were being robbed at gunpoint. “Okay, okay. I’ll look around out here and listen for more howling after I call and ask somebody to bring me an ATV.” He studied her. “Will that do?”

      “I guess it’ll have to.”

      They stepped off the porch together. He’d dealt with plenty of anxious people in the course of his duties, but Maggie’s case was extreme. Maybe if he could distract her she’d be more tractable. “Is your kid at your mother’s today?”

      She stopped in her tracks. “No. Why?”

      “Because that’s where he was when you had that wreck,” Flint said.

      “Only because we were being shot at when he got out of school,” she countered. “I take good care of him.”

      “I’m sure you do.” He took time to rephrase his query. “I was asking because I wanted to know if you were free to help me start to trail your dog instead of waiting for wheels.”

      “Oh.” Maggie cast a brief glance at the house. “No. That’s why I needed help. I can’t leave Mark here all by himself.”

      “Understood.” Flint was grabbing gear out of his truck and loading a small backpack. “Okay. Point me in the right direction.”