Free Wounded Animals (Whistleblower Series Book 1) by Jim Heskett

in this too. Or maybe I was acting paranoid by suspecting the hazmat cleanup crew of trying to teach me a sick lesson.
    Maybe not, though, because everyone else seemed to be against me.
    I unbuttoned my shirt and felt my skin tear. The blood had clotted and glued the shirt to my skin like a second layer. When I pulled it free, I twisted to catch the sight of a six-inch gash across my lower back, like a crooked smile. A semi-circle of angry red skin surrounded the wound. Possibly infected.
    Apply hydrogen peroxide. Bandage. Tape. Again, the movement of something ordinary brought me a small measure of peace. I found some antibiotics left over from the last time Grace had been sick, took one and shoved the bottle into my pocket. I might forget to take them if I didn’t keep them on me.
    There was a knock at the door, and I sauntered down the stairs, feeling a little woozy after the wound cleaning ritual.
    Alan was peering through the window into the living room, so I unlocked the front door and let him in.
    “Hey neighbor,” he said. Gripping a bag of potato chips in one hand, with glazed eyes. Stoned. “Were you yelling just now? I may be crazy, but I could have sworn I heard you cutting loose over here and I wanted to make sure you were cool.”
    “You’re working from home today, right?” It was a safe guess based on the potato chips and the bathrobe hanging on his frame.
    “Sure, if you can call it working. They give me way too much freedom.”
    “So you’ve been home all day.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, what’s on your mind?”
    “Did you see Grace come home at some point today and take her car? Or maybe not her, maybe someone else came and took it?”
    He turned to look at my driveway as if he had to verify that her car wasn’t there. “Sorry, I haven’t seen anything today. I’ve mostly been working on my train sets in the garage. Music on, you know, zoning out and putting the rest of the world on mute.”
    I nodded. Of course, Alan had missed Grace coming home. Whenever any of our neighbors had public fights or something else strange happened, he was the first to text me with the newest neighborhood gossip. But with the one thing I needed him to pay attention to, he was totally oblivious and zero help.
    “Hey, what was up with all those cops out here last night? They weren’t at your house, were they?”
    I gestured him back onto the porch and swung the door shut. “We’ll talk about it later. See you,” I said as it closed.
    Maybe she hadn’t been kidnapped at all. When I’d questioned Thomason and the driver about it, he’d seemed genuine when he had no idea where she was. As strange as it seemed, maybe her disappearing had nothing to do with my kidnapping or the dead trainee.
    Maybe she ran away. Maybe she had left earlier in some kind of rush, and then come to her senses and realized she needed the car. If she’d intended to leave me for some hidden reason, doing so while I was out of town would be the perfect time.
    That would explain a lot. Maybe the fact that Grace was gone and a dead man had appeared in the bathroom at the same time truly was a coincidence, as implausible as that seemed.
    I grunted my way back up the stairs and checked in her closet for her suitcases. Still there. That didn’t mean she hadn’t run, but it would be strange for her to go somewhere without the suitcases, wouldn’t it?
    I called her, didn’t leave a voicemail. Sent her a text.
     
    Whatever it is, we can talk about it.
     
    I didn’t expect a reply, and nothing came back during the next two minutes as I stared at my phone. I waited for the little checkmark to indicate that she’d read the text message, but it didn’t materialize.
    I had been gone for only three hours or so. If she’d decided to leave, maybe for the airport to fly to Michigan to see her parents, there was still a chance I could catch her before she boarded a plane.
    I grabbed my keys and checked to make sure I still had Grace’s